The Woods
It's cold out. Edward presses his hands into his forehead, readjusting his glasses as he does so, and pulls his cardigan tighter around him, glad of the warmth. The study is silent aside from him; another thing he's grateful for. With three families living in the house, and a fourth who may as well be, things are getting a little too cramped for his liking. Hell, even his annoyingly large immediate family was bad enough before the others came. He shoots a glance out of the window at the pelting rain, smirking. It wasn't as though he didn't care for any of them somewhat. But if some of the younger ones happened to get caught up in a mudslide and didn't come back... Well he wouldn't exactly be complaining.
Still, he's three hours into trying to dissect a late night plan which he doesn't quite remember writing. There's a lot of mistakes, font changes, and a few pages written in something that looks suspiciously like Klingon.
"Remind me not to drink on the job," he mumbles, letting his head rest against the pixelated monitor, hair splaying out against it while he closes his eyes, trying to get rid of the dull ache behind them. The monotony and brewing headache make him almost glad of a loud, frantic knock on the front door.
"Matty, you get it," the bored voice of his roommate Morgan calls from the next door down.
"I will. I need a fucking break," Edward hoists himself up out of his desk chair.
"Cheers," his brother nods from the same room Morgan's voice came from.
"Whatever," he sighs, taking the stairs two at a time, ready to find a mud covered child or two at the door, begging for a towel or a plaster. Instead, he swings one of the double doors open to find the neighbour's kid in pastel wellingtons and a mackintosh. He scratches the back of his head. "You don't live here now, do you? I'm losing track these days.."
"No, no I don't." She's years younger than him, but has the voice of someone who's willing to boss him around. He sighs.
"You're, um, Mick? Milly?"
"Minerva." "Right yeah. Sorry, I don't think your friends are in right now."
"No shit," she snaps. He recoils slightly. "How old are you again?" "That doesn't matter, you have to come with me right now.
"What are you here for? Cause if this is just another weird game of secret agents, I swear I'm skinning Theo alive-" "Shut up and follow," she impatiently tugs at his cardigan with a muddy hand. He prys it off. "God- fine, let me get my shoes on," He rams them into a pair of boots which are probably his. There's what, eleven kids living here, the whole distinguishing things loses it's point when searching for your name in the soles takes more time than putting them on would. "Hurry up," She tugs on his arm again, and this time he follows, half skidding on the mess of mud which has become of their usually neat suburban lawn, leading him across the road to the woods. Perks of a rich neighbourhood is it borders a hilly forest rather than another set of endless cheap real estate lots.
Without hesitation, she jumps over a tree stump, fingers still tightly clutching the fabric of his shirt. The two of them stagger and trip down, until they reach the bank of a stream, where she stops.
"By the bridge." A little disgruntled by the ordering around, he huffs and turns in the direction he thinks he's supposed to. It's been a while since he came here last. "Were you listening!?" Minerva's voice comes from up ahead of him. "I told you to stay still!" "And I told you I could handle it," A slightly deeper voice retorts. At least Edward can put a name to this one, it's Peter, one of the other kids who moved in when their families decided to band together or whatever excuse his dad used this time.
"Alright, what's going on, he sighs, reaching the old wooden 'bridge,' setting his eyes on the two kids. Minerva is crouching by Peter, who's white pressed shirt is caked in mud, laying on his front. The tracks through the earth show he's dragged himself up the riverbank, and the fact he's soaked and shivering only aids this assumption.
"He fell from the bridge and hurt his ankle-" Minerva is interrupted by a heavy sigh. "I'm fine, just help me up already."
"Why the hell did you bring me out here if you're fine?" Ed crosses his arms, annoyed at the film of water settling on his glasses
"He's not!" Minerva insists. Edward rolls his eyes at her, offering Peter a hand. He takes it, pulling himself up but immediately buckles as soon as he puts weight on his left leg, gritting his teeth.
"Okay, hold still," Ed groans internally, grabbing him around the waist instead, annoyed at the mud being transferred onto his own clothes, but easily carrying him over his shoulder thanks to the five year age gap. "Put me down, this is fucking humiliating," he mutters, wiping the dirt off of his glasses. "Language, shortass. I'm more than happy to leave you down here to crawl home yourself." There's a moment of annoyed silence, before a hissed; "Fine."
Dragging the kid up the hill, all he can think about is himself and Matty at that age. It would have been the two of them in that same situation, the roles almost interchangeable.
By the time they reach the front door, tracking mud across the carpet, Peter is fuming.
"This is humiliating," he mutters. "Know what else is humiliating? Dragging you across the street over my shoulder. So shut up, shortass." "Edward, would you mind not swearing at the twelve year olds?" Morgan appears, leaning on the doorframe. "He's an ass," he shrugs, unceremoniously depositing him on the sofa.
"Case and point," They sigh, crossing the room and giving Ed a shove towards the door. "Maybe I'll take it from here."
"Please. I'm going back to Klingon hell," he shrugs off his muddy cardigan, throwing it onto the coat rack and kicking off his shoes. He'd take the headache over those two any day.