Anonymous

62

tw for hunson

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Marceline had a weird relationship with Christmas.

She loved the festivities; she owned around ten different ugly Christmas sweaters, she knew the lyrics to all of the famous Christmas songs, and could never decide which Christmas movie was her favourite. But Christmas time had always traditionally been family time. Family time never really worked out well for her.

She hadn't exactly psyched herself up for it this year. Living with Simon, she assumed it'd be a quiet Christmas. She'd offered to cook the dinner, and she was aware that she'd probably be living off leftovers for the next week, but she supposed turkey sandwiches were okay.

But she left the kitchen for a quick bathroom break, and when she walked past the living room door, saw Simon sat in there on the couch, chatting casually as ever to her father.

Her stomach turned to iron. Hunson hadn't noticed her, but obviously he knew she was here. She hadn't had to interact with him for months, aside from that awkward, tense conversation where he'd given her birthday money to her, and even then, Bonnibel had been there, holding her hand and glaring rather obviously at her father as he muttered something about spending the money on something worthwhile.

She realised she was staring, and the longer she stood in the doorway, the more likely it would be for him to notice her. She quickly forced herself to move, and once she was behind the locked bathroom door, she could breathe.

"He can't hurt me here," Marceline assured herself, splashing a little cold water on her face, "he can't. Not with Simon here."

She turned the tap off and when she met her own gaze in the mirror, saw her mother's eyes, she felt a new kind of determination wash over her. No. She wouldn't let him ruin her Christmas. He'd ruined all the others, and she was sick of letting him. She didn't want to give him any more power over her. She wouldn't go back to being so scared all the time.

It was a nice thought, but when she left the bathroom and someone grabbed her, her body tensed up naturally. Instinct. Nature always wins.

"Got you," Marshall said, and Marceline had to take a few moments to compose herself. It's not dad. It's not dad, just your brother. You're okay. "Merry Christmas, bitch."

"Merry Christmas, asshole," Marceline shoved him away, "did you really have to assault me?"

"Uh, yeah," He laughed, "that's what you get for taking the damn Xbox."

"You can go play on it all you want, it's in my room," Marceline rolled her eyes, and turned to go back to the kitchen, "Didn't know you were coming."

He followed her into the kitchen, probably to see how much food he could pilfer as she got it all out of the oven and plated it up. Marshall always ate enough for twenty people. "Dad wanted to. I think he misses you. I just miss your cooking."

She decided not to comment on that first part because she highly doubted her father missed her. More like missed punching her. "Well, I only made enough for me and Simon, so you two can fuck off."

"Harsh," Marshall put a hand over his heart and mock pouted at her, "Hope you don't talk to Bonnie like that."

"Of course I don't," Marceline said, "I actually like her. You, I just have to put up with out of familial obligation."

Marshall laughed. "Big words. She's obviously rubbing off on you."

"And that's a bad thing?" Marceline raised her eyebrows, and smirking a little to herself, added, "That's what father dearest wanted when he stuck us together for that project."