The Midnight Caller.
A small kid to adult fic. A brothers bond, and soft reminiscing.
Majority fluffy and comfort. With a dash of angst sprinkles in between.
Deran Cody & Craig Cody.
Tiny feet softly thud against gray carpet. Carefully shuffling forward around the side of a brand new big-boy bed, until toes gently bumped into the wooden feet of a bedside table. A soft whimper escapes, muffled behind a baby blue pacifier, while pudgy fingers begin exploring the wooden top. A little sigh of accomplishment follows, when a small click sounds and soft yellow light slowly surrounds the walls.
"I did it!" A lisped acknowledgment gently echoes throughout the silent room. Curious blue eyes turn, soaking in his room. The ocean themed nightlight on the bedside table that projected warm tones, the carefully folded clothes on his dresser waiting for tomorrow. That's his big brother, he always puts the nice clothes nice and neat for preschool. Pope sometimes hides a little candy in the pocket, but it's too late for candy now and mama might be upset, and she's already being noisy.
With a little grunt, short arms reach over the bed. Pulling his weight slightly off the ground, pyjama clad legs wiggling with a soft giggle, while the young boy reaches over for his most important items. A (realistically) small toy lamb that fills half his arms, and a teddy bear patched baby blanket that dawdled behind him, even when clutched tightly to his chest with lamby. Two tiny fingers count on one hand to account for his treasures items, before another accomplished smile.
Pulling lamby and blankie up to his chest, to protect him from the scary monsters, the blonde-haired boy slowly pads towards the door. Since turning 3, he's been a big enough boy to sleep in his very own real bed and not a baby crib. And that means he can wander whenever he wants. On days like this, with Smurf's voice getting too loud, shouty words bounding off of walls. He knows exactly where he wants to wander too.
Leaving his nightlight on, to guide his way back. The youngest son sets off on a pint-sized mission. Bare feet padding gently across laminate floors, making soft patters that only he can hear. Lamby and blankie tickling gently against his chin as he toddles through the dark. Using his left hand to carefully lean against the walls, or hold onto the small railing down the kitchen steps. Scuffling slightly faster and crouching to get across the kitchen to the other hall. Sneaking a small peak at the argument - Julia and Mama are having a row again. He doesn't really understand the words, but they don't sound very nice. They sound scary and mean, not gentle and sweet. He stares a few seconds more, absent-mindedly rubbing blankie against his chin while his blue eyes fill with shaky tears. Only flinching back into place when Mama slams a door, sending the little boy scampering up the rest of the hall and flinging himself through an open door.
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Now, Craig is 7. A big boy who doesn't need a nightlight, or blankies to sleep. He can just roll over into his pillows and duvet and conk right out, drooling slightly and letting out soft breaths as evidence he's still here. He's a deep sleeper, it takes a few tries from Pope each morning to get him fully awake, whining and tossing in-between sheets in reluctance to be disturbed. But of course, like most children he can still be startled, which is exactly what happens tonight.
The older-younger boy had been asleep just over an hour (he gets to stay up later, because 'Deran's a baby and I'm 7, that's not fair. I'm a big boy too!' even if it's only 20 more minutes, it stops the fuss). But an hour or so of sleep, snuggled tightly into batman sheets and soft jammies. And a small weight pushes onto his bed with a little whine.
"Caige... Caige. Caiiiggee ith me?" Another softly lisped voice calls out. Struggling to climb up, the toddler uses a pair of shoes as a stepping stool, gaining a little height, eventually managing to shuffle on. Quickly putting blankie and Lamby near the wall, crawling a few inches every which way. Fighting between getting Lamby tucked up, and waking up his Craig, oblivious to the creaking of springs underneath the weight of two boys. Softly bouncing the bed and stirring Craig a tad. "Caige is me!" The toddler whines a little louder, tugging the pacifier out with a soft pop, maybe if Craig can hear him better. Crawling over his brother and lowering down, mouth straight to ear. "Caige, pease wakey wakey?" He asks, poking his face. Determined to wake his brother up.
Craig stirs awake fast after that, hand flying up to cover his eye
"Oww! That was my eye, that hurt!" He protests quickly, rubbing it with the back of his knuckles. Blinking the other rapidly to try and see who exactly was invading his bed. Not heavy enough to be mommy smurf, not subtle enough to be Andrew, or whiny enough to-
"Mama s-outin' caige," the small voice fills the empty thoughts, still half crawled half laying on top of Craig, luckily without much discomfort to the other.
"Deran it's bedtime. You poked me in the eye," Craig huffs slightly. Finally relaxing his knuckles and leaning slightly to turn on his desk lamp, and that's for his homework. He doesn't need a nightlight because he's not scared of the dark, he's not a baby, duhh!
Deran blinks at him quietly before leaning forward and putting a tiny kiss on Craig's eyelid.
"Fix?"
"Mhm, magic kisses." Baz will get annoyed if he broke the illusion of magic kisses, it's the only thing that stops Deran from crying when he gets really hurt. But Deran's really hurt isn't really hurt, it's just a little graze on his knee or a bumped head. Craigs really hurts are way worse, one time a boy at school headbutted him and it went straight into his tooth!
"Why's mama shouting?" He settles on, carefully manoeuvring Deran like he's seen Pope and Baz doing. Putting hands under his armpits and laying him down next to him, but it's tricky to do if you're already laying down. Luckily, Deran gives a little giggle as he softly thumps onto the mattress, wriggling for a little second to pull Lamby and blankie back to his front, before wriggling himself into a place next to Craig, already settling straight back down for bed.
"S-outin' too Yulia," a small moment of silence passes between the pair, "is mean?" Craig thinks for a few seconds. Shouting isn't very nice he doesn't like getting shouted at when he's been naughty. But mommy always says that Julia is naughty too.
"Maybe it's mean, but I didn't hear it. But, I don't think it was nice to be too loud to wake you up," he settles on. That sounds good, and apparently it pleases when Deran gives a satisfied hum, one hand coming forward to hold onto the front of Craig's pyjamas, the other holding onto Lamby's ear.
"Ni-ni Caige," Deran mumbles, burying his face a little deeper in Craig's side. Finding his pacifier along the way and immediately settling into a self-soothing repetitive sucking motion. Slowly lulling himself to sleep.
"Night night Deran," Craig whispers in return. Very carefully lifting his head to give Deran's head a little kiss. Like how he's seen mommy do for Pope and Baz. Maybe not him all the time, but he's naughty so that's probably okay. He lays back carefully into the pillows and silently watches the baby, his baby Deran. The baby Deran that crawls into his bed for nighttime cuddles, or gives Craig his peas because he 'dont likkkkeeeee, no hav'. Deran's back softly heaving, paci gently bumping along to mimic his breaths. He looks comfortable and cosy, and it's all because of Craig. The seven year old allows himself a little smile at his victory.
"My baby Deran, I can always make you smile." A little promise to himself, always wanting to be the person that Deran can come too.
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It's over 20 years later. The sweet blonde boy is 25 with enough regrets to last til 62, torn between freedom and the family that holds him back. The older boy is now 30, battling reality with enough lines to tranquilize a small horse. Whatever gets him through the day without the words of Smurf ringing through his mind. Useless, immature, reckless, childish. I suppose in a strange way, trying to avoid it is making it happen. But that's not the story of today.
It's been a long day. A job gone wrong. Deran had spent weeks scouting out the watch shop. Eyeing out security cameras, guards, silent alarms. Every attention to detail he could think of, everything was supposed to go according to plan, nothing should have gone wrong. An easy smash and grab, just get the shit and go. No-one was meant to get hurt, let alone one of the brothers.
So, when an unexpected security car was waiting by the south end, the panic was immediate. Reversing immediately, swerving left to hit down the alley. Just racing to exit. The guard gripped to the side of the truck, the shooting. More obstacles to slide past. But when one of the shots found its way, wedged deeply into Craig's shoulder, because of Deran's mistakes? That guilt doesn't leave easily, no matter the amount of desperate apologise you spill.
It's nearing 3am. Deran's laying in bed on his back, staring aimlessly at the ceiling. Trying not to submit himself to the tears threatening to spill, hands resting over his stomach, fingers entwined and stressing each other. Nails scratching over one another, trying to give a loose distraction to the charging thoughts. Lungs slowly fill and decompress, while the man attempts to soothe himself. He's not a child anymore, he shouldn't need consoling. But what would a few beers do?
Forcing another shallow breath into himself, Deran makes himself move. Already dressed into pyjama shorts and an old surf top, designated as a sleep shirt. He forces his legs to carry him out of bed. Sheepishly walking out of the lonely room, lowering his gaze slightly to the floor as he made the familiar journey to the kitchen. Pope's awake, stood outside staring up into the sky blankly, turned away much to Deran's gratitude. The lights are still on, illuminating the way to the fridge, which he tugs open. Pulling out four cold beers and carefully tucking two to his chest, grasping the other two by the neck before letting the fridge fall shut with a mellow click.
Leaving the lights on, he continues his journey. Pattered footsteps to the next hall, a soft sigh of relief to see lights shining through the cracks of Craig's door. Not bothering to knock, privacy isn't a family custom, he kicks the door open with his left foot. Taking a step forward and standing there. Words don't immediately come to his lips, frozen slightly.
"Dude," Craig's sat on his bed, struggling to pull a t-shirt on with his bum arm and raging pain shooting through his chest. A mild look of annoyance mixed with confusion passing through his face, at the brother just silently stood in his doorway holding four condensation ridden bottles, and a pale guilt-ridden face. It takes a moment for things to fall into place. "Come on then, crack 'em open." Invitation. Deran nods, walking forward and putting them down on the bedside table, shoving some crap to the floor but that doesn't matter right now.
"Are you-"
"It's fine," Craig finishes, sending Deran a cocky grin and gladly accepting an open beer with his food arm. "See? Can hold a bottle can't I? Just sit down, you look dumb." He shuffles over, making space on the bed for the two of them to sit.
"Thought you could use a drink," Deran says, sitting down with his own, shuffling back on the bed until his shoulders hit the wall. Tilting his head back and slightly to the left, keeping an eye on Craig while they spoke. "Does it kill?"
"Well it ain't pleasant," following in suit until they are sat shoulder to shoulder. "Thought about grabbin' a few, couldn't carry them if I tried though." Deran nods, raising his bottle to his brother's. Clinking them together in a silent agreement to not talk about the injury. It was a mistake, shit happens.
They stay like that for a while, sipping on bitter beers and distracting one another with crappy anecdotes about busted jobs. Deran's car theft in his teens, Craig's gas station phase. It's not his first time getting shot, probably wouldn't be his last. The time ticks slowly, men slowly finishing both beers, clock creeping towards 5, drowsiness taking over. Deran groans softly, shifting to pop his back from sitting too long. He doesn't really want to leave, the company's nice. Safe. He wouldn't say it, of course. Why would he? He's grown, doesn't need his hand held every time he's upset.
"I should go, you've gotta rest at some point." He says with a smile, leaning forward over Craig to put the empty second bottle down.
"Fuck off, you're staying. If I start choking on blood who's gunna stop me from dying? Basically your responsibility," Craig hums. Carefully shifting to lay down, gritting his teeth to disguise the after-shock of electric pain that's throbbing down his chest.
Craig's not dumb, he knows exactly how Deran works. Same way since he turned 13, too proud to say what he really wants. He doesn't mind really, he's not allowed about honesty either. He'll play into it, give the kid what he needs without utterly humiliating him. He looks up at Deran who's scowling a bit at the joke.
"Oh come on, I'm joking. Just lay down, if I wake up and can't get up. Imma need you, aren't I?" Easy enough, reasoning to get where they need to be. And it works, watching Deran's face soften and his shoulders finally relax. Awkwardly manoeuvring himself to lay next to Craig, quite different from when they were kids. Two 6 foot and counting guys shifting into one bed, it takes a few seconds to get somewhere comfortable, without Craig's arm getting nudged, but Deran's head still finding a spot on the pillow.
"You good man?"
"Yup," the younger replies, chucking the cover over Craig and a blanket over himself before sighing in exhaustion. Craig can't help but grin.
"What, you want your Lamby?" He ribs, giving his brother a playful jolt aligned with a teasing laugh, increasing as Deran scowled slightly and leaned further away with a soft huff.
"Mhm, totally. I want my lamby," he scoffs back. A sarcastic edge. With a barely noticeable softened undertone? Craig smiles in response, messing his hair up with his good arm
"Go on then, go get him blondie"
"There's this thing called sarcasm. Ever heard of it?" Deran quips back, shoving his hand away. "Dick, I'm gunna wake up and it'll look like shit"
"Come onnn, I'm hurt, I'm injuureed. Humour me. I know you got him. All tucked in your draws anywa-"
"Christ fine. Jesus Craig." He huffs, shoving his head as he carefully gets up and jumps over him and off the bed. Shaking his head with a reluctant laugh and disappearing for a few minutes.
Deran heads to his room, straight to his clothes draws. Crouching down to the bottom one, tugging it opens with a humoured smile. Shuffling a few shirts around before pulling out the childhood toy. Allowing him a small smile for a brief second, staring at the toy.
"Yeah whatever it's dumb," his quietly announced to no-one. Tucking the white, curly toy under his shirt as he made his way back to Craig's room. Trying not to giggle at the daftness of the situation. 25, curling into his brother's bed with a stuffed toy, it's silly.
Upon his return to Craig's room, the older has shift closer to the wall, good arm holding up the blanket, welcoming Deran back to comfort. No hint of teasing on his face, just a fond smile and calming silence.
"You got him?" He asks, making a little more space. Smiling as Deran rolled his eyes, pulling Lambie out and getting back into the bed.
"Shut up," he mutters, laying down and holding the soft lamb to his chest. "This is so stupid," but theres no bitterness to his voice. Just a small softness.
"You love it"
"Dick"
"Short ass"
"Oaf"
"Blondie." The two catch each others eyes and break into a small laughter at the situation before them. Two brothers huddled into the same bed, almost cuddling again with each other and a small stuffed lamb. Again, after all of these years. "Come on, go to sleep," Craig hums after a few minutes, breaking the giggles apart and relaxing a little more into the pillows as the day finally kicks in. Feeling Deran so the same a couple of inches away.
"Night." His voice is softer now, slowly succumbing to unconsciousness within the peace.
"Night"
And if Craig wakes up first, Deran's sleeping head laying in the crook of his arm, slightly drooling and still holding close onto his little lamb. He'd pin it on sleep movements, gently combing through the blonde hairs over his fringe, and stretching to place a kiss on the top of his head, just like all those years ago. Forever his baby Deran to protect.