Warnings: Angst, angst, and more angst. Not a happy ending in sight. I'm not sure whether or not Ash is going to kill me for this one…
Pairings: Will/Bran and Barney/Bran
The wind moaned and howled. It swirled unhappily, grasping at the trees, tearing down leaves and small branches. It reached for the house, scrabbling, ripping, trying to force its way into the still, silent building. It shrieked louder at is failure, and slowly the wind faded to a drawn out keen that amplified t he rains brokenhearted weeping.
Inside the house a figure lay crumpled on the floor in front of an empty hearth. It trembled slightly, shaken by harsh, choking sobs. A flash of lightning shone through the window, causing the figures sandy blond hair and pale skin to glow in the light. As the thunder growled the young man faded back into darkness.
He spoke, his voice a harsh whisper. “Why?” Barney whimpered. “Oh why, Bran, why? Why did you do this? Why did you betray me? How could you betray me?” His voice faded again, coming back to utter one more shattered “why” before trailing off once more into almost soundless yet still broken weeping. Barney Drew curled up into a small ball, dejection and pain in every line of his posture.
Barney wasn't sure when or where it had all gotten started. He supposed it could have been on that first trip to Wales when they ran into Will and he introduced them to Bran. Barney could remember being awestruck by the green and mountainous beauty of Wales. The landscape stood exuding a timeless, yet somehow still ancient, beauty that had resonated down to his very bones causing him to firmly believe that he'd been there before, no matter what Jane or Simon said. Bran had just slid into the scene, with his lilting accent and striking lack of colour. Barney felt, even then, that there was something more to the arrogant young man who seemed as timeless as the land he was from. Barney was drawn to Bran from the first. Barney wouldn't go so far as to say he fell in love with Bran on that first trip, but he could say that there was certainly something there, he just didn't know what.
He supposed it could have started when Jane ran into Bran at university and then proceeded to bring him home with her. That seemed far more likely to Barney. He could clearly remember Jane dragging Bran into the Drew's home, laughter shining on both their faces. They stood in the brightly lit front hall of the Drew's London home, the light glowing off of the white walls and Bran's pale hair, while Jane's hair flowed around her face like a dark cloud. The contrast had fascinated Barney initially as he had leaned in the living room doorway, and his fingers had itched to pick up a pencil to sketch the scene.
He could remember Jane saying to him and his mother, who had appeared from the kitchen, “Look who I found at school! We're going to have to tell off Will for not warning me to keep an eye out!” The Drews had all kept in touch with Will Stanton, although they had lost touch with Bran after that trip to Wales. Will, on the other hand, had stayed in contact with Bran and they had an extremely close friendship. Barney could easily recall feeling the jealousy that had swept over him, burning him from the inside out, hot, hurtful, and ugly, upon seeing Bran and Jane standing so close together, as one apparent unit, and at finding out just how close a friendship Bran and Will had. He could also remember being awash in confusion over his jealousy.
Black dog on my shoulder. That's what his family had always called a dark mood. Bran's first visit triggered one that lasted for months as Barney wrestled with his growing realization about his sexuality. Going from thinking that one was straight, or at least asexual, to realizing that one was gay was not an easy thing to do. Eventually Barney accepted that he was gay, that he was living up to so many stereotypes about artists. Barney did not want to be a stereotype, not anymore than he'd wanted to be an artist. Yet he was both, and he was attracted to an old family friend, a friend he suspected was dating his sister. The very thought made Barney's skin crawl.
So, in the end, Barney was fairly positive that's where it began for him, with Jane dragging Bran in through the front door for a weekend away from university. He did admit it could have started in Wales and that his psyche just couldn't deal with it. So it put off dealing with knowledge until Jane brought Bran home. Either way Barney was almost completely sure that's where it all began for him. Barney had no idea where it began for Bran though, or if it ever really did.
Bran spent most of his time with Jane after he was reintroduced to the Drews. During that first visit he was polite to Simon but they had nothing in common, aside from Jane and Will. Barney tried hard to avoid Bran, but quickly realized it didn't much matter. He was in turmoil no matter where he was and when he was actually around Bran he was either ignored or treated like a young child, like he'd been the first time they'd met. Barney did not like that at all. So he'd lost himself in anger and confusion and his art. Barney could positively conclude, in his own mind, that it did not begin for Bran then.
Jane and Bran were almost always together. They shared a flat, several classes, friends, and enemies. Jane often brought Bran home for the holidays, or he took her to Wales. Will Stanton began to come around more often, as well. If Jane and Bran were at the Drew's home so was Will. Barney knew, in hindsight, that that should have told him something. Before Bran came round they only saw Will infrequently. It seemed to Barney, even then, that Will was saying they weren't good enough for most of his time, not unless Bran was there. And, as far as Barney was concerned, it simply meant one more person who treated him like a child and one more person that Bran could ignore him in favour of. Barney hated it, and it did nothing for his black moods. However, it did teach him a great deal of restraint as he struggled with his frustration, anger, and jealousy. He learned to bite his tongue and to hide his emotions. He did not come out to his family or friends. Barney, instead, stopped denying a part of himself and hid in his art, which improved dramatically.
Barney started using his holidays as an excursion period. He toured the countryside and occasionally cities, for landscapes to paint. Notebooks and canvases were filled, to both his art instructor and mother's delight. Barney merely used them as a way to document his moods. Violent storms and busy, ugly cityscapes portrayed his anger and frustration. Light rain over countryside or quiet cities depicted sadness. Barren cities or landscapes depicted his desolation, depression, and loneliness. However, there were bright paintings, full of life and laughter to show his happiness too. Barney may have been struggling with who he was and who he loved, but even so he knew to look for hope and happiness. And so he found it, off by himself and in himself. Barney adjusted, and buried his jealousy so deeply that most of the time he forgot it was there. He told himself that he was over Bran, and that all was well. If many of his paintings were of Wales, well he'd always liked the country and why shouldn't he see more of it? That's what he told his mother and anyone else who asked. He told himself that it had nothing to do with Bran. And on some layer it didn't. On that first trip to Wales, before he'd met Bran, he'd known that he loved the country, that it spoke to him, called to him, and always would. And because he was away from them all, finding himself, Barney knew that Bran did not think of him, and so it could not have started there for him.
Jane and Bran graduated from university and Barney started. He chose to attend St. Andrew's in Scotland because of its art program. He was happy there, away from his family, away from Jane and Bran who were still sharing a flat. Away from Bran who still treated him, if he acknowledged Barney at all, as a child. His art continued to improve and he began to do more than just landscapes. Barney rarely painted portraits, outside of class assignments. There was only one person he wanted to paint from life and that was impossible. Barney instead painted fantastic scenes from his dreams, paintings that featured medieval castles, crystal swords, and visions in a golden chalice. He painted scenes from Celtic mythology and the Arthurian legends. They felt real to him and practically leapt to life off from his canvas. Barney never could quite figure out why his pictures of Merlin always resembled his Great Uncle Merry from the flying shock of white hair, to the piercing eyes, and beak-like nose.
Outside of school and his art Barney made friends. He visited them during the holidays, rather than going home and seeing Jane with Bran and Will. Since most of his friends were also artists they were more than pleased to have him visit and paint, or wander through British Isles with him in search of new inspiration. Barney also found that he enjoyed visiting clubs and dancing amidst the crush of bodies to loud, throbbing music. He was able to lose himself within the music and the crowds, to simply exist, and the more driving the beat, the easier it was to do, and the more Barney enjoyed dancing. He even casually dated, although those relationships never went anywhere. Neither Barney nor his partners wanted that. While Barney tried to deny it he knew, somewhere deep inside, that he was still waiting for Bran. Waiting for someone who did not think of him as anyone but Jane's younger and annoying brother. For someone that he didn't see, refused to see, over those four years.
Despite his avoidance of home, Barney did see his mother over those years. He needed her. He needed her soothing presence and calm advice. He needed her opinions over his artwork. She had become his guiding light when it came to art. Barney gave her his portfolio's to keep safe, starting from childhood scribbles to his college coursework. In his last few weeks at university his Mother came to see him for the day. It was astonishingly warm, and they had lunch in an outdoor café. With a voice as warm as the sunshine she told him that she had shown his work to her agent and gallery.
“Barney,” she enthused, “they love your work and would love you to do a showing in September. That'll give you time to finish your coursework and design the exhibition. It will be good exposure,” Mrs. Drew said, a warm smile on her face. Barney could clearly remember that. He could also remember the glee, no the sheer pleasure that had bubbled through his veins like champagne. He knew that few young artists could get a solo showing so early in their career, let alone one in as prominent a gallery as his mother's was. He agreed with his mother, a bright smile on his face, and knew that when he saw her off at the train station that he was going to be busy. He had to finish his course work and it was going to be hard work, preparing an art exhibition. He didn't mind a bit, and he did work hard.
Barney picked out his best works, as well as finishing a few new ones just for the showing. He organized them in separate thematic sections, and then created a floor plan for them within the gallery. Only when he completed that, and the gallery was prepared for him, did he go in to set up his exhibition. Barney took his best mythology pieces and placed them around the room, letting them deliver bursts of colour and story, while still retaining a sense of mystery. The Arthurian legends formed two circles, the welsh version of the tales made one, while the medieval versions made the other. His landscapes went around the edges of the room, making a path of shifting moods that corresponded to the themes in the other exhibits that they were closest to.
Barney wandered through the gallery, getting a feel for the full effect of his work, occasionally tweaking the position of a picture or two, but largely he was pleased. A warm feeling spread through him and a wide, brilliant smile made his face glow brightly. Barney reveled in his luck. He couldn't wait to find out if others approved.
The gallery door opened and a bell twinkled. Barney spun around to see his mother enter and close the door. He smiled at her and threw his arms wide, gleefully telling her, “It's finished, Mum! What do you think of it?” Mrs. Drew placed her coat on the rack by the door, kissed Barney on the cheek in greeting, and floated off to look at his exhibits presentation.
“You've done a lovely job, Barney,” she enthused. “I'm sure people will adore your work. But might I suggest switching those two paintings with each other? And perhaps reorganizing this section here so that it feels a little more positive?” Mrs. Drew asked her son. Barney could remember flushing at her praise, feeling his skin burn, and he ducked his head. However, he looked back up to see what his mother was advising him to do.
And so Barney was ready for his first art show. Excitement fizzed and bubbled in his veins, a brilliant smile tugged at his mouth, and he bounced slightly on his feet. As the opening hour grew closer Barney's excitement spiraled higher and higher and struggled to hide it, struggled to contain it and maintain his self possession. He knew his mother was amused, he could see it and warm understanding in her sparkling eyes.
“Take a deep breath dear,” she said, “it's time.” And it was time, he knew. Barney didn't really know what to expect from an art show for a young artist. He didn't expect the stream of people. Didn't expect all the other artists, the critics, the art collectors, and other visitors. He'd expected his family, and they came. Barney's father was the first person through the door and Simon came in shortly after.
Barney had to bite back laughter at the shocked look on Simon's face as he wandered through the gallery. He hadn't realized that Simon had no idea what he was working on. Simon came and stood next to Barney, towering over him as Simon had always done. He gave Barney an awestruck look. “Is this what you've been working on when you refused to come home?” he asked.
Barney shrugged. “Some of it. I only brought the best to the showing. Some of what I've done, well that will never see the light of day.” His mind drifted briefly to the work he had not brought with him. Some of it was just bad, created on days when nothing would go right in his painting. Some of the work however, was too dark, too personal, painted on days when he was too depressed to paint anything light. He banished those thoughts, wanting his good mood, this easy freeness to remain.
Simon blinked at him, surprised at his nonchalant tone. “It's that bad?” he asked incredulously. “I don't believe it, not with how good this is.” He waved vaguely around the room.
Barney snickered. “Thanks,” he said, “but honestly, Simon, not everything can be good. Haven't you realized that after all these years of watching Mum? And no, not all of my work is that bad. Some of it is of course, and some of it…” he trailed off, his eyes going vague as he thought about a small collection that he'd shoved into a corner and covered up.
“Some of it?” Simon inquired, his voice prompting. Barney shook himself.
“Some of it's personal, really personal and I don't want them seen.” His voice was firm. He really didn't want anybody to see he dreams portrayed in oils. No one needed to see visions in a grail, a tree under attack, or a wooden sailing ship bearing grief. Those paintings disturbed Barney, but not quite as much as some of the others, the ones where his dreams came true.
“Oh,” Simon replied, his voice unsure as he stared at Barney's hard face. Barney shook himself again, and smiled.
“Yes, oh,” he said, “that sums it up pretty well. So, you really like these?”
Simon nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, I said so, didn't I? The only thing I don't get is why you put Uncle Merry in those?” Simon pointed at the Arthurian paintings.
Barney shrugged. “It seemed to fit,” he started, and stopped as Simon interrupted him.
“Oh look! Jane's here and she's brought Bran and Will. She said she might. Come on, let's go say hello.” Simon sounded pleased.
Barney shook his head. “No,” he said, “I think I'll stay here and let them look at the paintings in peace.” His feet were firmly planted on the ground and a stubborn expression was on his face. Simon looked startled again but nodded his acceptance.
Barney had expected Jane to come. She was family. And he was aware that she shared a flat with Bran still, although he had no idea what their precise relationship was. He'd never asked, never wanted to know, never wanted to wake the black dog or twist the knife. Still, as far as he knew, Bran was not interested in visual art. Furthermore, he knew perfectly well that Bran had no interest in him, so there was no reason for him to come. So Barney had not expected him.
Nor had he expected Will of the round face, fly away brown hair, and absent manner. Will, who was busy getting his doctorate in anthropology from Oxford. Will, who never had time for him unless he was with Jane and Bran. Will, who was another person who perpetually saw him as the ten year old boy he once was, rather than the adult or the artist he had become. No, he had not expected Will either.
Barney waded through his shock and surprise as he watched Simon approach the trio. Jane greeted her brother warmly, as did Will and Bran. However, both men seemed stiff, and Barney thought that there appeared to be an icy wall between Bran and Will that they were trying to hide. But he could not observe them properly. He didn't have the time.
His mother approached, introducing him to several other artists and initiating an in-depth conversation about his work in specific and art in general. Half way through the discussion Barney withdrew to speak with some of the critics and other visitors. That was when Bran caught up with him.
Copyright 2005