Brotherly Bonding [BoyxBoy]

Brotherly Bonding- 13

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This is Ash's POV!

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I'm covered in mud, my hands are cut and blistered, and I've never felt so weak in my life.

The last two days I've been getting off work and running my ass off to hand in resumés at various working establishments. It being Wednesday, I don't work. I asked yesterday if I could pick up another shift, but was shot down immediately. So today I sent in two more resumés at the only places I could think of off the top of my head and went in search of something else to do. Sitting at home doesn't help me.

Parking the car, I pull out my cellphone. That soon won't be mine. I decided to sell it ages ago. I stare at the screen. Yesterday I sent in a new resumé to all the places that had this phone as the calling number, not that I have gotten any calls yet.

Slowly, I delete everything saved. Messages and reminders, and all the pictures Aaron and I have taken. The only ones close to special I'd sent to my email address. I sigh as it informs me the automatic screensaver is in place. I already miss seeing Aaron on it.

I get out of the car and jog up the torturously long driveway. An elderly man answers my knock. "Hello sir, I'm here to drop off the phone you wanted?"

A second passes before recognition flashes across his face. "Oh, yes. Yes, my granddaughter will happy with it, won't she?"

"Very, sir. I'm sure of it." I get a shaky smile in return.

"Mister Duttweiler is fine, son. My, my," he says, stepping closer with scrutinizing eyes looking me up and down, landing on my biceps. "Aren't you a strapping young man!"

"Uh... yes?" He chuckles lightly.

"I'd say you are! How would you like a little job," he offers, "one that requires your muscle and brawn!"

"What do you have in mind?" I ask, my interest instantly piqued.

"Follow me round back," he says, taking a hat off the coat hanger behind the door. Why someone with such a huge house needs to buy a secondhand cellphone for his granddaughter, I'll never know. When we finally finish our trudge, he waves his hand wide to indicate what I guess to be his entire yard. "These rocks, they need moving. I'm too old to do this job, but you're young and strong. I'll pay you a pretty penny for it too."

I have to wince. I can't even imagine counting how many rocks are scattered all through his hundred acre yard, not to mention lifting them; and they're fucking huge! Well, some of them. The smallest are smaller than my head.

"There's a truck out front. What do you say?" 

"Yeah, I'll do it. How much is a pretty penny?"

The old man grins at me. "More than that phone, you reckon?"

I'd sure reckon.

This brings me back to: I'm covered in mud, my hands are cut and blistered, and I've never felt so weak in my life. I spend hours upon hours walking back forth, back and forth on that old man's property. I've made a drastic chunk in the stones but some still remain. I say I'll come again Friday as he pays me for the phone and my work so far. He pays well.

I'm only doing this because, despite what I've been telling midget, we need it. I realized a few days back that we're getting into a really tight spot. The phone wouldn't have even covered my share of the rent, the extra work finishes it and then makes the tiniest dent on Aaron's share. My paycheck isn't even considered mine anymore though, it's now whatever we can bring in gets thrown in the pot. I've talked about it to all the guys except Devon and Lucas. It's not Devon I'm worried about, either.

When I get home, I collapse. Not on the couch, or in my room. Just collapse. This kind of thing isn't good for me, I know it. It's killing me, but it's also keeping me alive.

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This is Aaron's POV!

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Ash looks beautiful in monocrome. As odd a thought that is for one's brother, that's just what springs to mind. For possibly the millionth time in my life I'm looking through my pictures, the ones stuck to my wall in an orderly-chaos kind of way. I stand from a distance, but this one catches my eyes. Maybe because I just placed it there and it feels strange with its newness, or because it's one of the only black and white pictures, or maybe it's just an outstanding photograph. I pluck it back off the wall for a second, then return it without lifting it closer to my eyes.

There's arguing, muffled, coming from downstairs. I've grown sick of listening to bickering, though we don't fight half as much as some people do, that I know. I'm lucky.

I'd be happy to say that if it weren't for Lucas. I swear he's becoming more of a spoiled child every day of his life. Very Benjamin Button-like.

I hear him exclaim loudly and stomp out of the house, not sparing us the thundering slam of the door. Neanderthal...

I decide to go down and check out the damage, and also to visit. I had heard Devon's voice, its drawling (even while angered), and I'm not sure he'll be around much longer during the day. He's always so tired, I won't be surprised if he just goes back to his old schedule of sleeping during the day.

The first time you meet Devon, you'll most likely be a little thrown off. His appearance is completely normal, attractive enough with a kind face. And were you to only hear it, his voice is normal as well. Both together, that's what causes the doubletake. Devon Bray is from what the guys call Hick Town, Tennessee. And he has the accent to boot. The southern drawl doesn't match persay, though once you get a good look at him you can't imagine the man without his copper hair and carefree, tooth-baring grin. He radiates a kind soul and a good time. You just kind of want to relax on a Saturday night, crack open a beer, and watch NASCAR until the sun comes up again. Funny enough that he secretly (secret in his mind) does have a soft spot for NASCAR, but then again- his family spoon fed him the basics since infanthood.

By the time I get downstairs, he has the scowl I imagined replaced with that big goofy grin. Just one of my idiots. Love them.

"Hey there, boy!" I smile politely at him. "How you doin'?"

"Uh, not bad."

"Not bad? Not bad is a word away from not good, Aaron, that's what my momma always said. What's troublin' ya?" Another reason Devon's one of my favourite big idiots. He's not really an idiot, and he can spot when something's wrong from a mile away.

"Nothing's wrong Dev, believe me!" He gives me a skeptical look. The bags under his are barely noticable when he does this, but he's never someone to complain about such things. Especially things he's forced himself into.

"Fine. But when bad becomes good, come to me, you hear?" Despite his sentimental words and warm intentions, he picks up an orange and thows it at me hard enough to hurt when it collides with my arm. "And the other guys too, we got your back."

"Thanks...." My face heats up.

"Don't get me started on that brother of yours, either!"

"What?" I ask, picking up the orange and giving him a curious look. He walks away though, ignoring me. "What do you mean?"

"Don't get me started on that brother of yours!" he repeats.

"No!" I say, trying to pull him back in a futile effort. "Get started on my brother! What do you mean?"

He laughs and elbows me off. "If you don't got it now, you will soon."

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The monocrome photo has found its way into my hand again. This time, I do look closer. How forced the smile looks up close! And the bags under his eyes. Heavy, tired bags. Worse than Devon's. But not amazingly, this isn't the first time the thought has crossed my mind that he may be overworking himself for many different reasons. What is rather amazing is that I'm just seeing now how much it's affecting him.

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