noonelaughed | Dated Monday, August 8th, post ageswap

The weekend was fucked.

Chris remembers all of it, though. He remembers waking up as a kid, he remembers being little again and not knowing where his mum and and dad were. He remembers, even as a little kid on the island, liking the fish in his hut most of all, all the bright colors of the tropical ones and how they fit in with the duller colored-ones. He'd been worried about missing cubs, and about whether or not he'd be able to get his knots right when he was stuck on an island and not able to practice properly.

It's all fucked, and when he wakes up as himself again, the age he's supposed to be, it's all still stuck with him, the fact that just twenty-four hours ago, he hadn't remembered about Peter, or his mum or his dad or any of it. In some ways, he kind of wishes he could have stayed that way, not remembering how everything'd gone for him. Maybe he could have lived it over again and done it right this time and not been such a fuck up.

It's back to normal now though, and Chris decides to head up to the compound to see try and find people he knows, to make sure they've all changed back as well. At least that's one good thing about when the island decides to fuck around with them all: it's generally good about putting things right in the end.

He doesn't make it far though, before he sees it.

It's sitting there behind his hut like it belongs there, stone and solid, and if it had eyes it'd be staring back at him, it would.

Peter Miles
Brother, Son and Angel

There's even a bunch of flowers on the ground like his mum's just been there. Like somehow, she's found Peter's grave on the island but didn't think enough to come and shake him awake to say 'hi' to him. Everything's back to normal, alright.

Chris doesn't even remember walking towards it, or sitting down on the ground there, but the next thing he knows, he has. Before he knows it he's rolling a joint, remembering again how his little fingers were never able to do the knots properly, but how they've always been able to at least do this.

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Olive shakes her head. "No, it's fine," she says. "I wasn't just going to leave you all on your own like that." If she'd been a little more sure of herself, she would have invited him to stay with her until it all passed, but she promised Eduardo it would be just them, that they'd keep to themselves. She's a little sorry for it now, watching the way Chris just sits and goes on like nothing's out of the ordinary, until she starts to wonder if she imagined that thing wasn't here before. Maybe she's always missed it.

God, no, she's not that blind. Or dumb. And the name she can make out behind him isn't one she knows, but it makes her blood run cold as she imagines the possibilities. "Chris, how long has that been here?"

"Dunno," he says with a shrug, and it's true, even if he could probably make a guess if he tried. "It was there when I woke up, so maybe all weekend."

Chris hadn't noticed it while he was little the past few days, but that's not all that surprising, really. He'd been more concerned about the fish and exploring and shit than whether or not the tombstone behind the hut belonged to his brother.

"Is it —" Olive stops, biting her lip so hard she thinks, for a moment, she might draw blood. She won't, she knows she won't, but it feels like it. How he can just go on like things are normal, she doesn't know. But then, what else is he supposed to do, cry and throw a fit? The island is cruel, she's learning that, if not to her, then to the people she loves, and sometimes all there is to do is to keep going like that isn't true. "I didn't know you had a brother."

"Yeah... um, yeah, I did," Chris says, and he licks the paper to seal the joint before pulling a lighter out of his pocket. He's using one of the good papers that he got back in January, so he'll burn the crease with the lighter.

"Guess this place thinks I forgot about him, or somethin'."

"Well, that's stupid," Olive says. It's horrible, is what it is, a deliberate and mean attempt to fuck with Chris, and it's infuriating, that anyone or anything could use his brother's death against him. Of course he hasn't forgotten. She may not know a thing about it, but she knows Chris and she knows what it's like to have a brother, and there's no way in hell he's forgotten. "I mean, he was your brother, that's... God, Chris, I am so sorry." She doesn't know, she can't fathom, what she would do if it were her, if Chip or Kale died. The idea, the hypothetical, is painful enough all on its own.

Of course, Chris could never forget about Peter. It's fuckin' mental to think that he would. Peter had been the nicest bloke anyone could ever hope to meet-- he'd definitely been the nicest person Chris had ever known, anyway.

But he's been through all this already, ages ago back when it first happened and every time he visited the grave back home.

"Yeah, well, it was years ago, though, wasn't it?" he says, and gestures back toward the date on the headstone before he burns the crease of the joint to seal it properly.

"But still," Olive starts, then lets it drop, unsure how to continue. He knows all this, knows how it works, how it feels, in ways she can only half-imagine. She doesn't really even want to try. Something like that has to be devastating, and while life goes on, she's not sure she really believes anyone ever gets over something like that. She doesn't believe Chris has either, but she knows a dismissal when she hears one; it's not something he wants to talk about, though the island's making it difficult to avoid. "Can I ask what happened?"

Chris fumbles with the joint, shifting it between his fingers as he looks down at the ground instead of up at Olive.

"It was a... um, it was a head thing. With his brain," Chris says, and taps two fingers against the side of his own head. Something Claire said to him a few months ago pops into his head, but he pushes the thought away. This is all fucked.

Olive nods, biting her lip and look down, too. "I'm sorry," she says, quick after a moment's silence. "I know that doesn't... help anything, but I am, and... We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, but there's kind of a, a giant conversation piece in your yard. And if you do want to... you know, I'm good at listening." She doesn't want to make him uncomfortable or upset him, both of which she figures are inevitable with the topic, but he shouldn't have to deal with this all by himself either.

"Yeah," Chris says, and for a second, actually acknowledges the headstone behind him, twisting around to look at it for a second. Somebody'll ask him about it before long, most likely. It's not as if Chris has always got people coming by his hut other than his mates, but still, someone's bound to ask.

"D'you reckon I should try to find a way to get it moved to the graveyard?"

Somehow, though, it seems wrong to do anything with it, like it's already in its proper place.

Olive considers that for a moment, then, biting her lip, shakes her head. "I mean, if you think you should," she says. "I can look into it for you, if you want. But I don't know. He's your brother. Kind of seems wrong to put it with all those strangers." If it were anyone she loved — God, she'd hate the reminder, having to see it every day, but that hurt would be there, she thinks, even without something to see and bring it all back.

"No, you're right," Chris replies, because getting someone to move it'll turn into a problem for someone else. It's probably fuckin' heavy, and the graveyard's like... miles or something, almost on the other side of the island.

The joint feels awkward in his hands, so he lights it, mostly for something to do with his hands. He inhales, breath shaky before he says anything else, the joint hanging from his lips.

"It'll stay. I just... I dunno. I dont' fuckin' know, Olive."

Olive bites her lip, shifting to sit beside him, her head on his shoulder. She hates not having an answer for him, but there probably isn't one out there in any world, not for this, and all she knows how to do is be close. It hurts, knowing someone she loves has to go through this, that she can't protect her friends, but at least she can be here for him.

"I don't think anyone really knows how to deal with it," she says. "What was he like? Your brother."

"Peter?" Chris asks, knowing that it's an empty question. He looks at the joint in his hand for a long moment, at the thin wisp of smoke rising into the air.

"Nicest bloke you could ever meet, really. Everyone loved him. Two of you probably would have gotten along, actually."

Peter'd gotten along with most everyone, come to think of it. Sometimes, Chris wondered whether or not the wrong brother had gone first. Only sometimes, though, mostly because in the end, all that hadn't mattered too much.

"I bet," Olive says, quiet. It's not an empty statement; she believes Chris entirely. There's a degree to which what he says could just be sibling loyalty, but mostly, she just believes him, and it's just unfair. She doesn't need to know how old Peter was to know he was too young to go, that Chris was too young to have to deal with a loss like that. "If he was anything like you, I would've loved him."

Dated Monday, August 8th, post ageswap

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