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Psychotically, irrationally, erotically codependent

AMBIGUOUS SIBLINGS

There's nothing wrong about loving your brother or sister; in fact, a deep bond between siblings is healthy and ideal. But when does closeness stop being a wonderful thing and start being...off?

Most people would say your and your brother or sister are just very, very close, perhaps a little co-dependent, yet that's understandable, perhaps, if the two of you have been through the wringer. Still, there a whispers that your relationship is more blurry than properly familial.

Is that just a misunderstanding, because you've only had each other for for so long others wouldn't understand how you've lived, or is their some truth to their suspicion?

Comment with your character, preferences, info, etc.
Assumed relatives AU will probably work best for ease of use.
Reply to others.
Thread. The nature of relationships are up to you.

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[ She bristles visibly at the first part of that - not because she's offended, but because he's so dead on that it makes her wish she'd never asked the question to begin with. He's always been a man of few words, careful and calculating, and when he actually does say something it usually hits closer to home than any of them are prepared to deal with.

She shifts her weight, slides over to sit in front of the island, hooking her heel against a rung. ]

Well, I think everyone was surprised when I came back.

[ Her voice drops lower, gets quiet. For a second, she allows it to happen. ]

I can't leave now. She needs us. All of us.

[ It takes him a moment to answer. When he does, his voice is— clear, somehow. ]

What about you?

[ A pause, and then, ] You need me to stay?

[ There are other things he could have said, other things on his mind. What do you need, for one; she's not gonna need us forever, for another. He chooses that, instead. Not that he'll leave if she says no, not that they haven't talked about his habit of leaving them behind only to crop up again later on down the line. But the way he asks it — the way he looks at her, like he's willing, just this once, to let his guard down — makes it clear he's not asking after their mother's sake.

He asks John the same thing, when he drives him to the bus station. Similarly, then, it's not about the dedication. It's about his place in his brother's life. The answer — silence — makes his answer clear enough. (It's almost not a surprise when, later on, he discovers that the decision not to let him stay had been his siblings'.) ]

I -

[ She starts to say something and then realizes - it's not about trying to make things go back to the way they were, because there's never been a way that things were. There's just a way that things always have been, and she can't expect that a simple word from her is going to suddenly be enough.

She shifts, and in that movement the contact between them, the faint touch of fingers, is broken. The glass sitting in front of her is starting to sweat in the heat, condensation forming on the surface. She watches one droplet grow heavy and then fall, slowly. ]

Look, all I know is that Mom - she can't stop talking about how glad she is that you're back.

[ He laughs.

It's just an exhale, a huff of breath as he turns away, just for an instant, to glance out at the lawn. There's nothing mean-spirited in it — just exhaustion, maybe. (He ought to have expected that answer, the same way he ought to have expected John's.) He's quick to turn back, and though his gaze remains bright, there's a warmth in his smile that doesn't quite mirror itself there. ]

It's good to be back.

[ A rote response to a rote answer. He doesn't sound insincere, not quite, but the words sound acted, for lack of a better term. ]

Feels like it's been a long fucking time since I've been back in this house.

And how do you feel? About being back?

[ It's a loaded question, sure, but somehow she can't help but ask. Chalk it up to curiosity, or a lawyer's line of questioning. She's not directly trying to fish answers out of him, but she's also convinced there's some ulterior motive at work here. It's tough not to ignore her instincts when what they're telling her to do is find out more.

She takes another sip of water in the interim. ]

Anything changed much?

Yeah— yeah.

[ The laugh he offers up is more obvious this time, almost a bark as he settles his weight on his arm, braced against the counter. The noise sticks in the air, suspended in the heat. ]

I mean, Dad's dead. That's a big change, isn't it?

[ It's facetious conversation. He knows straight off the bat that that's not what she's asking; he just enjoys the lead-up. He dismisses whatever reproach she has with a wave of his hand, bulldozing on before there's any silence to have to fill. That's his way, after all. Too blunt and to the point, sometimes, where the rest of the family can be too careful tiptoeing around the truth. A useless trait, though, when they're conditioned to believe that he's more likely to just tell lies. ]

Didn't think I'd ever see the day — Rayburn House without Papa Ray. Big shoes to fill for all of us.

[ When she stops to consider the potential gap left in the wake of their father's passing, there's no doubt in her mind as to who the most likely candidate would be to fill the role. John's been the unofficial caretaker, even if his duties have largely fallen to protecting more people than just his immediate family. (Dad had said as much in his toast a while back.)

But in terms of change - big change - she just doesn't see it happening with Danny. It's been a long road of disappointments and struggle. Most of it she hasn't had to deal with directly but it's easy to see how much something like that wears on their mother. It's also impossible to ignore the way Mama Rayburn lights up when Danny's around, so full of hope that Meg can't bear to do or say anything that would crush her spirit.

She wouldn't dream of doing it now. ]

So you're serious, then. About staying.

[ It both is and isn't a question, and Danny takes his time in responding, like he's weighing his options (like he'd laugh, if he thought he could get away with it). For a long moment, he just chews his lip, his head at an angle as he looks at his sister. They've had an iteration of this conversation before, and if he feels any differently about being confronted on the topic, there's no indication of it on his features.

He moves all at once, as he always seems to. His hand drops the countertop and his weight shifts from shoulder to shoulder. (Treat me like family — who is he fucking kidding. It's not an approach he tries again, at least not yet.) ]

Unless you guys've changed your minds about lettin' me.

No. No, of course not.

[ But there's also the way she answers a little too fast, too hastily, her gaze darting over and then away. For a lawyer, she often curses herself for being too easy to read sometimes. Then again, she's never really handling any conflicts of interest during her day job - except, of course, when it comes to Alec.

Her mouth goes dry. She takes another gulp of water. What she wouldn't give for this to suddenly be easy. ]

We want you here. I - it's good that you're here.

[ It's a sidestep, but one easily caught. ]

[ In that respect, she hasn't changed all that much from the little Meg he remembers. A little awkward, a little nervous, even though she's long outgrown the ugly duckling shadow that their sister had cast (or, well, maybe not). It endears her to him, stirring up the closest thing to sympathy he has in him despite the context.

Again, he takes his time in saying anything in return, hooded gaze slipping out of focus for a heartbeat before re-focusing. Sheepish, almost, in a way that seems at odds with how he's behaved during the conversation thus far. ]

Close, but no cigar, huh?

[ (He's never been above feigning vulnerability in order to get a reaction. That doesn't mean he's not actually capable of that soft kind of sentiment.) ]

I've missed seein' you around, sweetheart.

[ It's interesting now, when she looks at old family photos. There she is - the smallest, with glasses constantly slipping down the bridge of her nose because she had been deemed too young for contacts until she was practically in college.

She brushes a piece of hair back from her face and that same hand lands to rest on his knee, fingers curling in a barely perceptible squeeze. In that moment, however fleeting it may be, there's a sincerity in her voice, in her words. ]

I missed you too.

[ There's an unhappy irony to Danny's long journey home. He's yearned, all this time, for a place in the family to call his own, for the love he doesn't remember ever having, but when confronted with even the faintest glimmer of it, he doesn't know what to do. It's too foreign (and arguably too late). The furrow in his brow suggests confusion or hurt — it makes him look young, for once, his grasp on things tenuous instead of weighed down.

In fairness, that doesn't mean he wants it any less. ]

Yeah?

[ It's not a prodding question, for once. His hand finds hers on his knee, over the rise of her knuckles. With his other, he reaches out, brushes a few loose strands of hair back from her face the way he'd used to, from time to time, when they'd been children. Careful, slow, making her the center of his attention in a way that their father had failed to (in a way he'd never been, either, save as an object of hatred).

The corners of his eyes wrinkle as he smiles. ]

Well, shame on me for worryin', then.

[ There's an uncertainty within the brief smile that follows, as she wonders if this perhaps is too little too late. There's the reminder of the will sitting on her computer, the cursor blinking next to a list of names. And there's also the tenderness in such a simple gesture, which fosters a feeling the likes of which she can't recall experiencing in a long time.

When was the last time any one of them reached out to each other in affection, even in seemingly insignificant ways? It's not that she's starved for touch - by her own initiative, she's been able to satisfy that unconscious need - but the emotions it's attached to have been lacking. At least for her.

Maybe it's easier for her to shut it all off. That way no one can get in and tear her apart.

She finds herself leaning into his hand before she completely realizes what she's doing - and then a sound from the back porch (Manny) makes her start. ]

Thanks - for the water. I should probably get back out there.

Nah, nah, let me take care of it.

[ Danny's shaking his head even before he speaks, keeping her hand in his as he gets up. (The transformation is uncanny — open to closed off. All of them are too good at it; maybe that's why he underestimates John, later on. Why he ends up facedown in the water. Or maybe he hadn't underestimated his brother at all. What has he got to lose, after all?) ]

Let big brother take care of it. Go check on Mom, get some rest.

[ He keeps moving, keeps talking, to the point that he's too close too soon, leaning in to press a kiss to her cheek. The moment stretches out in the second that it lasts, again a reflection of intimacy that they've never found easy to share and yet feels so innate. Blood, thicker than water.

And then, as quickly as he'd drawn close, he pulls back, sloping away towards the door, back towards the mess. He turns just once, the grin on his features close-lipped but obvious. ]

Later, mister.

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