Wolfsbane: Troyler AU

In Alfie's Moment (2 of 4)

When Zoe motioned for us to wait outside of the entryway to her living room, I stopped immediately. Naturally, my brother isn't so good with instructions, so I made sure to grab him by the shoulder when I paused.

Tyler huffed at me, throwing a quick glare over his shoulder, but stopped short of following Zoe into the lit living room area, where she entered, calling out to Troye. The hallway where we waited was unlit, and though not dark, every thing within view in the hallway was dim and blurred at the edges.

"I have a bad feeling about this, Alfie," Tyler said suddenly, turning to look at me. Looking at him, I felt that brief moment of surprise again that I'd felt before when I first saw him, noticing how uncharacteristically disheveled my brother looked, in sweats and a holey t-shirt, his hair every which way but where he had placed it. It was funny. But also alarming.

Before responding to him, I gazed into the living room after Zoe, watching as she walked in, the ends of her ponytail swishing about, still calling out to Troye and getting no response. Weird. Maybe he'd stepped out of the apartment. It could be a better set up for him to walk in and see us already seated, comfortable, not obtrusive or muscly or intimidating, you know? Maybe he'd be more likely to listen if we looked like a gathering of pals and not an intervention or something.

Shifting my eyes to Tyler, I leaned against the wall outside the entryway, effectively cutting Zoe from my view, so I could focus on my brother. He did, indeed, look worried.

"What kind of bad feeling, Ty?" I questioned. He mirrored my stance, leaning on the wall next to me, and crossed his arms across his chest before closing his eyes and letting out a deep breath.

"I don't know. Like, a queasy feeling. Like I need to vomit."

I raised an eyebrow at him. "Interesting."

He cracked one eyelid, leaned his head slightly, and peered at me, one-eyed.

"Why do you say interesting?"

"Well," I said, shrugging, "You being queasy isn't terribly descriptive, so I figured I would say interesting to show the necessary amount of like... brotherly listening skills, you know?" I grinned at him. He sneered.

"Really, I swear you're like, the mailman's son or something. You are the weirdest person I've ever met. Besides mom. Then again, maybe you are really her son. Maybe I'm the one that's the mailman's son. Maybe I'm not even blood-related to you guys at all! Maybe-"

"Jesus, Tyler," I cut him off, "Why don't you tell me more about the bad feeling you have? Not that I don't love listening to you complain, of course. Just... the bad feeling. Elaborate."

Tyler closed his eyes again, his shocking blue hair a deeper, dusky color in the lightless hallway. He didn't speak for a few seconds, and I waited patiently as he collected his thoughts.

"It's like the time you got hit by the van when you were seven. The moments right before that, actually." Tyler spoke softly, and I leaned in closer to hear him, curious. Tyler had certainly been there that day, sitting on the steps of our house listening to music, while I dribbled a basketball on the sidewalk. I had lost control of the ball and chased it into the street. Never a thought to look either way as I dashed after the runaway ball.

I mean, I remember getting hit by the panel van, being clipped in the stomach and flying through the air. I vaguely remembering landing as well, the jolting impact of seven-year old bones with cement, a violent cracking of those bones, and a burst of blinding pain before I went unconscious. After that, I don't remember anything else until I woke up several days later, bandaged, casted, and hooked up to an intravenous drip in the hospital.