Um okay so someone inboxed me on my main account about writing the scene where Rio's brother pushes him out of the window (it's mentioned in chapter 12 of Swan Song, which is why I'm putting it under the Swan Song prompts). But I went through my inbox and couldn't find the prompt, so if that was you, please let me know! D:
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“How about now?”
“Rio, shut up.”
“…Now?”
“One more time, and I’m going to hurt you.”
“…”
“Don’t you da-”
“Now?”
Hank let out a frustrated growl, raking a hand through his hair. He shot me a dangerous glare and I smiled innocently.
“No, not now, not ever,” he snapped.
“Aw, come on Hank. Can I have the remote now?” I asked.
“No. I get the remote,” he said. NCIS was playing on the TV, which was fine since I liked that show, but I just wanted to annoy Hank. He had been home for a while now, but he tended not to talk much. Annoying him was the best way to get him talkative.
“I hate mom for getting knocked up with you,” Hank groaned.
“I wasn’t an accident,” I said, grinning at him.
“I know. But you were a mistake,” Hank grumbled. “Now, shut up kid.”
“Kid?” I huffed. “I’m 15!”
“And I’m 19, which means that I’m much older and wiser than you, and therefore I get the remote,” he said.
I leaned back. I was sitting on the top of the couch, in front of the window. The window was thrown open wide, letting in the light breeze.
Hank had a hoodie on despite how warm it was outside. When I was younger, I had never understood why he wore hoodies even when it was hot out. But now I knew. I had seen the marks where he had stuck needles.
“We’ve been watching NCIS all day,” I said. “Let me pick a show.”
“You like NCIS,” Hank said without looking at me. “So shut up and deal with it.”
I grabbed a pillow and chucked it at Hank’s face. It hit his face and fell into his lap. He turned to glare at me.
“Rio,” he snarled. “I’m going to freaking kill you.”
“Nah,” I said, leaning back casually. “You’d miss me too much.”
“Hardly,” he said, turning his attention back to the TV.
I watched him, trying not to get frustrated as he fell back into his silent mood. He was staring at the TV, but I could tell he wasn’t paying attention. His eyes told me that he was faraway. Slipping back into the fog we had lost him to in the first place.
