Fic: Golden (OTH)
Title: Golden
Fandom: One Tree Hill
Rating: PGish
Word Count: 1478
Pairing: Lucas/Peyton, Derek (the brother)
Beta: the lovely and talented brynwulf
Warnings: Implied het/incest
Notes: For moosesal
They let him into their little world sometimes; he only stays for brief periods because the stark reality is he doesn't know how to handle the gentleness or the laughter. He knows what's tough and what's painful and what makes you a man. Golden light hurts his eyes so he can't look for too long.
***
He gets their letters, funny and silly and shared. They write in different colors on the same page. Every page is illustrated. Every one is signed Love, your sister even though it's from both of them. He saves every last one.
***
They send him pictures full of that golden light in the background and in their smiles. He doesn't quite envy them because he's not sure he's built to withstand the pressure of loving someone.
***
Being on leave means heading "home", something he doesn't have precisely so Derek flies to his sister, shows up at her door with a duffel bag and a strangely needy cloud over his head. She tackles him in the doorway, all smooth skin and tearful joy. She forgets to be stand-offish and afraid. It's like all her excitement has been unleashed and he's the eager recipient.
Lucas is standing behind her then and Derek gives the other man a fond smile over his sister's shoulder. They're both lucky men and they damn well know it.
***
The house is comfortable, almost too comfortable. Bed's too soft, food's too good. Derek tries to adapt to listening to music at all hours, watching them dance around the living room like careless children though he knows they aren't. Careless. Or children. He wishes he could throw off the cloak of responsibility and self-control and dance.
They beg and coax, ply him with beer they swear they aren't stealing sips of.
He slow dances with Peyton, catches Lucas' searing gaze when they turn and twirl in his direction.
***
He can hear them through the walls, two rooms away. The creak of the bed is unmistakable. At first that's enough, but Derek finds himself creeping down the hall, too wound up to bother with shame. That light is drawing him in, making him forget so much it's like he shed his skin when he walked through the door.
He listens at their door, listens for far too long, until it's over and soft laughter and talking replaces the moans. He listens until there's nothing but quiet and dawn is reaching through the window to tap him on the shoulder.
***
Peyton, when she's happy, is all hands and affection; she bounces between Derek and Lucas like a merry ping pong ball. Like a puppy without boundaries or cares in the world. She insists they go to the park, the record store. She drags them both by their hands onto the merry-go-round and onto the swings. She says, "Push me big brother" with such a radiant smile Derek wishes he had sunglasses. Magic sunglasses to turn down her glow.
***
When he leaves to go back to his unit she cries. Lucas ignores his outstretched hand and hugs him tightly then wraps his arms around Peyton. Strong and protective. Derek stares a little too long then picks up his bag and walks to the car, not turning back to wave.
He needs to start getting used to the world being dimmer.
***
He's heard of phantom pain when someone's lost a limb; Derek wonders what it's called when you lose everything but.
***
They release him from the VA hospital, a tightly wound collection of braced legs and crutches which torment him with each agonizing step. On the bus ride Derek hides them under his seat, glad to be free of what they represent at least for a few hours
As he struggles off the bus, golden sunlight blinds him. He's blinking when he feels her soft hands close around his arm.
"Hello big brother," Peyton whispers against his ear, rich and warm and honey and home.
***
He attempts to argue but is already on the losing side the first time he opens his mouth. Peyton's made up a room on the first floor. Lucas' mother wants to know how well he can handle a computer because she's got a backlog of stuff to take care of...it's all been worked out. Derek's got a new home now, whether he likes it or not.
***
She cooks - badly. Lucas brings dinner from the cafe every night to save Derek the pain of choking it all down. But that doesn't stop her from trying night after night, attempting to put food and fire together and create something edible.
Night after night Derek sits at the small round table, awkward shrapneled legs tucked away from sight, listening to their laughter and teasing and hating/loving every second.
***
Stoic is a way of life; it's his most natural state. He's proud and strong and ramrod straight, no matter how many bits of metal - from man and man - make up his legs. He doesn't ask for help, he says thank you calmly when Peyton anticipates an obstacle and moves it out of his way. He accepts Lucas being his new bath-time buddy.
Maybe he even laughs a little when Peyton buys them matching rubber duckies.
The dependence he starts to feel is the unnatural part. The quiet when they're at a game and he's too tired. The emptiness he experiences when they go to bed without him.
***
The nightmares are a surprise. He's never been one to put much stock in the subconscious - when you were ready to get down to business, the thoughts would surface. Until then, they were zygotes of possibility.
When he wakes up soaked in sweat and fear the first night, he's relieved his cries were quiet enough - surely drowned out by whatever youthful and lusty was happening down the hall. He lays back down, panting and panicked and clinging to the tiny creaks of the mattress. The faint sounds of love his blanket as he falls back to sleep.
***
"I want to talk to you about something," Peyton says sternly. Breakfast (two bowls of cereal and orange juice - unburnable) is halted as she sits down at the table, hands folded like an angel librarian.
Derek puts down his spoon.
"You're having...bad dreams. I can hear you sometimes." She's embarrassed for him. blushing with his shame. "You shouldn't be dealing with that alone.
He shrugs, finds places to rest his eyes other than her face.
"I am alone." He holds up his hand to stall her protest, already growing and building indignantly. "I am."
She pouts for the remainder of their time together. She pouts as she kisses his cheek and latches onto Lucas' arm as they walk out the door. Derek watches them for a long time, long after they're just memories and light.
***
He cries out - he must've, he doesn't remember though. All he knows is that suddenly the light is on and Peyton sits on the edge of the bed, stroking his face.
She can't soak up his embarrassment now; he tries to turn onto his side but his legs refuse to allow him to be a coward. He's immobilized by his body and God, it burns every fiber of his being.
But eyes tightly shut, proud and tough and hard - that's his defense. Until he feels the bed dip and Peyton is next to him, making little sounds of comfort and distress both, wrapping herself around him. Before he can scold her, shoo her away, Derek hears another voice. Feels the bed dip some more. Hears Peyton's little whimper and Lucas' whisper to her.
To him.
"C'mon, everyone relax now. It's all gonna be okay."
***
Derek thinks its easier to be brave in a foxhole. In a tank. Behind a ridge with enemy fire burning your skin in near miss after near miss. Until it's no longer a miss... It's easier to dodge when you can see, hear, anticipate. It doesn't make any sense to fear what seems utterly beyond intelligent and rational thought.
He lies about the nightmare. He lies about the pain. But not the way he used to.
Now he sleeps closer to the wall, leaving a wider space for her. For him. For them. And when they think he's asleep - or maybe they don't care - and youth wins over everything else...when the bed rocks a little and he can smell/hear/taste their golden lust. Well maybe he feels guilty but he also feels a little less alone.
And if his sister's hands grip his arm tighter now and then in the dark. If she presses against him, soft and sensual and sweet - it's a reflex, nothing more.
***
One day he knows he'll stop pretending to be asleep. He thinks that's the day he'll know he's finally going to be all right.
Fandom: One Tree Hill
Rating: PGish
Word Count: 1478
Pairing: Lucas/Peyton, Derek (the brother)
Beta: the lovely and talented brynwulf
Warnings: Implied het/incest
Notes: For moosesal
They let him into their little world sometimes; he only stays for brief periods because the stark reality is he doesn't know how to handle the gentleness or the laughter. He knows what's tough and what's painful and what makes you a man. Golden light hurts his eyes so he can't look for too long.
***
He gets their letters, funny and silly and shared. They write in different colors on the same page. Every page is illustrated. Every one is signed Love, your sister even though it's from both of them. He saves every last one.
***
They send him pictures full of that golden light in the background and in their smiles. He doesn't quite envy them because he's not sure he's built to withstand the pressure of loving someone.
***
Being on leave means heading "home", something he doesn't have precisely so Derek flies to his sister, shows up at her door with a duffel bag and a strangely needy cloud over his head. She tackles him in the doorway, all smooth skin and tearful joy. She forgets to be stand-offish and afraid. It's like all her excitement has been unleashed and he's the eager recipient.
Lucas is standing behind her then and Derek gives the other man a fond smile over his sister's shoulder. They're both lucky men and they damn well know it.
***
The house is comfortable, almost too comfortable. Bed's too soft, food's too good. Derek tries to adapt to listening to music at all hours, watching them dance around the living room like careless children though he knows they aren't. Careless. Or children. He wishes he could throw off the cloak of responsibility and self-control and dance.
They beg and coax, ply him with beer they swear they aren't stealing sips of.
He slow dances with Peyton, catches Lucas' searing gaze when they turn and twirl in his direction.
***
He can hear them through the walls, two rooms away. The creak of the bed is unmistakable. At first that's enough, but Derek finds himself creeping down the hall, too wound up to bother with shame. That light is drawing him in, making him forget so much it's like he shed his skin when he walked through the door.
He listens at their door, listens for far too long, until it's over and soft laughter and talking replaces the moans. He listens until there's nothing but quiet and dawn is reaching through the window to tap him on the shoulder.
***
Peyton, when she's happy, is all hands and affection; she bounces between Derek and Lucas like a merry ping pong ball. Like a puppy without boundaries or cares in the world. She insists they go to the park, the record store. She drags them both by their hands onto the merry-go-round and onto the swings. She says, "Push me big brother" with such a radiant smile Derek wishes he had sunglasses. Magic sunglasses to turn down her glow.
***
When he leaves to go back to his unit she cries. Lucas ignores his outstretched hand and hugs him tightly then wraps his arms around Peyton. Strong and protective. Derek stares a little too long then picks up his bag and walks to the car, not turning back to wave.
He needs to start getting used to the world being dimmer.
***
He's heard of phantom pain when someone's lost a limb; Derek wonders what it's called when you lose everything but.
***
They release him from the VA hospital, a tightly wound collection of braced legs and crutches which torment him with each agonizing step. On the bus ride Derek hides them under his seat, glad to be free of what they represent at least for a few hours
As he struggles off the bus, golden sunlight blinds him. He's blinking when he feels her soft hands close around his arm.
"Hello big brother," Peyton whispers against his ear, rich and warm and honey and home.
***
He attempts to argue but is already on the losing side the first time he opens his mouth. Peyton's made up a room on the first floor. Lucas' mother wants to know how well he can handle a computer because she's got a backlog of stuff to take care of...it's all been worked out. Derek's got a new home now, whether he likes it or not.
***
She cooks - badly. Lucas brings dinner from the cafe every night to save Derek the pain of choking it all down. But that doesn't stop her from trying night after night, attempting to put food and fire together and create something edible.
Night after night Derek sits at the small round table, awkward shrapneled legs tucked away from sight, listening to their laughter and teasing and hating/loving every second.
***
Stoic is a way of life; it's his most natural state. He's proud and strong and ramrod straight, no matter how many bits of metal - from man and man - make up his legs. He doesn't ask for help, he says thank you calmly when Peyton anticipates an obstacle and moves it out of his way. He accepts Lucas being his new bath-time buddy.
Maybe he even laughs a little when Peyton buys them matching rubber duckies.
The dependence he starts to feel is the unnatural part. The quiet when they're at a game and he's too tired. The emptiness he experiences when they go to bed without him.
***
The nightmares are a surprise. He's never been one to put much stock in the subconscious - when you were ready to get down to business, the thoughts would surface. Until then, they were zygotes of possibility.
When he wakes up soaked in sweat and fear the first night, he's relieved his cries were quiet enough - surely drowned out by whatever youthful and lusty was happening down the hall. He lays back down, panting and panicked and clinging to the tiny creaks of the mattress. The faint sounds of love his blanket as he falls back to sleep.
***
"I want to talk to you about something," Peyton says sternly. Breakfast (two bowls of cereal and orange juice - unburnable) is halted as she sits down at the table, hands folded like an angel librarian.
Derek puts down his spoon.
"You're having...bad dreams. I can hear you sometimes." She's embarrassed for him. blushing with his shame. "You shouldn't be dealing with that alone.
He shrugs, finds places to rest his eyes other than her face.
"I am alone." He holds up his hand to stall her protest, already growing and building indignantly. "I am."
She pouts for the remainder of their time together. She pouts as she kisses his cheek and latches onto Lucas' arm as they walk out the door. Derek watches them for a long time, long after they're just memories and light.
***
He cries out - he must've, he doesn't remember though. All he knows is that suddenly the light is on and Peyton sits on the edge of the bed, stroking his face.
She can't soak up his embarrassment now; he tries to turn onto his side but his legs refuse to allow him to be a coward. He's immobilized by his body and God, it burns every fiber of his being.
But eyes tightly shut, proud and tough and hard - that's his defense. Until he feels the bed dip and Peyton is next to him, making little sounds of comfort and distress both, wrapping herself around him. Before he can scold her, shoo her away, Derek hears another voice. Feels the bed dip some more. Hears Peyton's little whimper and Lucas' whisper to her.
To him.
"C'mon, everyone relax now. It's all gonna be okay."
***
Derek thinks its easier to be brave in a foxhole. In a tank. Behind a ridge with enemy fire burning your skin in near miss after near miss. Until it's no longer a miss... It's easier to dodge when you can see, hear, anticipate. It doesn't make any sense to fear what seems utterly beyond intelligent and rational thought.
He lies about the nightmare. He lies about the pain. But not the way he used to.
Now he sleeps closer to the wall, leaving a wider space for her. For him. For them. And when they think he's asleep - or maybe they don't care - and youth wins over everything else...when the bed rocks a little and he can smell/hear/taste their golden lust. Well maybe he feels guilty but he also feels a little less alone.
And if his sister's hands grip his arm tighter now and then in the dark. If she presses against him, soft and sensual and sweet - it's a reflex, nothing more.
***
One day he knows he'll stop pretending to be asleep. He thinks that's the day he'll know he's finally going to be all right.