Get out of the way (short Story- Canon)

!Warning!

angst


    The subtle buzz flared from the television with each spoken line of dialogue, the battered old box sounding as though it had a nest of bees within. Though, when one had been sitting watching it for hours the gentle fuzz of each sound began to mix in, no longer detectable. The small screen glowed bright across the room from Rory, his eyes having adjusted to the harsh beam of light as the sun had fallen slowly outside.

    “Tis but a scratch!” The night dressed in black insisted upon the screen.

    A raspy chuckle slipped from Rory's lungs, a smile tugging on either side of his lips while a white blunt dangled from them.

    “A scratch? your arms off.”

    gentle buzzing

    “No it isn't.”

    fuzzed chattering

    and occasionally, it was broken up by the graveled cackle pressing from Rory’s blackened lungs.

    What luck to find himself alone tonight, away from the other two. It was rare now that he could live in silence and indulge in Monty Python. No sudden outbursts or wailing of woes, and certainly no scoldings or door slamming.

    With a fogged mind and his eyes entranced by the screen, Rory lacked the presence to recognize the jingling of keys in the front door. Muffled chatter was just beyond the wood. The lock within gave that familiar sshk of sliding into place before the door was pressed open.

    “-I’m supposed to have it!” Jobie’s voice was clear now, frantic. The natural slight grit that his tone carried was heightened.

    Rory kept his gaze forward, though felt his joy lower as the door came closed. God- they were always so negative now. Why not just sit down and have a smoke? Watch TV? They complicated the most simple of things- such as coming home from a grocery store run.  Rory glanced to his side as Gene’s heftier footsteps passed the couch, his large frame briefly casting a shadow over Rory. Jobie was following close behind, his steps far lighter and his shadow passing briefly.

    “It’s not for you! Gene!” Jobie insisted.

    Rory let out a slow sigh of smoke through his nose as Gene pried open the door to Rory’s own room.. and Jobie’s too. The light soon flicked on, casting Gene and Jobie’s figures across the living room floor.

    Rory looked forward again.

    “Fuck you! Fuck you, how could you get it- you dont! You can't! Stop it!” Jobie now shouted, his raised voice fading as he followed an unresponsive Gene into the room.

    Rory felt the slight tingling joy that had once teased his mind completely fade. He was blank now, almost empty as he stared forward to the TV, wishing to once again immerse himself. Jobie ist yelling, Gene isn't home. He’s watching TV, and soon the two of them will shut up and go to bed. Just an hour or so.

    The rumble of the closet door. Shuffling. Shouting.

    “No- It's mine! I’m supposed to- Gene! Gene stop!” The voice was now one of desperation, completed by a crack.

    Gene’s shadow stretched and reached into the living room as he emerged, his stubborn silence being carried with him as he crossed the TV.

    Rory leaned to the side, disregarding Gene mindlessly. Though a twinge of lazy annoyance pricked at him as Jobies far smaller frame invaded, taking Gene’s arm and yanking him. Gene held a triped thin scarf in his hand. He literally couldn't see the TV now.

    “Gene- please! Give it back!” He yelped, his throat straining from a resistance to cry. “Its mine!-”

    “No it's not!”

    Gene’s voice was far louder. Far deeper and broader. It filled the room with its richness, and with its spite. He was turned to Jobie now, his arm raised and straining against Jobie’s grasp.

    “This is his, Jobie! His room is not a fucking donation bin-”

    “I’m supposed to have it-”

    “You're not supposed to have anything- you didn't even know him!”

    “I knew him better than- I know all of you better than yourselves!” Jobie started, Gene scowling at him in disgust. “You have an arrrow Gene- not a circle like me!’

    “Youre not a fucking prophet.” Gene’s tone lowered coldly. “Did you want him to get shot Jobie?”

    Gene now held Jobie, the dynamic having shifted. Jobie attempted to pull away while Gene insisted he stay.

    “No!” Jobie ached out.

    “Then why didn't you stop him, Jobie! Why didn't you stop him? Why weren't you there- why weren't you there when Ace needed you! Why weren't you there!”

    Jobie’s tears reflected the light of the Television, each drop streaming down his cheek as he yanked and jutted to get out of Gene’s grasp.

    The room once again filled with silence, all for the gentle buz of dialogue and the little whimpers escaping Jobie.

    Rory sat still, his blank pale eyes staring forward past the two creatures scuffling before him.

    They’re blocking the TV… Move.

    “It's because you’re not a god Damn prophet Jobie.”

    Gene released Jobie’s wrist, the smaller boy immediately submitting to his inflamed grief. Jobie immediately decayed to his knees, the boy letting out horrendous sobs, his throat sounding as though it was straining to handle the exhales of sorrow.

    Gene stood silent above him, his chest slowly rising and falling as his lover gripped onto the ankles of his jeans. His water line was pricked with tears, his once defensive stance softening. He looked to Rory, but Rory did not look back.

    Rory leaned to the side once more, wishing to see around Gene to the TV.

    ‘Don't look at me… Dont look at me- just let me watch TV.”

    and to his convenience, Gene’s gaze fell to Jobie. The large male began to kneel down. His briefly threatening arms became warm once again, encasing Jobie and pulling him in.

    “I’m sorry… I’m sorry.” Gene muttered.