1 . Name: Cat Bountry @ 2011-09-01 01:22

Wow, I kind of wrote up part two of this pretty fast. Probably because of who this chapter's about and the chapter's subject matter. For those of you who miss my more fucked up fic about goofy FPS characters in a hat simulator, then I hope this part won't disappoint.

Have fun.

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It had been a long, long drive back up to Minnesota, and Soldier felt exhausted. He trudged up the apartment stairs, up to his room. Taking the doorknob in one hand, he pushed the key in to unlock the door only to notice that the door was already unlocked. He scowled. There were two other people that had the keys to Soldier’s apartment. One was the landlady. The other…

He opened the door and stepped inside, bracing himself. His shoulders tensed and he could feel a sinking lead weight deep in his guts. A few paces in and he turned his head to see an older, muscular man sitting on the couch and reading a newspaper. My couch, Soldier thought. Reading my newspaper. In my apartment. That son of a bitch.

The man looked up and grinned. “Jane, there you are!” he exclaimed. “You certainly took your time coming back, didn’t you.”

“Hello, Johnny,” Soldier’s voice fell flat. He sneered at his older brother. “Why are you here?”

“I was dropping off your allowance for the week,” Johnny said, his voice tinged with false innocence as he looked at Soldier, hurt. “Also I wanted to check up on you. It’s been a while so long since we last talked.”

“Two months,” Soldier said, setting down his bag and walking into the kitchen. “Too soon.”

Johnny let out a hearty laugh, and got up from the couch. “Curt as ever, aren’t you?” He teased, and strode over to the frame of the kitchen entrance. “Aren’t you going to tell me how your little get-together went, or what?” He leaned on the frame with his elbow, watching as Soldier opened the fridge.

“Went fine,” said Soldier, taking out a carton of orange juice. “It’s none of your business.”

“Oh, don’t be like that, Jane,” said Johnny. “You can’t just shut yourself off to your family like that. It’s not healthy. The doctors said you need to learn to be more open.” Johnny smirked as he said this. “You don’t want to go against doctors’ orders, do you?”

Soldier stopped shaking his orange juice carton and turned to glare at Johnny. “As a matter of fact,” he said, popping the top open, “I had a bit of a discussion down there with the Engineer.”

The smirk on Johnny’s face vanished, and his bright blue eyes narrowed, turning his gaze as cold and as frigid as a glacier. “Oh?”

It was Soldier’s turn to be smug. He put the carton to his lips and threw his head back, taking a long swig. He finished the carton off, crushed it with one hand and wiped his mouth with the back of his arm. “Yeah,” he said. “About moving.”

Johnny let out a soft laugh. “Who’s moving?” he asked. “Not you.”

“Yes, me,” said Soldier. “He invited me to live with him. On his ranch. In Texas.”

“And whose idea was that?” Johnny scoffed. “Yours?”

“His,” said Soldier, point the crushed cardboard at his brother, “because I told him about you. And he’s my friend, and he cares about me, unlike you.”

“Don’t be stupid, Jane,” said Johnny. “You don’t have any friends. I’m the only one that can stand you. You must’ve threatened him into it.”

“I DID NO SUCH THING!” Soldier threw the carton to the ground at Johnny’s feet. “Those men I fought with are my friends. No, they’re my family. They’re more of brothers than you’ve ever been!” He stared Johnny down, his jaw clenched and his stance firm. Johnny was slightly taller than him, and though he had developed a paunch in his years of retirement, he still had arms like coiled pythons and years of army training and combat under his belt, not to mention that he had bested Soldier in physical combat before. Soldier stood his ground, though. He wasn’t going to be intimidated this time.

“Oh, Jane…” Johnny shook his head. “They may have put up with you, but they’ll never care about you like I do.” He pushed himself off the entrance frame and stood up straight. “If that engineer had to live with you, he’d hate you. Nobody can stand being around you too long. That’s why Mother left.”

“Shut up!” Soldier barked. “You’re lying! You always lie! You goddamned snake, you’re trying to trick me!” He resisted the urge to lunge at his brother, keeping his feet firmly planted in place.

“You just say I’m lying because you don’t like to hear the truth,” said Johnny, taking obvious relish in Soldier’s reaction. “You’re stubborn and you lie to yourself, Jane. You lie to yourself and then you lie to everybody else.”

“That’s not true!” Soldier hollered, his hands now balled into tightly clenched fists. “You’re the liar! You’ve always been the liar and if you don’t march your keister out of my house, right now, I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” Johnny interrupted. “Hurt me? You know what would happen if you did that, don’t you, Jane?”

Soldier cracked his knuckles with his thumb and stared at his brother, his eyes alight with pure hate; he looked as though he were trying to kill the man with his mind. “Leave,” Soldier said. “Now.”

“This… ‘friend’ of yours,” Johnny went on, completely ignoring his brother’s command, “the Engineer. You worked with him for two years on that… RED business, right?”

“Yes,” said Soldier, not taking his eyes off Johnny. “I did.”

“And he still invited you to stay with him.” Johnny shook his head and smiled. “I’d think I’d like to have a little talk with this man… if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind,” said Soldier. “He’s not going to believe anything you say to him.”

“We’ll see about that,” said Johnny, walking into the kitchen. Soldier’s feet were planted in place, and his head turned to follow his brother make his way to the cupboard. “So, this fella have a wife, or…?”

“He’s a widower,” said Soldier, watching as his brother took out a glass. “Has a teenage daughter.”

“Was she pretty?” Johnny asked, turning around to look Soldier in the eye.

“Uh…” Soldier stammered, shifting his weight a bit. “I… I guess so. Looked a lot like her mother.”

“I thought you said her mother was dead.”

“I saw pictures.”

“I see,” Johnny turned to the sink, turned on the faucet and filled the glass, not saying a word as he did this. Soldier was still as tense as ever, and he could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand. Finally, Johnny turned around, and took a casual sip from his glass.

“Well, that figures,” Johnny said with a shrug.

“What figures?” Soldier asked, sneering.

“Oh, nothing,” Johnny slid past Soldier, just barely touching the man and causing Soldier to bristle like a spooked cat. “It’s just interesting… you wanting to move in with a man, not even paying any attention to his pretty young daughter…”

Soldier’s face flushed bright red, and he started to tremble. “Shut up.”

“Best two years of your life were in the company of eight other men…”

“So did-”

“Never once courted a woman…”

“I don’t-”

“Name’s Jane.”

“SHUT UP!” Soldier hollered, stamping his foot. “THAT’S NOT MY FAULT! I’M NOT QUEER! NEVER! YOU HEAR ME! IT’S YOU!” He pointed a finger at his brother. “YOU ARE, YOU… YOU BUTTFUCKING FAGGOT!”

“Don’t be stupid.” Johnny was nonplussed by this accusation. “I’m married and have children. I’m a decorated veteran. I even recycle. I’m a model citizen.”

“You’re a pervert,” Soldier snarled.

“And who would believe you?” Johnny asked. “You see things and hear voices. You talk to inanimate objects, like your little plastic shovel.” He watched as Soldier felt his back pocket for Shovel Jr. “You’re a sick boy, Jane. Nobody would believe you if you said that the sky is blue.”

Soldier muttered under his breath. “Engineer would believe me.”

“What was that?” Johnny closed in on his brother, starting to circle him like a hungry jungle cat. “What did you say?”

Suddenly Soldier found himself at a loss for a comeback. He felt his limbs go stiff, his muscles contract and tense, and he felt unlike a petrified tree as his brother brushed up against him.

“I said…” Johnny leaned in close, his lips barely touching Soldier’s ear, “what. Did. You. Say?”

Again, he said nothing in response. Soldier had faced down Nazi soldiers, he had killed bears, he had stared down rockets, he had charged head-first into flamethrowers and he had stuffed his own guts back into his stomach, but all of that was nothing to the terror he felt as his older brother breathed onto his neck.
“I didn’t say anything,” Soldier said.

“That’s what I thought.” Johnny was now in front of Soldier, slowly backing him up against the fridge. He looked down as Soldier bumped against the refrigerator door, and sprawled out against it, as though he were trying to become a part of it. He looked his younger brother up and down, and pressed his hand against the side of Soldier’s neck.

“You should be thanking me, you know,” he said, his voice barely above a hoarse whisper. “I’ve done so much for you and I never get any thanks for it. I tried so hard, so very, very hard to make you a man, Jane. To get all the sissy out of you.”

Soldier nodded his head silently, looking far too eager to agree with him. He couldn’t help but feel a bit sick.

“I don’t know if it’s worked, though.” Johnny’s hand slid to Soldier’s throat, and he applied just enough pressure to make Soldier uncomfortable, make him squirm. “I don’t know, though. Sometimes I think you try too damn hard. Sometimes I think you try to overcompensate, like it doesn’t come natural. Like you’re making up for all the dresses Mother made you wear, making up for you having a girl’s name…”

At this point Soldier was trying to keep from gasping for air as more pressure was applied to his trachea. He wanted so desperately to punch Johnny, pummel his face into the floor. If it had been any other man that tried this on him, they would have been beaten to a fine pulp long before this point. But this was different. This was Johnny, the one man who knew him better than any other man alive. And this knowledge terrified him.

“You know what I think? I think you’re still just a pussy faggot.” Johnny was grinning wide now. “Are you a pussy faggot, Jane?”

Jane shook his head violently. “Sir, no, sir,” he croaked.

“You sure?” Johnny asked, drawing out the last word in a sing-song voice.

“Sir, yes, sir,” Jane choked, barely able to speak.

“Because I think you’re lying to me,” Johnny said, eyes narrowed. “I think you’re a pussy faggot. I think you might even have a pussy. Are you a woman, Jane?”

“Sir, no sir!”

“You have a pussy, Jane?”

“Sir, no sir!”

Johnny pressed his chest against Jane’s and his hand swung into Jane’s crotch, grabbing hold of his balls and squeezing them. Soldier let out a high-pitched wheeze, and he felt his legs turn to jelly and his stomach go weak. Yellow and blue spots blotted his vision. He wanted to puke.

“Don’t fuck with me,” Johnny whispered into Jane’s ear. “You think you can run away from me? Fuck off to Texas? Dump yourself on some poor egghead that feels sorry for you? Well, you think wrong. Just like when you thought you could kill me. Does he know about that?”

Jane nodded.

“He does?” Johnny said, his eyebrows arched in surprise. “Well then… I’d like to meet him. I’m sure we’d have quite an interesting discussion, don’t you agree, Jane?”

Again, Soldier nodded in a hasty, almost cartoonish fashion, trying his damndest not to squirm too much. Johnny finally released his vice grip on Soldier’s balls, and Soldier collapsed to his knees and dry heaved. Johnny turned and walked to the door, but before he opened it, he looked back at his brother.

“Your allowance is on your dresser. And clean this place up. It’s a dump.” With that, he opened the door and walked out, shutting it quietly behind him.

Soldier rolled onto his side and let out a low moan. He laid on the floor for a few minutes, trying to recover just enough to stand up. Eventually, he dragged himself upright and grabbed an ice pack from the freezer. Bowlegged, he made his way to the ratty, musty couch in his living room, pulled his pants down and put the ice over his aching balls.

You should tell Engineer, a little voice in his pants pocket said. He’ll help you.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Soldier grumbled. “Even if he did believe me… I can’t tell him. I can’t tell him about… about this.”

Maybe you should think about it, Shovel Jr. said. He wants to help you. He wants you to get better. Johnny’s just making everything worse.

“You don’t think I know that?” Soldier snapped. “Look at me!”

We need to get away from Johnny, one way or the other, said Shovel Jr. When you feel better we should give him a call. Set up the teleporter. Have him come here.

“Here?” Soldier looked around the room. Newspaper clippings were tacked up on the cracked walls, an American flag was hung over an ancient 20 year old television set, stacks of soup crates and empty take-out boxes were shoved against the wall. There was a pile of yellowing newspapers against the couch and copies of Guns and Haircuts placed in places that only would have made sense to Soldier himself. The shades on the windows were drawn but bent out of place and twisted, so light leaked through onto the floor in odd patterns and illuminated the dust that circulated in the air. The apartment itself smelled like cigar butts and old leftovers.

He won’t have to stay here long. We can get him to help. Maybe help you stand up to Johnny. You’re going to need a team to stand up to a bully like that.

“You really think so, Junior?” Soldier said, looking at the plastic beach shovel sitting in his discarded pants.

I believe in you, Jane,, Shovel Jr. chirped. Take your medicine before you call Engineer. Together we can take that big bully down a peg.

Soldier leaned over to pick up the toy shovel from his pocket, and clutched it to his chest. He took long, deep breaths and rocked back and forth as he cradled the toy. In his mind, he was nine years old again, hiding in the old barn that used to be his safe place so many years ago. He thought about the last time he had cried, in that barn as a boy and sprawled out on the hay, clutching straws in his fists and screaming.
He promised himself that he’d never cry again. It’d been 45 years since he promised that to himself and 45 years he’d kept it.

He was going to make sure that son of a bitch would never even try to make him cry again.

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In Bee Cave, Texas, a telephone rang. Rosie stopped doing her homework, got up off her bed and walked to the kitchen to answer it.

“Conagher residence,” she answered.

“Rosie?” a gruff voice on the other line asked. “Is your father in?”

“Yeah, daddy’s in the garage,” said Rosie, turning to look out the screen door. “Who is this?”

“It’s his friends, uh… Soldier. Sir. Jane. Listen, I need to talk with him. It’s… it’s important. Real important.”