Bran moves to a new home far from his beloved buildings and city to be surrounded by dirt. This is supposed to be good for his health, right? H/C Slash
“This bites!” Bran growled as he glared out his window at the seemingly endless fields of nothing blurring past him at a high speed—at least, to him it was nothing.
Cities were full of things to do, people pushing around, mingling anonymously in crowded places where you could barely see your own feet. Music clashing in alleys between each club. In Bran’s mind; if there weren’t any buildings, it was useless.
“I’m aware that you think that, Honey,” his mother sighed with a light grin as everyone else just ignored him, used to his antics.
“Yeah, so long as you know.” That said, Bran rolled his eyes and fidgeted with his belt, yanking on his shirt sleeves through habit.
Bran knew full well he was being ignored, so he just griped in his own head, ‘Why the hell do we have to move out here? What the hell are we going to do?! It’s not like we can’t afford better! What with Dad being a doctor and all. For Christ’s sake! Why are we moving to a farming town?!’ His mother had said that the fresh air and scenery would be good for him. ‘What was he supposed to do? Dance among the flowers?’ He was gay, but he wasn’t THAT gay. In fact, he didn’t even like flowers.
“Why don’t you stop bitching?” Lorna chirped from beside her brother, “You haven’t shut up the entire way here.”
“Oh, Bran,” Mary, Bran’s mother, sighed again, “The fresh air will be good for your lungs!”
Bran thought, ‘Her lame excuse, once again.’—and then, called out loud: “Oh come on! I have asthma! I’m not dying!”
“Says you—being hospitalised for a week. I don’t know how many times I’ve told you to keep your inhaler with you at all times!”
“I’m sorry! I forgot! Jeez, give it a fucking rest,” Bran muttered and turned back towards the window as his mother switched into bitch-mode. Or, full bitch mode, as she rarely ever switched it completely off anymore.
“Well, I think it’s a good thing we moved. We needed to get you away from the bad crowd you fell in with. I told you that band thing was no good for your health—”
“Why don’t you just fucking bite me—”
“Enough!” Dave, Bran’s older brother, interjected. “Both of you, please! We’re here,” Dave sighed tiredly as they pulled into a long dirt driveway and turned off the engine. Bran couldn’t believe it; they were actually going to live on a farm.
“Ah! You finally showed up!” their father’s voice entered the fray. He rushed out to them as they exited the car, and embraced his wife.
“Sam! How’s the house? Everything in order?” Mary inquired and Sam nodded, kissed her on the cheek before, much to Bran’s chagrin, ruffling his youngest son’s hair.
“Don’t touch me,” Bran growled and ducked out of the way.
“Oh, cheer up!” his father laughed and Bran scowled at him “Everyone, I’d like to introduce you to Devon. He lives on the farm we’re sharing the property with,” Sam pointed over to a small, rundown house not too far from their own. For the first time, they all noticed the young man behind Sam, his hands busy trying to wipe oil onto an already oil-covered rag. He couldn’t be more than a year or two older than Bran himself.
“Oh, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Devon..” Mary extended her hand, but Devon just raised his up apologetically, gesturing to his oil-sloshed hands, jeans, and bare chest. He wasn’t so hesitant about talking, though.
“It’s nice to meet ya, as well,” Devon flashed a grin that had Lorna tugging at her clothing to show more skin.
‘--a frenzied bird pushing up its tail feathers—not quite ‘feathers’ in this case—to try and impress a male into mating…Slut,’ Bran thought before looking back at Devon. He had to admit, he was hot—He really hoped no one had noticed him drooling as his eyes took in the black, greasy smudges over taut, tan skin. At that moment, his thoughts were probably worse than Lorna’s.
“This is my wife, Mary, this is my daughter, Lorna, my eldest, Dave, and this bucket of sunshine is Bran,” Sam ruffled his son’s hair again and Bran pulled away, almost flinching as he had not expected the contact.
“Can’t you keep your hands to yourself!?” Bran snapped, cringing inward at how pissed off he sounded, but hell! He WAS pissed! “Can I go?”
“Oh, be polite, Bran!” Mary chastised as Bran turned and headed off for the house. Sam just frowned, and Devon raised an eyebrow.
“The rooms are upstairs. Choose one so we can get our stuff unpacked,” Sam called after his son and received a backwards wave. That was cool, he got to choose his room first. Well, Dina was technically the first, but, that didn’t matter, it was Dina--she wasn’t going to try and stick him with the smallest room out of spite.
“Brany!” the five year old girl rushed over to her brother and attached herself to his leg, “I missed you!” Bran grinned, his bad mood lifting away as he gave the girl a hug, lifting her off the ground and giving her a little spin. If his mother saw him do that, he would never hear the end of it. He hated it. He wasn’t a china doll! He wouldn’t break from playing with his little sister.
“Hey, Dina, come help me chose a room, alright?” Bran asked. Dina nodded and giggled, grabbing her brother by the hand and pulling him up the stairs. He had no idea where she got all her energy from.
“Take this one!” Dina pulled him through a door, “You’ll like it! I know! It’s got a big closet! And your one friend said you liked being in the closet! So I thought that a bigger closet would be more comfortable … ‘cus the only closet we had at home was the one in the hall; it was small,” Bran blinked down at his little sister, cracking a giant smile and doubling over to laugh as she ran over to the closet and yanked the door open, inquiring if he liked it. It was so cute! And so naïve! He wondered if his sister would like him as much when she figured out what that closet thing had actually meant. Hell, as long as he could influence her against their parent’s Catholicism, maybe he could keep her as a friend? He really didn’t want to lose his sister.
“Well?!” Bran head his sister squeal and he snapped from his thoughts as the little girl skipped over, her long blond curls bouncing about her face. She was such a beauty, everything about her and her slightly tan skin, golden curls and bright blue eyes was perfection. So unlike him and his scruffy brown hair, pale skin, and bland green eyes. Some people had all the luck
“Do you like it?! I thought you would! Its closet is even bigger than papa’s! And mine’s right across from it!”
Bran grinned and kneeled down in front of her,—even if he didn’t have too far to go as he was incredibly short. Compared to the rest of his family, that was—he carded a hand through her hair and allowing her to climb into his lap.
“Of course I do! I love it! This’ll be my room, and you’re welcome anytime,” he bopped her on the nose and she giggled, “Let’s go downstairs and wait for our stuff, maybe get some milk for you?” Dina nodded cheerily and held out her arms to be carried. Bran grimaced and got to his feet, hefting her in his arms and carrying her carefully down the stairs. By the time he got to the bottom he was feeling slightly winded, and when he set the heavy five year old on a chair in the kitchen, he had to take a couple deep breaths. God he was weak.
Bran glanced around the kitchen. The place was huge compared to the apartment they had shared before—he had really hated sharing a room with Dave … maybe the move wasn’t as bad as he thought? Even If he would really miss his band.
“Alright, milk or apple juice?” Bran pulled the fridge door open, shuffling his socked feet against the dull wood floor.
“Juice please!” Dina grinned. Bran complied and handed a juice box to the little girl, hoisting himself onto the counter to watch her suck a the box, not really noticing the small grin that spread across his face as she picked up a discarded crayon and began scribbling in a colouring book, humming softly and tunelessly. She was such a happy kid. Was he like that once? Bran’s smile turned slightly melancholic as he began to play with the black dress shirt he was wearing. His mother hated that he wore it; she had bought it for a funeral and he had just loved it. He wore it over T-shirts, not liking the look of it buttoned up, and had even let some chick he used to know sew a big red X on the back. He usually wore it for gigs and band practice. Not that that mattered anymore. He had caught his mother trying to get rid of it once and freaked on her … especially when she had shown him the ‘better’ clothing she had bought for him. Beige khakis and a blue polo shirt. Who the fuck would wear something like that?! Seriously, if they didn’t want their children to come out gay, that was not the way to dress them. Bran snapped out of his thoughts as he heard his parents come in, struggling with boxes.
“Oh, thank you Devon,” Lorna fluttered her eyelashes as he held the door open. Oh, damn, he was wearing a shirt … or, maybe that was a good thing?
“Bran, could you come help us?” Sam called from the living room and Bran jumped from the counter, trotting in so silently that Lorna jumped and squealed when she turned around and he was just standing there, slouching like usual, with his hands in his pockets, “Oh, there you are, here, could you take some of your stuff up to your room?”
“Sam! Of course he can’t!” Mary reprimanded her husband, and he just blinked at her. Devon looked slightly confused as he looked from the worried mother to the blank faced husband. Then he took in the pissed look on Bran who bent over and picked up a box with his name scrawled on it.
“Mary, I think he can handle a little manual labour.”
“Out of the question! No, Bran, I don’t want you lifting heavy objects!” Mary straitened and was going to move to her son’s side when he flipped her off and held the box by one hand, moving for the stairs.
“It’s a box of fucking pillows, why don’t you shove it.”
And so it began. He always wondered why his mother wouldn’t just fuck off. He had finally gotten her to loosen up a little and then that asthma attack had to screw it up. He had barely had any for over a year! And it wasn’t even an exertion induced one. It had been that stupid chick and her gaudy perfume. She knew he was allergic, maybe she could have sprayed in the opposite direction and not into his face?
Bran tossed the box of pillows into his room and wished he had the other two. What? He liked pillows. Hopefully the moving trucks would come soon so that he could get his bed. He hated sleeping on the floor. Hell, his mother would probably try and make him use all the blankets they had, claiming it was bad for his health to sleep on the floor. Too much dust or something, maybe?
“Hey, your mum said these were yours?”
Bran jumped as he nearly walked into the other guy on his way around the hallway corner. He blinked up at the farmer and looked at the box with the word ‘Books’ scrawled on it with a raised eyebrow. Yep, they were definitely his, no one else in the house read. He doubted his siblings COULD read. Bran nodded and beckoned Devon towards the room he had chosen. Devon set the box down as if it weighed nothing and Bran had to marvel at it. He probably wouldn’t even have been able to lift it … or been allowed to.
“Alright, I’ll go get the other two … you must really like to read.”
‘Oh great! Small talk,’ Bran gave the man a fake and very dry smile.
“No, I just think their covers are pretty,” Bran let the smile slip from his face as he watched Devon. The other blinked at Bran for a moment before grinning broadly.
“Alright, I get it, had no choice in the move did ya? Well, maybe next time we meet you won’t be so cranky,” Devon grinned and turned to leave.
“Unlikely,” Bran huffed. Well, he shouldn’t bother trying to go back down and help, so he decided to unpack some of his books, make sure they were ok, and hide the ones he didn’t want his parents to know he had. The only place he had to hide them was his closet. How fitting. Even his books would be in the closet! He wished he could just destroy that proverbial enclosure, but his mother would freak, probably burn his books too. It was bad enough she forced him to go to church. Yes, only him, no one else had to go, and it pissed him off.
Although … that was another good thing about the move. Even if he didn’t like change, at least he would never have to see Father Patry again.
‘Fucking pedophile.’ Bran grimaced and placed his hand over his eyes, swearing softly. It was a good thing he was on his knees, or he probably would have fallen. Bran snapped out of his thoughts as a box was set down near him. He swore mentally. How long had Devon been there? Bran made certain not to make eye contact as he deftly flipped a nearby book over so that the condemning picture wasn’t visible to prying eyes. Why had he gotten a book so obvious? Maybe he should have put another cover over it? Devon nodded to him and he just scowled in return. Well, at least he wasn’t obsessing about being molested by a priest anymore … he was just annoyed. He really didn’t like people.
Bran finished hiding the evidence shortly after Devon had brought in the last of his books, he showed up shortly after with a box of blankets and a teddy bear.
“I heard this stuff was yours too …” Devon smirked as Bran snatched away his teddy bear and tossed it over with his pillows, now arranged in the corner. Devon held up the blankets, “Here ya are, milady, would you like me to arrange them around for ya?” Devon grinned and Bran looked back towards him slowly.
“What the fuck did you just call me? You know what, never mind, fuck you! Get the hell away from me,” Bran hissed dangerously, overreacting as usual. He was not in the mood to deal with being made fun of by someone who had barely known him for five minutes.
“Wow, kid, I was just kiddin’!” Devon looked startled, and a little guilty. Bran had turned away again and now spun back around, placing his hands on his hips and glaring. Devon got the idea and left, mumbling, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you,” Bran almost felt bad at the sheepish look on the guy’s face, but ignored the emotion and turned to pull the last of his parent safe books from their boxes, not liking them cramped up and able to be tousled around. It was bad for the spines.
He piled his books near a wall, leaving a large enough space to make a nest out of his blankets and pillows. He grabbed Mr. Squishy—yes, Mr. Squishy—and curled up into a ball. He promptly passed out.
Bran woke some time later to a hand nudging his hip and someone calling his name softly. Bran climbed from his dreams like a balloon held under water, he slapped the hand away as he sat up and smacked his face into someone’s chin. Bran cried out lightly and held his hand over his stinging nose.
“What the fuck,” Bran swore a couple more times as he checked to make sure his nose wasn’t bleeding and ran a hand through his messed up hair, “Didn’t I tell you to stay away from me? And keep your hands to yourself.” Devon frowned as he bounced slightly on his hunches.
“Your mum sent me to get ya, finished unpackin’ and she wants ya to make dinner. If I can’t touch you how else do I wake ya?”
Bran growled as he got to his feet and straitened his clothing.
“I didn’t say not to touch me, I said to keep your hands off of me. You could have kicked me or something,” Bran shrugged as he left the room, Devon following behind with a shrug and confusion creasing his forehead.
“Oh, there you are sweetie! I was beginning to get worried! Could you start dinner for us?” Bran’s mother smiled warmly at him and moved to give him a hug. He side stepped and his mother’s smile faded slightly, “I’ve asked Devon to stay for dinner, I was hoping you two could be friends,” Bran gave Devon a sideways look through his bangs and grimaced.
“Yah, what ever,” he moved for the kitchen and didn’t stop even when his mother called out for him. He would be safe in the kitchen; his mother hated it there, usually because of the smell. She hated the scent of garlic and onions … so Bran made a point of cooking with them almost every night.
“Bran?” Devon had followed, “Are you alright?”
“Just peachy. Now don’t fucking talk to me,” Bran made a point of turning his back on the stupid farmer and rifled through the fridge, coming up with his most favourite objects in the world. Garlic and onions. He was in a horrible mood and would be sure to make something that smelled especially strong! As a last though he turned to Devon, “Could you leave me alone in here? I don’t like people hovering when I’m cooking,” Devon blinked at him. ‘What is he? Slow?’ Devon shrugged and hopped off of his stool, leaving the kitchen without a backwards glance.
“FINALLY! Peace and quiet!” Bran sighed, rubbing his temples as he grabbed the olive oil and some pasta. He was really glad his father had thought to stock the kitchen. but he really did wish the rest of his stuff would come soon. Bran grimaced. ‘Ya, so Devon can carry it for me!’ Maybe he could carry his school bags for him too! And then his mother could go to school with him and make him some friends! And make sure he ate his veggies at school while wiping up any fucking drool that spilled from his lips because he was just that USELESS and couldn’t do ANYTHING for himself.
Bran yanked his hand back from the cutting board as his thoughts caused him to be careless and he sliced into his finger. He pressed a tea towel over his finger and continued what he had been doing previous, completely unfazed by the blood and the pain. The only problem was that now he would have to hide the towel and keep his hand out of sight or he wouldn’t even be able to COOK anymore. And that wasn’t something he was willing to give up.
Bran finished cooking reluctantly, unwrapping his finger and shoving the bloody rag into his pocket. He slapped a Band-Aid over his finger, regardless of the fact that he had to put the sticky part over most of the cut and when he peeled it off, it would probably bleed again. But hell, maybe it would scar? He liked scars. Well … on himself, that was.
Bran sat cross legged in his new room on a pile of pillows, he had been staring at his wall for the past ten minutes since he had gotten distracted from his novel. Why was he even thinking of this? Devon had gone home after he yelled at him in the kitchen, completely forgoing dinner with them and telling Bran’s mother that he had to be home to see to the last of the house chores. Bran should have been glad. Except for the fact that he had then had to go through the entire dinner listening to his mother talk about how wonderful Devon was, and how if Bran was less of a bitch and a little more friendly he could have some friends.
‘Ya, what ever, I HAD had friends. But she drove them all away and kept me from them.’ Who the fuck wanted to go to their friends house to listen to their mother preach about God? By the end it had been only his band who were willing to visit him in his own house … but they were gone now. Bran pulled his knees to his chest and let a couple sobs wrack his small frame. He had hated where he had lived, hated it with his life, but at least he hadn’t been alone!
Bran snapped his head up to look at his younger sister. No, maybe not completely alone, but his sister still didn’t understand. Probably never would. He couldn’t leave his problems on her, but, he had never been able to do that with his band either, so, maybe he had always been alone? “Are you ok?”
“Yah, sweets, I’m fine.”
“Want a hug?” Dina asked. Bran nodded and held his arms open, allowing the girl to climb into his lap as he pulled his sorrows away from the surface, not wanting his sister to see him sad, it always made her sad, “Can I sleep here?”
“Oh, sure sweets. But, only for tonight. Okay?” Bran told her in a low tone. Dina grinned and nodded, running off to get her pillow as he rearranged his blankets into bedding suitable for two. Dina came in just as he finished, running up to him and jumping on the make shift bed, giggling about how it was just like camping. Within ten minutes of giggling and childish conversation Dina dropped of to sleep, leaving Bran to slip back into his self hating thoughts until he was interrupted once again. this interruption less welcome than the last.
“Bran? Have you seen your sister?”
“She’s right here,” Bran replied in an irritated and hushed tone, not quite sure why he was being bitchy to his father. He actually liked his father.
“Okay, thanks. Your mother sent me to make sure you were comfortable—”
“What ever, I’m fine—”
“Bran, I’m going to talk to her, alright?” Sam spoke softly. Bran looked up at his father as the man sighed and leaned against the door frame, “She’s just worried … but she is overreacting,” Bran growled dangerously.
“Worried? I don’t fucking care if she’s worried, go away,” Bran flopped onto his stomach, using Mr. Squishy as a pillow and waited for his father to leave before shutting his eyes and leaving the rest of the world behind.