Chapter Text
This wasn't how stories went. This differed from every tale he had ever heard, and it was wrong, wrong, wrong. However much he had mocked fairy tales with happy endings when he grew into his teenage years, he wished he could take it all back now. Why would you wish for misery and destruction when you could have happiness?
The sting in his eyes felt chronic at this point, after so many hours, though he barely had any fluids in his body left to lose anymore. He'd thrown up – once? Twice? He couldn't remember – as the night mercilessly wore on and the alcohol in his blood thinned out. His head ached, his throat was on fire and his thighs and arms had dark dots where he'd bitten or clawed at himself. He had stopped doing that some time ago, and now he just sat staring into the impressive nothingness that had gathered in his living room and his mind. He was wasting the newfound enemy of his, namely time.
He barely remembered anything of the past day as he sat alone in the living room, letting the creeping darkness surround him. It was all a blur now, a mess he couldn't sort out. How awfully out of his hands everything was. It had started out insecurely, a bland day among others, the proceeded so well, and ended up worse than ever before. The thing that gutted the last of his sanity was the fact that he knew it wouldn't be the worst day in his life, and it scared him more than he could process. Just the thought of what lay ahead, how long he would have to go until the path actually ended - it was a concept he couldn't grasp, nor did he want to. At this point oblivion was what he wished for, the only rational escape now that he'd lost all traces of control.
At the black brink of madness and despair he let a raspy laugh into the room, into the shadows which had broken into his house and would soon escape as the morning sun would make a falsely heroic return. How ridiculously long it took him to finally understand – he'd never been in control.
- - -
Bård had left. He'd also left all his belongings with Vegard. Phone, wallet, keys, clothes, everything. There was no way Vegard could get in touch with him. He wasn't even sure he wanted to.
But two days later he was getting worried. His anger and fear and frustration was slowly subsiding. At that point he felt more anxiety for his brother's well-being than anger at the way both of them had acted. Sure it was complicated, he'd made it that way himself, but Bård being okay mattered more.
Almost like an answer to his prayers, Calle called him that morning. He seemed confused as he told Vegard Bård had crashed at his place two days ago, without any vital belongings. Calle had let him stay there, naturally, as well as tried to talk to him. The discussion had quickly led to a dead-end. He said he'd never once seen Bård in a state like this.
The younger Ylvisåker had however regained some of his old self the next day, after fourteen hours of sleep on Calle's couch, and even more two days after he'd appeared at his door. Now Calle's girlfriend was arriving, and Calle didn't... wouldn't exactly mind... Bård not being there while she was there... if that made any sense to Vegard. It made sense to Vegard.
”I've tried talking to him, asking him where he's staying and where his stuff is, but nothing. He's completely lost it and I don't know how the hell I'll get him out of my house!” Calle half-whispered, half-shouted. Bård was probably somewhere nearby. Vegard suggested he'd just tell the younger one to fuck off, he'd find somewhere to stay, but Calle refused. He was clearly worried.
”Can't you just come pick him up or something?” Calle pleaded almost desperately. ”I can't just kick him out without money or a phone or anything!”
In the moment Vegard refused he understood that was what he'd end up doing. So he sighed, hung up, grabbed his jacket and keys and drove off to collect his wreck of a brother from the bottom of his friend's couch.
It wasn't the easiest task to get Bård to leave Calle's house, that much was sure. Calle was stressed, Vegard was sour and Bård was extremely unwilling to cooperate, claiming he had a headache and was tired. But eventually they managed to get Bård up on his legs and out through the door. He didn't say a word during the drive back to Vegard's, and he refused to sleep in the same bed as his brother. Vegard didn't know if he was relieved or angered as he stood in the doorway of his bedroom and looked over at the sofa where his brother's body lay soundlessly, only moving as he breathed. He wanted to believe it was a good thing that they were more apart, but he had a hard time convincing himself.
- - -
They'd spent hours and hours perfecting the setup for their concert. Early mornings and late nights of arguing over this and that, deciding about lighting, song order, outfits, band members, sound quality, instruments, prices, staff... Vegard couldn't help glaring at his brother every time they passed each other on stage while practicing. He was prepared to shout at the younger brother as soon as the performance was over, let him know how shit this whole thing had been and how he had been stressed about it the whole spring.
He was very surprised and almost happy to force himself to accept that he'd been wrong. The concert was amazing, inebriating in the most liberating way. He let go completely, letting whatever dream of becoming a real performing artist he'd had as a child break through his skin together with the glistening beads of sweat. The audience at his feet jumped and screamed, encouraged him on and he loved it. He didn't want it to end, but the best things always did.
They went out with the gang afterwards, drinking and celebrating the success of their first concert in a row of five throughout the summer. Vegard hung out with Calle most of the time, comfortable in his presence, and lost track of Bård's whereabouts somewhere along the evening. He was probably sitting somewhere with Tarjei. Vegard wouldn't be surprised at all if he'd find a ton of selfies of the two friends on Tarjei's instagram the following morning. The two of them seemed to have a great relationship, not merely professional, one like Vegard and Calle had maybe. Vegard tried half-heartedly to scan the space for either of them, but gave up when Calle hit his fist in the table with a laugh at the joke he'd just told but Vegard hadn't paid attention to. He gave a complimentary laugh anyway and took a sip out of his beer, deciding to forget about the little brother for a while.
And he had fun. He basked in the warm and tired feeling the subsiding adrenaline left as the amount of alcohol grew in his body. Sweat was forming on his forehead and neck and arms again, despite the shower he'd had only an hour or two earlier, but he couldn't mind less. His smile was the widest in a long time, his laughter the clearest. The loud sound of their glasses clanking together made him giggle like a little boy through an incoherent 'cheers'. He felt like he glowed.
The clock was well in on the territory of tomorrow when the few who were still in an upright position decided it was time to leave, Vegard one among them. He stumbled out, one arm slung over Calle's shoulder and the other holding an almost empty glass he'd forgotten to leave on the table in the pub. He wasn't sure how long it took him to get a taxi, but suddenly he sat inside the car and Calle was gone. He was asked where they'd be heading, and he gave his address as they rolled out on the street.
It was only when he was walking up to the house and fumbling with his key that he realized he'd left Bård behind. Or Bård had sneaked off alone or with Tarjei or whoever. He thought about it for a moment, swaying a little on his feet as he stared at the door, then shrugged and prodded the key into the lock clumsily. Bård would find his way.
Actually he already had. Vegard stumbled into the living room while shrugging off his jacket and letting it fall to the floor. It took him a moment to realize his little brother was slumped down on the sofa with glassy, slightly red eyes from alcohol and exhaustion.
”You're already home?” he asked and tried his best to avoid his brother's eyes. Something in Bård's gaze made him uneasy, perhaps the way he just stared at him without giving an answer. Vegard swayed on the floor for a while, trying to think of something to say. ”When did you leave?”
Bård shrugged, ”hours ago.”
”Why? Why didn't you stay? Celebrate with the others?”
”There wasn't anything to celebrate,” Bård said monotonously and his eyes narrowed slightly on Vegard, though the older one was too drunk to notice very subtle body language.
”Psh! What do you mean nothing to celebrate?” Vegard blurted out, threw his hands in the air and jumped, almost falling as his feet made contact with the floor again. ”We just had a fantastic concert. Did you even see the crowd! This is something you can't just not celebrate, Bård. Actually, maybe we should celebrate privately now...” he unbuttoned the top button on his shirt in what attempted to be a seductive manner, and tried to send his brother a suggestive wink, failing moderately miserably. Bård didn't even laugh, his expression only turned sourer if anything.
”I already said there's nothing to celebrate,” the younger one hissed, turning his gaze away from Vegard. ”It's just our job, we do what we are supposed to do. A plumber doesn't go out on a drinking spree every time he manages to unclog someone's sink.” He paused for a moment, and Vegard's gaze lingered on his skin uncomfortably. ”Or maybe he does, but not to celebrate. You don't celebrate having a lot of shit covering your hands. He has other reasons for drinking.”
Vegard ignored his near-pointless rambling and went to sit beside him on the couch, almost stumbling on the younger brother's long legs. They sat in silence for a moment, before Vegard turned to examine his brother's face with unfocused and cloudy, yet suddenly extremely serious eyes. Bård shifted nervously and kept looking straight forward.
”Will you ever tell me what's wrong?” Vegard asked, his voice oddly soft and silent. Bård let out a dismissive huff, but his eyes redirected down to his lap where his hands were tightly folded together. His knuckles were almost white.
”Not now at least,” he said quickly and cleared his throat, trying to gather his thoughts under Vegard's examining gaze. ”You're drunk.”
”It doesn't matter.”
”Kind of does.”
Vegard's head fell down on Bård's shoulder, and the younger one jumped slightly before settling back against the sofa. Vegard moved, nuzzled deeper into his side and let out a big sigh. Bård was uncomfortable but let his brother remain.
”I just wish you could tell me,” Vegard whispered, his words barely audible anymore. ”I'm tired of having to guess all the time. It's really hard.”
Bård felt a tiny suction in his stomach, like a small arrow flying though him and dragging a wound through his flesh in the wake of it's destruction. It was as if Vegard was accusing him of his own inattention. You would know what's going on, had you only cared to listen.
”I never asked you to guess,” he said, trying to keep his sudden irritation at bay. The laugh Vegard let out only brought him closer to the edge of anger.
”What else am I supposed to do? You won't tell me what's wrong so I'll just have to resort to guessing.”
Bård shoved him away from his shoulder and turned to look at him with a blue fire in his eyes, hissing and sparking with a soundless threat.
”I tried to tell you!” he shouted and Vegard flinched despite his reflexes being slowed by alcohol. ”I tried, but you didn't listen so I thought maybe you just don't care!” he spat, narrowing his eyes and pointing an accusing finger in his brother's confused face. ”Fuck! What do you think I've been up to? That morning I came home with cake when you were still asleep – where did you think I was?”
Vegard hesitated, not really seeing the connection between their situation and the morning with the cake long ago. Admittedly he had found it weird, but he hadn't really offered it a second thought. ”I – I don't know,” he stuttered.
”Of course you don't,” Bård hissed. ”Of course you don't... I was at the hospital, Vegard. I had a meeting really early in the morning so you wouldn't notice I'm gone and start asking me questions.” He paused to take a deep breath. Vegard looked confused and tried to say something but Bård shushed him aggressively. ”And the trip to England? The surprise? God, you really wanted to believe that, didn't you? Are you really that obtuse?”
”I'm not sure I follow,” Vegard squeezed in between Bård's rambling. He wasn't exactly on track of what was going on, but his body seemed to sense something. He was breathing loudly and a bit too quickly, and he could feel his own pulse in his neck and arms as waves that were pushing against the insides of his arteries. His forehead was sweaty and he wanted Bård to stop talking, but he couldn't bring himself to spare them from the younger one's words. He let him continue.
”Do you want an explanation?” Bård asked, loudly, clearly, like talking to a child except his words more cutting and harsh. He was staring right into Vegard's brown eyes. ”Or are you going to interrupt me like last time I tried?”
”No,” Vegard blurted out, not sure at which of the questions he was aiming the answer. Bård inhaled deeply.
”My doctor sent me to London to the National Prion Clinic.” Bård's voice had lowered now. The silence after his words felt deafening, and Vegard was trapped in time for only a couple of seconds. His gaze studied the brother's face, the nose, the eyes, the lips, the cheeks, all of him which he had known until now. Bård's eyes fell from Vegard's and he swallowed before continuing.
”I'm terminally ill, Vegard.”
- - -
This wasn't how stories went. This differed from every tale he had ever heard, and it was wrong, wrong, wrong.
In fairy tales the bad guys died and the good guys lived. Bård wasn't a bad guy.