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08

Jan

>Dave: Take this situation into your own hands.

You hum low in your throat, drumming your long, thin fingers against the wood of your desk. You stare blankly ahead, the dusty cogs of your mind slowly working through the cobwebs and rust formed over years of drinking heavily and ignoring any rational thought.

Yes, you’ve been absent a lot, and you know Dane must feel at least a little bitter toward you. You’re pretty sure the neglect of a ward is considered child abuse, anyway. You would rather not have anything else for CPS to peg you with.

But at the same time, you’ve distanced yourself purposely. Only vaguely do you realize this, a small voice in the back of your head trying to assure you of your reasoning, but you squash it before it can truly form into a cognizant thought at the forefront of your mind. You would rather not broach the subject at all.

Lifting your near empty bottle of Jack Daniels, you place your lips against the rim of the top of the bottle neck, pausing as you taste the whiskey on your mouth.

A sudden idea plants itself firmly in your brain and you place the alcohol back down, no longer craving the taste.

You are determined to spend time with your brother, whether he likes it or not.

Hopefully he likes it.

It would suck if he didn’t.

Still, he seems hell bent on rejecting the idea of a road trip, saying he’d much rather stay curled up in a pathetic little ball, moping his winter away and pouting at tumblr childishly.

So you’re not going to give him a choice.

You push back from your desk and slip out of the living room, treading carefully across the carpet, completely silent. You’re met with a closed door when you move to Dane’s room, but it doesn’t make much of a difference. The inhuman speed at which you can move makes it so that opening the door and darting into his room takes nearly less than a second, and the door would be shown as just barely opening.

For a moment you hesitate, tilting your head at you watch him stare despondently at his computer screen, fingers idly trailing across the keyboard as he undoubtedly formulates some long winded reply to whoever has been unlucky enough to initiate conversation with him at a time like this.

Quietly as ever, you make a swift movement toward his bed and practically tackle him, jumping onto his bed and tangling the both of you up in his sheets.

"We’re going on a road trip, dickbag, get your bone yard ass up or I’m going to hijack your shit and drag you out myself! We’re taking the Vanquish, by the way."