Or maybe this was something that had been building for a while. Declan was in no mood to be kind, lately; he was furious with Ronan, furious that one day the home nurse called him and said your mother is missing with a panic that almost made Declan drive back to the Barns to check himself, as if his mother - turned off, switched off, put into storage - had rolled under a bed or into a closet without anyone noticing. And then, during the panicked hour of phone calls to Ronan and the police and the consideration of calling Matthew, the lawyer called with they found another will and suddenly the panic was replaced with bottomless, unfathomable rage.
Ronan had done it. Ronan had figured out the secret tics and the secret realities of their father's secrets, the coded messages left for him. Niall had left all this to Ronan, bequeathed him a mystery and a legacy and everything else, and had left Declan as the gatekeeper to it. As the sole thing keeping Ronan from breaking the rules to his game too soon.
He had thought he had wasted all his rage at his father and his brother, but he was wrong, because he was still furious, for days, for weeks.
The only thing that kept him civil was Matthew, Matthew who had been through too much, Matthew who would sit in church and hold his head up and occasionally nap a little, and Matthew who held Declan's hand a little more tightly than usual before Ronan arrived, usually a couple of minutes late and looking like a thug.
But then one morning Ronan was later than usual, and Matthew was asleep more heavily than usual, and suddenly Declan felt a twinge of fear strike through him; two years of possibilities suddenly catching up, his father's game no longer funny, his damaged younger brother suddenly the broken thing that could spiral the few good things in Declan's life completely out of his reach. It was easy to say he was no one's favorite, but Matthew never treated him that way.
Ronan showed up and the fear had eased but the anger had not, and it culminated in a fight, this one more verbal than anything. "You have to stop fighting, you're going to end up dead in a ditch somewhere," Declan had said, snarling it.
Ronan's laugh wasn't really a laugh. Ronan didn't laugh at Declan, Ronan made a noise like a raven, a threat and a promise all at once. A war-cry. Something that should have been brittle but in Ronan's mouth was harsh, and sludgy. "Fuck you," was the reply, unsurprising, honest. "Go back to D.C. and fuck off," he growled, "I didn't ask you to come back."
The funny thing is that those words weren't the most toxic thing that Ronan had ever said to Declan before. They weren't even the nastiest things he said this month, but for some reason, with the mystery of his mother riding high in between his ears and the terror of Matthew, asleep in the pew in a way that shouldn't have scared him but did, and the sheer exhaustion of watching his brother get everything and still be a surly asshole about it, Declan did it. "If you end up dead in a ditch somewhere, Matthew's gone, you asshole," he said, and he saw Ronan freeze then, suddenly, and the thrill of landing a real blow was almost as good as the look on Ronan's face, scared and shocked.
"What the hell are you talking about," Ronan asked, because it was as if in the mountain of lies that Declan told, this was the moment of truth. It was like Ronan understood. But then they had a deal. They didn't bring Matthew into things. They didn't fuck around where Matthew was concerned. Declan didn't reply and Ronan surged forward, all muscle, pushing Declan against a wall. The bricks were harsh against the fabric of Declan's suit, but he could buy a new one. Ronan's face was a millimeter away, and there was nothing familiar in it now. They were made from the same mold, the two older Lynch brothers. Sons of a dreamer and sons of his favorite dream. Built for violence, and that was all that was left in Ronan's face. "What the fuck are you talking about?" Ronan demanded.
"Did you think Dad was the only one who would pull things out of dreams?" Declan said, and Ronan let go, and looked at Declan like he had never before.
He looked at Declan like maybe Declan had betrayed him in a way he hadn't expected. "How long have you known about that?" Ronan asked, like suddenly didn't want to touch him. Like there was poison between them.
Declan didn't reply right away. "If you die, Matthew goes too, so you have to stop," he replied, when that wasn't an answer. Maybe Declan didn't want to give him one. Because he didn't have answers, either. Because the words she's my mom, too, where is she wouldn't mean a thing to Ronan, because Ronan didn't have a heart where Declan was concerned.
If they were another family, a different pair of brothers, it would have ended differently. If they were those people, when Declan walked past Ronan to get to his Volvo, Ronan may have said wait. When Declan got in, he may have opened his window and explained it better. But they weren't those people, so when Declan did those things, all he did was drive away. This wasn't his father's game.
But then, Declan had never wanted to be the one holding the pieces.
Declan and Ronan; sunday mornings
Or maybe this was something that had been building for a while. Declan was in no mood to be kind, lately; he was furious with Ronan, furious that one day the home nurse called him and said your mother is missing with a panic that almost made Declan drive back to the Barns to check himself, as if his mother - turned off, switched off, put into storage - had rolled under a bed or into a closet without anyone noticing. And then, during the panicked hour of phone calls to Ronan and the police and the consideration of calling Matthew, the lawyer called with they found another will and suddenly the panic was replaced with bottomless, unfathomable rage.
Ronan had done it. Ronan had figured out the secret tics and the secret realities of their father's secrets, the coded messages left for him. Niall had left all this to Ronan, bequeathed him a mystery and a legacy and everything else, and had left Declan as the gatekeeper to it. As the sole thing keeping Ronan from breaking the rules to his game too soon.
He had thought he had wasted all his rage at his father and his brother, but he was wrong, because he was still furious, for days, for weeks.
The only thing that kept him civil was Matthew, Matthew who had been through too much, Matthew who would sit in church and hold his head up and occasionally nap a little, and Matthew who held Declan's hand a little more tightly than usual before Ronan arrived, usually a couple of minutes late and looking like a thug.
But then one morning Ronan was later than usual, and Matthew was asleep more heavily than usual, and suddenly Declan felt a twinge of fear strike through him; two years of possibilities suddenly catching up, his father's game no longer funny, his damaged younger brother suddenly the broken thing that could spiral the few good things in Declan's life completely out of his reach. It was easy to say he was no one's favorite, but Matthew never treated him that way.
Ronan showed up and the fear had eased but the anger had not, and it culminated in a fight, this one more verbal than anything. "You have to stop fighting, you're going to end up dead in a ditch somewhere," Declan had said, snarling it.
Ronan's laugh wasn't really a laugh. Ronan didn't laugh at Declan, Ronan made a noise like a raven, a threat and a promise all at once. A war-cry. Something that should have been brittle but in Ronan's mouth was harsh, and sludgy. "Fuck you," was the reply, unsurprising, honest. "Go back to D.C. and fuck off," he growled, "I didn't ask you to come back."
The funny thing is that those words weren't the most toxic thing that Ronan had ever said to Declan before. They weren't even the nastiest things he said this month, but for some reason, with the mystery of his mother riding high in between his ears and the terror of Matthew, asleep in the pew in a way that shouldn't have scared him but did, and the sheer exhaustion of watching his brother get everything and still be a surly asshole about it, Declan did it. "If you end up dead in a ditch somewhere, Matthew's gone, you asshole," he said, and he saw Ronan freeze then, suddenly, and the thrill of landing a real blow was almost as good as the look on Ronan's face, scared and shocked.
"What the hell are you talking about," Ronan asked, because it was as if in the mountain of lies that Declan told, this was the moment of truth. It was like Ronan understood. But then they had a deal. They didn't bring Matthew into things. They didn't fuck around where Matthew was concerned. Declan didn't reply and Ronan surged forward, all muscle, pushing Declan against a wall. The bricks were harsh against the fabric of Declan's suit, but he could buy a new one. Ronan's face was a millimeter away, and there was nothing familiar in it now. They were made from the same mold, the two older Lynch brothers. Sons of a dreamer and sons of his favorite dream. Built for violence, and that was all that was left in Ronan's face. "What the fuck are you talking about?" Ronan demanded.
"Did you think Dad was the only one who would pull things out of dreams?" Declan said, and Ronan let go, and looked at Declan like he had never before.
He looked at Declan like maybe Declan had betrayed him in a way he hadn't expected. "How long have you known about that?" Ronan asked, like suddenly didn't want to touch him. Like there was poison between them.
Declan didn't reply right away. "If you die, Matthew goes too, so you have to stop," he replied, when that wasn't an answer. Maybe Declan didn't want to give him one. Because he didn't have answers, either. Because the words she's my mom, too, where is she wouldn't mean a thing to Ronan, because Ronan didn't have a heart where Declan was concerned.
If they were another family, a different pair of brothers, it would have ended differently. If they were those people, when Declan walked past Ronan to get to his Volvo, Ronan may have said wait. When Declan got in, he may have opened his window and explained it better. But they weren't those people, so when Declan did those things, all he did was drive away. This wasn't his father's game.
But then, Declan had never wanted to be the one holding the pieces.