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Entry tags:
TDIR: Goodbyes
Fandom: The Dark Is Rising
Pairing: Will/Bran
Warnings: None
Rating: G
Summary: Bran has something difficult to tell Owen. For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
over_look.
"You're leaving?"
Bran runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back out of his eyes, and nods. "Yes, Da," he says, softly. "And there's nothing you can say to make me stay. I can't tell you much about why, either."
Owen looks at him -- wonders when he grew so much, when he had that final growth spurt. He's familiar-strange; there's something in his eyes that Owen doesn't recognise, a kind of fire, a brightness, that Bran's lacked for so long. "I don't understand," he says, finally, and Bran sighs.
"I know. But... I'm going to go with Will. It's -- he's -- I -- "
Almost automatically, Owen moves to put the kettle on, to make tea. "Let's talk about it over a drink," he says. Bran sighs again and nods, sitting down. Owen can't help but notice the way he looks around the house he grew up in: as if he never intends to come back. Or as if he'll never be able to come back. He makes the tea quickly, trying to tell himself that nothing is wrong, nothing is going to change. His heart knows better, twisting inside his chest.
"Thanks," Bran says, when Owen passes him his cup, and he waits until Owen sits down too before he draws breath to speak. "Will is... different. He's been going off on his own, all round the world, for months at a time, for years now. He doesn't do it because he wants to. He does it because he has to."
Owen doesn't say anything.
"He's... he has to watch. For something happening." Bran bites his lip, and then shakes his head. "I've got to tell you. Just a little. He's the watchman for the Light, against the Dark. I'm sure you can guess what that means. And he's -- he's alone, Da. And I love him. I've got to help him."
Owen still doesn't say anything. He just looks at his son, like he's seeing him for real for the first and last time. He takes in the arrogant tilt of his head, the determined narrowing of his eyes, the wrinkle in his forehead. Bran shifts uncomfortably.
"Da..."
"I don't want you to go," he says, plainly, honestly. He looks down at his tea.
"And here I was afraid you'd be on my back for being gay," Bran says, too lightly. Then he's putting down his tea, and without thinking about it Owen moves and Bran moves and they embrace each other quickly, awkwardly, holding tight and then letting go.
"I still don't understand."
"I have to go, Da," Bran says, shrugging helplessly. "I just have to."
There's a pause.
"Visit," Owen says, firmly, surprised to find that he has to look up to meet Bran's eyes.
"I will."
Pairing: Will/Bran
Warnings: None
Rating: G
Summary: Bran has something difficult to tell Owen. For
over_look."You're leaving?"
Bran runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back out of his eyes, and nods. "Yes, Da," he says, softly. "And there's nothing you can say to make me stay. I can't tell you much about why, either."
Owen looks at him -- wonders when he grew so much, when he had that final growth spurt. He's familiar-strange; there's something in his eyes that Owen doesn't recognise, a kind of fire, a brightness, that Bran's lacked for so long. "I don't understand," he says, finally, and Bran sighs.
"I know. But... I'm going to go with Will. It's -- he's -- I -- "
Almost automatically, Owen moves to put the kettle on, to make tea. "Let's talk about it over a drink," he says. Bran sighs again and nods, sitting down. Owen can't help but notice the way he looks around the house he grew up in: as if he never intends to come back. Or as if he'll never be able to come back. He makes the tea quickly, trying to tell himself that nothing is wrong, nothing is going to change. His heart knows better, twisting inside his chest.
"Thanks," Bran says, when Owen passes him his cup, and he waits until Owen sits down too before he draws breath to speak. "Will is... different. He's been going off on his own, all round the world, for months at a time, for years now. He doesn't do it because he wants to. He does it because he has to."
Owen doesn't say anything.
"He's... he has to watch. For something happening." Bran bites his lip, and then shakes his head. "I've got to tell you. Just a little. He's the watchman for the Light, against the Dark. I'm sure you can guess what that means. And he's -- he's alone, Da. And I love him. I've got to help him."
Owen still doesn't say anything. He just looks at his son, like he's seeing him for real for the first and last time. He takes in the arrogant tilt of his head, the determined narrowing of his eyes, the wrinkle in his forehead. Bran shifts uncomfortably.
"Da..."
"I don't want you to go," he says, plainly, honestly. He looks down at his tea.
"And here I was afraid you'd be on my back for being gay," Bran says, too lightly. Then he's putting down his tea, and without thinking about it Owen moves and Bran moves and they embrace each other quickly, awkwardly, holding tight and then letting go.
"I still don't understand."
"I have to go, Da," Bran says, shrugging helplessly. "I just have to."
There's a pause.
"Visit," Owen says, firmly, surprised to find that he has to look up to meet Bran's eyes.
"I will."
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*hugs both of them*
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