Smells Like Teen Angst (M. Wheeler) REWRITTEN

-pt. ii

Hey everybody! Please enjoy part 2! It shall include a little peak into the greater depths of Dylan's powers (and its dangerous potential :P). Hope you like!

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Dylan had outright refused to speak to Billy.

The minute they got home, he stormed out of the vehicle and went to his room without a word. He was too angry and bothered to even acknowledge him.

His brother's reaction to his silent treatment had evolved from indifferent, to annoyed, to apologetic, to angered, and then just plain exasperated.

It was come nighttime and Dylan still wasn't talking to him. It was starting to make Billy feel remorseful.

And he despised that feeling.

"Come on Dyl, I'm sorry I nearly ran over your nerd friends," he'd "apologized" numerous times, "you can't keep ignoring me, Dyl."

Like hell he couldn't. Dylan was soon gonna go trick or treating with Max, and come back to his room and sleep away the irritation he'd accumulate during trick or treating. He just wanted this fucking day to be done.

Billy groaned.

"Dyl—fuck it, I'm coming in," he grumbled, opening the door that he'd surprisingly waited a long time behind. Billy might be a dick but he'd always respected Dylan's privacy—which included his wish for his door always to be closed. But whenever Dylan was upset like this, he'd sometimes break the rule.

Dylan grumbled but said nothing, chin still rested on his folded arms in front of him. Billy sighed and sat down on his bed near his feet.

"You know I'm postponing showing up to a party because of this shit, right?" He told him plaintively.

Dylan scoffed.

"Gee, poor you," he spoke dryly.

Billy grunted. Damn, he ached for a cig right now but he knew Dylan didn't like the smoke smell in his room.

"Look, I already apologized like a billion times! Shit, I even apologized to Max and got a punch and a door slammed in my face!" He exclaimed, surprising Dylan—he hadn't expected him to actually apologize to Max. "What more do you want from me?"

There was an eery silence amongst the two of them before Dylan slowly pulled himself into a sitting position.

"Why'd you do it?" He asked, speaking in Gaelic by accident. Sometimes it just slipped out.

Billy sighed, having the decency to feel a tad guilty—not for almost killing the kids, but because his brother was upset about it for some reason.

"You know why," he replied in the same language, head lowered.

Dylan gave him a long suffering glance. "You need to work on that," he said, making Billy frown.

"I've been trying Dyl," he retorted, his voice sounding on edge, "you know it's been harder ever since—"

"You found out we were moving," he sighed, gathering Billy's hand within his own. He knew why his brother was so gruff and angry all the time—it was the same reason why Dylan himself was so jaded and distant all the time. They embodied two natural responses/defense mechanisms to abuse: assimilation and reclusiveness.

Billy looked at him and grunted.

"Great, now I've gotten you on your depressed shit," he grumbled, speaking back in English.

"Aren't I always?" Dylan asked, though his tone was so deadpan it barely constituted as a question. Billy laughed, running a hand through his curls. He looked at the boy and rose his eyebrows expectantly.