Fiction: Lost in Reality - (Part 9)

[seedee]

Title: Lost in Reality - Part 9
Characters: George/Lee
Rating: This is a proud R for lots of touching
Word Count: ~6000
Summary: Reality is the state or quality of being real. But what is real? And more importantly, what is not real?

All credit goes to tree00faery and thimble_kiss for betaing this into submission. All remaining mistakes are my own.

Thank you to all who have been reading and cheering and are incredibly patient with me. There's one more part to go.


Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine - Part Ten

gone . on

Lee ran his hand down the smooth wood of his broom, glad that they were outside and about to do something. George was already hovering a few inches above the ground, prepared to explore the parameters of their world. They were trying to find a physical exit instead of only concentrating on potions and magic - and drinking.

The scene in the kitchen less than an hour earlier, had drained Lee. Never again did he want to hold a sobbing George and tell him everything would be all right some day, choking on the lie but repeating it until both of them believed it. They'd given up on the grief, at last, too exhausted to keep trying to wade through it. It had only been the first step - and no matter how much he'd hated it, Lee knew that sooner or later, they'd be back at that place, and he'd hold George again, if George let him.

And once he was back home, he'd start all over again with the real George. For now, though, home was an abstract thought, just as real George was an abstract concept.

"Are you waiting for better weather?" George called down, flying lazy circles above Lee's head.

Lee looked up into the dark and clouded sky. "I don't think this will go away. This is someone's idea of a joke."

George dropped down far enough to smack the back of Lee's head. "Everything will be brighter if you smile a little."

Lee scowled at him. "Which idiot cast a cheering charm on you?"

The wind started to pick up as soon as Lee left the ground. They headed off to the gate where they'd entered this version of Diagon Alley. As expected, though, the gate was gone. The same stone wall they'd already encountered a few days earlier was there instead.

Lee gripped the handle of his broom tightly, wishing he'd thought of putting on gloves. It was getting cold, and his fingers were freezing. George flew a curve, coming close to the edge of the airspace over Diagon. Under normal circumstances, flying in that area was strictly prohibited. There were heavy fines on breaching the invisible border between wizarding and Muggle world in a city like London where they'd be spotted as soon as they were over Muggle roads. They were unconcerned; there were no people to spot them, and no Ministry to fine them.

As it turned out, there was no passing through to Muggle territory either. Lee at first thought that George slowed down on purpose. But when George not only slowed, but stopped, cursing and trying to go on, it was obvious that George wanted to fly - but couldn't. Seconds later, Lee was there as well, and he experienced what had made George stop. It was like flying into a soft, elastic cushion. He strained against the invisible barrier that held him back until his muscles quivered and he almost lost his grip on the broom.

It was futile. No matter how much he pushed, the cushion didn't budge. With this realisation, he relaxed. Instantly, he was catapulted backwards, almost falling off his broom with the force of the blow. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw George roll and use the impetus of the elastic cushion to zoom in Lee's direction. By the time Lee had regained his balance, George was already below him, looking up and grinning.

"Smooth, Jordan," he yelled over the noise of the blowing wind. "D'you think we'll ever be able to go flying without me having to watch your clumsy arse?"

"I was just testing your reflexes," Lee countered. "They seem fine."

George opened his mouth to answer, but any retort he had was stopped in its tracks by the first heavy drops of rain. He cursed. So did Lee.

Lee dropped down to hover next to George. "Is this a variation of the invisible monster that chased us in here?"

"Reckon so." George turned in a slow circle on the spot, scanning the sky in every direction. "This looks like a thunderstorm in the making."

"Colour me surprised."

"As if you need more colour," George said with a grin that reached from ear to ear.

It took a moment for Lee to catch on. He wasn't used to George teasing him like he'd always done - surprising, witty, rarely with bite, but most times in bad taste. He tugged on the handle of his broom and caught George with one arm around the middle as he let himself fall to the side, taking George with him, tumbling through the air. They hadn't done this in years, and the last time they'd wrestled in mid-air, Lee had broken his left arm. He didn't care. As they struggled in a ball of flailing limbs and childish glee, Lee laughed and so did George. It was a sound so rare that Lee would frame it if it were possible.

Before they could hit the ground, George grabbed Lee and pulled him up, stopping their fall and preventing them from hitting cobblestone. Lee hadn't noticed that they were already that far down.

"What do you think you are doing?" George asked half exasperated, half laughing, his wet hair clinging to his face, rain pelting down on him.

"Trying to teach you some manners," Lee answered. He wiggled out of George grip and brought some distance between them. "Hopeless. I give up."

"You almost killed us, pillock."

"If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn't do it on a broom. Besides, who knows, maybe dying's the way to go. Home, I mean."

George snorted. "Definitely a way to go." The grin on his face faltered; he grew serious and contemplative.

Lee's heart started beating faster, and he reached over to touch George's arm. There were times when he wanted to cut off his own tongue for always running faster than his brain could follow. "Stop right there," he said. "It was a joke. Don't you even start thinking about it." George stared at him, his eyes unfocused, and Lee could see various emotions flickering across his face. "Stop it," Lee said again. "It was a fucking joke. It's not a way out."

A clap of thunder drowned out the last words. George started at the sound, shaking his head. "'Course not," he said before turning his broom around.

Lee wanted to talk this out and shake some sense into him; the idea stood between them like the proverbial pink elephant. But the wind was blowing, the rain was falling, and the storm was coming. It wasn't possible to have that conversation on brooms, and George took advantage of that fact.

Lee fought against the wind, flinching whenever thunder disrupted the steady sound of falling rain. He counted the seconds between lightning and thunder while he flew to the left of George's tail in a wide curve around the wizarding quarter. George kept them always in contact with the elastic wall that held them captive, looking for a weakness in the invisible construct. There was none.

They had made it from one end of Diagon Alley to the other in half a circle, when the time between thunder and lightning dropped to less than two seconds. Lee could almost taste the energy-charged air. He flew faster, and once he was next to George, he gestured at him to break this off and go back. George shook his head, indicating that they'd complete the circle first. He yelled something that was lost in the storm.

Lee shouted at the top of his lungs, but George accelerated. Instead of turning around, he flew faster. Lee followed.

It hadn't seemed possible, and yet, the weather got worse. Lee was hunched over his broom, squinting and trying to make out the surroundings through the heavy rain. The wind was icy, blurring his vision further. They were almost there, coming closer to the point where they'd started.

Had he thought about it, Lee would have realised that taking one hand off the handle of his broom to reach for George's jacket wasn't a good idea. He didn't know the broom; he wasn't a good flyer; the weather was dangerous. He didn't think about it, though. He reached out because the last streak of lightning had seemed so close that Lee would have sworn that he'd felt it crackle through the air.

Lee leaned forward to close the gap between them. There was a moment when he was unbalanced and his weight was off the centre of the broom. Later, he would reflect that the gust of wind that blew him off his broom had been waiting for that moment. It had lurked in the shadows and watched him. Then it attacked - and it won.

The tips of his fingers touched the rough fabric of George's mud green jacket. Then Lee fell, his other hand sliding off the rain-slick handle once he was unseated. The fall was long enough for Lee to yell and realise that this was going to end badly, but not long enough for George to react in time and save Lee from hitting the ground.

In the split second before the impact, Lee felt the unmistakable sensation of magic washing over him. It was a charm or a hex - in any case it wasn't enough. Lee landed hard.

The lights went out.

*

The slide back to consciousness was rough. It was freezing and wet; Lee was in the same spot where he'd landed. The force of the Ennervate that brought him back was strong enough to make his stomach churn. Hands on both sides of his face shook his head, and he opened his eyes not because he wanted to, but to make it stop. The pain in his left hip and shoulder was excruciating.

"Stop that," Lee muttered. George was leaning over him, his eyes wide with worry, grime on the side of his face. He was bare chested, and when Lee looked down at himself, he saw that George's shirt was wrapped around his arm, just below his shoulder. That was where the pain was coming from. Lee wondered where the jacket that he'd tried to touch had gone.

"Shut up, don't move, and try not to kill yourself," George ordered. He ran his wand over Lee's arm, his hand shaking so badly that he couldn't draw a straight line.

Thunder growled in the distance, and Lee realised that the rain had stopped. He moved his head to the side, groaning at the sharp pang that travelled down his spine.

George put his hand again on Lee's face, turning his head back up. "What part of 'don't move' was unclear?"

"The part where I'm taking your orders." Lee's breathing was unsteady as he spoke. He felt as if a Hippogriff had chased him from Diagon Alley to Hogsmeade - and got him.

George moved his hand from Lee's face to his forehead and left it there, keeping Lee's head in place as he tried to mend his shoulder. "I wanted to stop the fall, but the only thing I managed was to slow you down at the last moment. Not all that good, my reflexes."

George looked frantic. He pushed back his wet hair, and then tried again to heal Lee's shoulder. "I don't think anything's broken. You fell on your side." He was talking fast between casting charms. "Went out like a candle. Minutes ago. Slept through at least a dozen charms." He prodded Lee's shoulder, and Lee bit back a groan even as he realised that it was hurting less.

George bit his lip and muttered something Lee couldn't understand. Then he looked Lee in the eyes and said, "Where's it hurt? Did you hit your head? Are you okay? Hell, Jordan, say something!"

Lee would have laughed if George hadn't looked sick with worry. He was pale and shivering, his eyes red-rimmed and hollow. "Just following orders," Lee said, reaching up with his right hand to touch George's wrist. "I'll be all right. Just-" he flinched as he tried to move and his hip told him in no uncertain terms that it didn't approve. "Just do something about my hip and I'll be good to go."

"You're far from good to go, and you know it."

"I survived falling off a broom once or twice before." Lee was tempted to take the wand out of George's hands and cast the charms himself.

"Yeah. You're talented like that."

"You're freezing," Lee said.

George frowned, seemingly puzzled. Then he looked down at himself. "I'd rather deal with another cold than..." He didn't finish the sentence.

Several charms later, Lee was able to move his leg. George's assessment had been correct. Nothing seemed to be broken. It hurt, though. It hurt a lot. Lee needed help to sit up long enough to make it through the short ride to WWW.

He sat in front of George, with George holding him against his chest, knowing that he wouldn't have been able to walk all the way back to the flat, but not liking it at all. Lee squeezed his eyes shut as they took off, humming to himself and trying not to focus on the flight or the soreness. There was sour bile in the back of his throat, and by the time they landed, Lee's fingers were numb to the point of cramping from gripping the handle.

George touched the ground as gently as possible, letting go of the broom as soon as he was standing, holding Lee upright.

"Let's try and tackle those stairs," George said, moving to Lee's uninjured side and supporting him as they walked through the door of the shop and past the empty, dusty shelves. "One after the other."

It was exhausting, but they made it upstairs, both of them panting by the time they reached George's bedroom.

"If I'd known that a simple fall off a broom is enough to get off the sofa and into the bed, I'd have done that days ago," Lee said, attempting to distract himself and George from the pathetic groan that escaped him as he sat down on the bed.

Warmth washed over him.

"Why do your warming charms work and mine don't?" Lee asked.

George shook his head. "No idea." He cast a charm on himself as well, his hair changing colour as it dried, droplets disappearing from his bare chest. He opened the closet and grabbed a jumper. There was an F on the front. "It's random. Everything here is random."

He sat down next to Lee who avoided moving as much as possible. "What now?" Lee asked.

"Now I'm going to undress you. And for every obnoxious comment you make, I'll poke you where it hurts."

Lee groaned again when he lay down. This time, it was more relief than pain. "Obnoxious? I'm not the one who's using an unfortunate accident as an excuse to molest his helpless friend."

George poked Lee's hip.

George's shirt wrapped around Lee's arm was the first to go. There was blood on the inside and more blood on Lee's clothes. After George had helped Lee out of his own torn shirt, they saw that the wound wasn't deep but wide. The healing charms had closed it. Several angry red lines were left and bruises from shoulder to elbow.

"I'd really like to punch you in the face right now," George muttered as he charmed away the blood and summoned the jar of bruise paste they'd already used for mending his knee. His hands were still shaking, and his face hadn't regained its colour.

"Go ahead if it helps. Just heal my nose if you break it. I like the shape."

It was the wrong thing to say. George flinched. He got up, sending the jar of paste flying through the air. It broke as it fell down on the floor. George turned his back on Lee, but from the line of his shoulders and the way he moved, Lee saw that he was struggling to keep himself from running.

Lee was silent for long moments, the harsh sound of George's heavy breathing resonating between them. "I'm sorry," Lee finally said.

George tensed. "Don't."

"Come on, George. I fell off the broom. It's not like I did it on purpose."

George turned around. "Don't you think I know that?" He came back to the bed and sat down hard enough to make Lee's hip protest. "You can't do that." He stared at Lee as if willing him to understand. "You can't go out there and fall off the broom and hurt yourself. Or worse. I made you go flying in that weather. It would have been my fault. Again."

The pain in George's eyes was raw. It was a tangible thing, thick and vile, and Lee's breath caught as he was dragged into it, beginning to understand how painful the wound still was.

"It's just some bruises," he said. "I've had millions of those. So did you." He reached out and put his hand on the back of George's neck. "I'm clumsy as fuck on a broom and probably would've fallen off in any weather." He squeezed and shook George gently. "Now get me out of these jeans. I've got hundreds of jokes in stock for that occasion."

George collapsed and let his head fall on Lee's chest. "You poofy bastard."

Lee smiled, stroking George's head and holding him close to his chest. "That's my boy."

*

George was still pale and looked fragile - something that was wrong in more ways than Lee could count - but after twenty minutes of Lee's constant chattering, he seemed more exasperated than anguished.

"Yes, right there," Lee said, wiggling until George's hand moved a fraction to the right and hit where it hurt the most.

"Tell me again why you can't do that yourself," George asked, half frowning, half smiling.

"'Cause I'm hurt and sad and lonely, and I'm taking full advantage of your guilt." Lee flinched as George's palm moved across the spot where his skin stretched thinly over his hipbone. He wasn't convinced that there were no broken bones, and he hoped George's salve was worth its reputation.

"Hurt and sad and lonely. More like lazy, self-pitying and in dire need of some flying lessons."

"That, too." Lee looked up at George. "You all right?"

George nodded. Then he was silent. Then he shook his head, breaking eye contact but never stopping the soothing movements of his hand. He ran the fingers of his other hand across the red lines on Lee's shoulder. "That'll scar."

Lee shrugged with his uninjured side. "Makes me look heroic and dangerous. Blokes like that. I'll invent a cool story with dragons and knives and saving an innocent child."

George touched the thick scar on Lee's belly that had been there for more than a year. "It makes you look scarred."

"Admit it; you like it," Lee answered.

George stopped touching Lee. He closed the jar with far more care than was necessary, and then wiped his fingers on his jeans, staring at a spot above Lee's head.

Lee was confused at the sudden change of mood. "Am I missing something?"

"Reckon so." George got up and turned around. He went back to the window. It was getting late in the afternoon. Sun was breaking through the still heavily clouded sky, and it smelled like rain, wet and rich.

"Let's pretend for a second that I'm not omniscient and that I can't read your mind," Lee said.

George's shoulders shook; Lee hoped it was with laughter, but he couldn't tell; there was no sound.

"D'you notice how different we are from just a few days ago?" George asked. "If you'd told me that the two of us alone together would survive fourteen days without killing each other, I'd have laughed at you. And how sad is that? We've been best mates forever, and I'm here and surprised that I enjoy it."

Lee knew what George meant. "We lost it for a while," he said.

George nodded, still facing the other way. "Is it just me?"

Lee thought about this. "No," he said. "Not just you."

"You've been a grumpy bastard. I like the old you better."

Lee reached for the pillow and threw it even as he groaned because it hurt. "I'm not grumpy, you moody, sulking sod."

George turned just in time to be hit in the face. He threw the pillow to the side and came back to the bed. "You think it'll stay that way once we're back?"

"Has it ever been that easy?"

Sighing, George stretched out on the bed, rolled to his side and propped his head up on his arm. He played the tips of his fingers over the bruises on Lee's side.

Lee wished he was wearing more than boxers, not knowing what to think of the awkward tension between them.

"Do you ever think about the time when we were sixteen? What could have been?"

The words were unexpected, and Lee didn't know how to answer. He was stunned into silence, and the moment stretched. "It's not the time for that," he said, because something needed to be said, and he reached down to pull George's hand away. "Don't do that."

The air was growing thin, or so it seemed, as George turned his hand and tangled their fingers. This was going too far, even for this particular fantasy that - Lee was sure now - was never going to end. He'd be stuck forever with George who wasn't quite George but so close that it hurt.

"Give me one reason not to," George said, rolling closer so that Lee could feel the warmth of George's body against his side.

"It didn't work when we were sixteen," Lee said, his voice dropping to a whisper as George still came closer.

"That's a crap reason." George pressed his lips against Lee's collarbone, and they were soft enough to almost break Lee's resistance.

He tried again, though. "I've only ever seen you with girls since then."

"That reason is even worse."

Lee closed his eyes. He felt George's lips move from his collarbone up his neck. "You've not shown any interest whatsoever since we were bloody sixteen."

"That's all you got?" George said just before he covered Lee's lips with his own.

Fleeting thoughts went through Lee's head, most of them dealing with the fact that this was his own screwed fantasy. While his mind was distracted, his body opened to the kiss. It remembered the touches and the taste. It didn't resist when George parted his lips, and it shivered when, uninvited, George's tongue crossed the border between them.

Lee remembered the stolen moments, their first kisses, and their mutual decision that they liked their friendship easy and without complications with the power to break it.

Warm breath tickled Lee's cheek. Gradually, all thought went away, and what was left was the soft, wet touch of George's tongue, the slow kiss that was overwhelming in its sweetness and playfulness. It tasted and felt like the George he'd fallen for. Nothing about this kiss was bitter or careless; nothing about it was even remotely resigned or apathetic.

As George nibbled on his bottom lip, Lee grinned and slid his uninjured arm around George's waist. He squeezed George's arse through his jeans and got a breathless chuckle for his efforts.

Maybe it was because it felt right to do this, or maybe it was because they both hadn't been laid in weeks. In any case, they were both naked before either of them could question why this was happening, and why it was happening so fast.

There was no room to think between George's mouth and George's hand that held Lee's erection in a tight grip. It slid up and down, slicked by home-made vanilla-cinnamon-pine lube. Lee reached out to explore, wincing when the simple movement put pressure on his injured body parts.

"Take it easy," George murmured against Lee's lips as he shifted, making it possible for Lee to touch him. He adjusted and slowed, guided by the sounds Lee made. Positioning himself half over Lee, he straddled the unharmed leg without putting any weight on him. George propped himself up with one arm braced over Lee's head, and Lee admired the play of muscles, kissing the freckles on his shoulders.

After all these years, George still remembered that a thumb lightly touching the head of Lee's cock would drive Lee insane, that Lee liked when George rolled his balls in his hand, and that he couldn't help but moan when George pressed just there.

Lee came first, but George wasn't far behind, spending himself on Lee's belly. Their lips were still joined, and when Lee opened his eyes, he looked straight into George's. They broke the kiss, grinning.

Lee wiped his hand on the sheet and tucked a strand of hair behind George's ear. He looked at the freckled lobe and traced the shell with his thumb. "I wish you were real," he said, sadness welling up inside him.

There was a moment of silence. Then George punched him.

The position prevented the worst - or maybe George had pulled the punch. The fist hit Lee's jaw at an awkward angle, not causing much damage, but hurting nevertheless. Tears were blurring his vision as he opened his eyes, neither from crying nor from the pain but simply from the impact of the punch.

George was already standing and pulling up his jeans. His face was full of rage. The last time, Lee had seen him like this, Molly Weasley had suggested cleaning up Fred's room and turning it into a guest room.

"I'm sick of it." George pulled a t-shirt over his head. "I'm sick of all the people who want to change me." In an eerie imitation of his mother's voice, George said, "Don't drink so much. Reopen the shop. You have to go out. Fuck a nice girl, Georgie. Fred would have wanted you to laugh."

He was getting louder, and Lee tried to sit up. His vision was still blurred. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean-"

"Shut the hell up," George roared. "You of all people should know me. You should know better. What do you think? That I'm going to kill myself? Did you ever think that I don't have a magic button that I can press to make myself whole again?"

Lee struggled to his feet, reaching for his boxers.

George pointed to the bed. "How can you say I'm not real after what we've just done? You're a pathetic idiot. You want me to move on, but the moment I try, I can't possibly be real because the real George is a wreck, and the real George isn't fun, and the real George is nothing without his brother who is dead."

It was bloody torture to pull up his trousers; Lee's hip and shoulder screamed terror.

"You know what? I'll do what they want. I'll move on. Right now. You better pray that you'll get back to your own world soon, Jordan, because there won't be much left of this one when I'm done with it."

George pulled on his boots, grabbed his wand and stalked out of the room. Lee cursed and followed George, foregoing luxuries such as shirt or shoes or wand. He hobbled down the stairs, worried at the thumping he heard, tasting blood, throbbing all over and feeling as if he'd danced with a troll.

He arrived at the foot of the stairs just in time to see George fill a seemingly bottomless bag with experimental explosives. "What are you doing?" Lee asked. "Whatever you plan to do, we should talk about it."

"I'm done talking," George said without looking up from what he was doing. "Get out."

"Why?"

"Get out now. It's going to get hot in here."

Lee felt sick when he realised what was about to happen. "You're angry," he said, trying not to panic. "Think this through."

"I'm done thinking. You want the old George? Surprise! The old George is back, and he likes to blow things up." George grabbed the bag and walked towards the door. "If you're not outside in ten seconds, I'll summon you and dump you on the street outside. Don't count on a soft landing."

"George, wait," Lee called, but George neither looked back nor stopped. He just walked on, the bag slung over his shoulder. The late afternoon sun shining in through the shop-window made the scene look dramatic. There was a golden aura around George's dark figure as he left the building, and Lee had to blink against the blinding light. Slowed down by his hip, Lee limped after George, slowing but not stopping when he stepped into Diagon Alley. The ground was cold and wet beneath his bare feet, and the wind had picked up again.

The bag made a clunking sound when it hit the cobblestones. George bent down and flipped it open; he hadn't bothered to close it properly. He took out a small wheel and twirled it around his fingers. It was an elegant, nimble movement that he'd practiced and perfected over the years. It was supposed to look nonchalant.

"Do you know what it's like when there's one person left, and the person stops believing in you?" George turned his head to look at Lee. His gaze was steady.

"I never did that," Lee said and took a step toward him.

George threw the wheel into the air and caught it easily. "It's like watching the person you love most die all over again." George threw the wheel again and caught it in his left hand. "And again."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."

It was a lie, and George saw right through it. The corners of his mouth twitched into a smile, and he reached up with his right hand to take his wand that he'd tucked behind his ear. "Don't worry, Jordan. Memories falling into a cauldron, potions gone wrong. Bullshit. That was just a distraction from the real question."

That didn't make much sense to Lee. He frowned, trying to understand what George was saying. "What's the real question?" he asked to gain some time.

George twirled the wheel and let it dance over his fingers. "The question is 'What would Fred want me to do'. Everyone seems to suddenly know what dear old Fred wants. Except me, of course. Who am I to know that?" Sarcasm was dripping off George's voice.

"He'd want you to move on," Lee tried.

George snorted. "Did you read that in one of Lockhart's books? 'How to Handle a Grieving Twin, Volume Two'? Mum's read the same book." The grin was still there, and George's voice hadn't lost its bite. But now tears were running down his cheeks. "I don't give a shit what Fred wants," he shouted. "I won't answer that question, because I can't. He's not here." The wheel was flashing in different colours as George threw it into the air one last time. He caught it and gripped it tightly. "Fred's dead. And I want an explosion."

With the last word, George pulled back his left arm and threw with all the force and precision of a beater. The wheel made a whizzing sound as it soared through the air. George shifted his weight, pointed his wand, and at the exact moment when the wheel smashed the shop window, he cast a spell.

Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes and the flat above the shop exploded.

The sound was loud enough to shake the ground. Lee lost his balance and fell to his knees, instinctively covering his ears and making himself as small as possible despite the pain in hip and shoulder. He grabbed George's wrist as he went down, pulling him to the ground as well. The change in temperature was instant as the very air seemed to boil. Rubble rained down on them, making frightening noises, and Lee wondered if George had stayed so close to the explosion on purpose, where the risk of getting stoned by debris was high.

The question was answered when George next to him chuckled. "You can stop playing hedgehog, Lee. I cast a shield. Contrary to popular belief I'm not trying to kill myself."

Lee exhaled and chanced a glance from behind his arms. "Could have fooled me."

George stood up and offered Lee his hand. Lee took it and let himself be pulled up. "Where are your shoes?"

Lee looked down. He was standing in between rubble. "They're burning. Like my wand." He ran his hand over his hair. "Feel better?"

There were flames now, leaking from the debris of the house, coming out of glassless windows and emerging from where the roof had been. They looked at it, entranced. Small explosions from inside shook the remaining structures. George didn't answer the question; Lee didn't repeat it.

"Nice work," someone said behind them.

George turned around at the familiar voice. He didn't look surprised at seeing the face that was so like his own, minus the soot and grime. "Just in time for the big show."

"Wouldn't have missed it for the world," Fred said.

They were looking at each other, identical expressions on their faces. Lee took a step backwards, feeling like an intruder.

"Did you figure out what I want yet?" Fred asked.

George grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "I just blew up your life's work. What makes you think I care?"

Fred laughed. "I don't. I'm not real."

"I'm not real either," George said and nodded at Lee. "Ask him."

Fred didn't take his eyes off his twin. "Maybe Lee's the one who's not real."

George shook his head. "If you had a never-ending fantasy, would you include him?"

"Point," Fred said. He wrapped an arm around George's shoulders and touched George's forehead with his own. "Blow it all up; I don't give a shit."

George swallowed. "I know," he whispered.

"I can't stay."

"I know."

"You can't stay either."

George nodded; his words were barely audible as he said again, "I know."

"You can't keep using vanilla scented lube. It's just bad taste."

George laughed and closed his eyes, forcing tears to spill down his cheeks. "I know," he said. "I miss you."

Fred hugged him. After a long moment, he let go and stepped back. "I know," he said.

George's smile was sad. "You won't come back."

Fred shrugged and smiled back. "Never say never." He winked at Lee before he turned around. "Take care, Jordan. And next time, if someone punches you, punch back."

He turned around and walked towards the burning building without looking back.

And there it was, the tugging deep inside Lee’s guts, vertigo that made the world look lopsided. The light was fading.

Lee grasped George’s hands, not ready to let him go. He tried to shout something, but there was nothing coming out of his mouth.

George just stood there, staring at his burning existence and at his brother who was walking through rubble and debris, surrounded by fire. There were dirty streaks down George's face, left by tears - but his eyes were dry now.

Fred had reached the place where the door had been. There was nothing left but a black hole filled with angry flames. He grinned and waved, mouthing something that George seemed to understand. George laughed and waved back. And then Fred smiled one last time and turned around, walking into the building. The ceiling of the second floor gave way. The building collapsed in itself. It was crumbling and dissolving.

And then, everything was gone.


Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine - Part Ten

Thank you for reading.