Ander - Part 6: Subchapter 38
38
"Father? You awake? Helloooo? Cooey?"
Jon dug his face deeper into the pillow and pretended to be asleep.
"I know you're awake, Father. Sleeping Foxes don't try so hard to appear to be sleeping."
"Eeeeeergh... warrayawanna?" he mumbled.
There came a metallic rattle as Jonah gleefully pulled the curtains wide, filling the room with a dull, silvery light, and to make matters even worse, he broke out into that stupid song of his. "Mor-niiiiing, mor-niiiiing, it's a beauuuuuutiful day! Mor-niiiiing, mor-niiiiing, the weeeaaather is gay!"
Jon peeked out from under the covers, glanced at the window, and flumped back again. "'S'all cloudy, ya doffer!"
"I know, perfect weather for working, isn't it? Nice and cool, no sun to shine in your eyes..."
"'Cool'!? 'S bloody freezing!"
"I got your coat, your shoes, your scarf -"
"I don't want 'em! Let me sleep!" Jon grabbed a fistful of blankets and pulled them over his head, cutting off that hellish glare.
"It's getting late! What will everyone think if we're the only family not helping out?"
Jon sucked in a big lungful of air through his nose, pretending to snore like a pig.
"Aw, come on, Father! Don't be like that! Everyone needs to help out with the wall, you know that."
"That bloody wall threw my back out! What are you trying to do, kill me!?"
"Oh pish-posh, your back is fine."
"I am in agony, you little whelp! Nothing more than a bedridden infirm! A cripple at the end of his miserable life! Leave me, son... go and live your life... remember me... always... ack... urk... garble garble... ooogherglegrurgleaaargh..."
"Are you about done?"
"No, I'm dead. Stone cold dead. That damn wall killed me."
"Father, you're being silly."
"No I'm not, I'm dead. And if those bloody cheeky twins show up here again, telling me to get off my 'lazy grey tail', you tell 'em to go jump in a lake. And also that the mill is enough work already without me hauling buckets of nails through the woods, messing up my back! And also, I'm dead, so they might as well just sod off! That's exactly what you tell 'em, Jonah! That your dead dad tells 'em to SOD OFF!!"
"Come on, lazybones, up ya get."
"No!" Jon grabbed hold of the blankets, willing to defend his nice, cosy little pocket of darkness with his life.
"I made you a lovely breakfast. Bacon and eggs on cheesy toast, just the way you like it."
Jon peeked out from underneath the blankets, blinking against the godsawful mid-morning glare. "What kind of bacon?"
"Fatty and greasy."
"And the toast?"
"Black and crispy."
"And the cheese?"
"Thick and goopy. Now come on, before it gets all cold and rubbery."
"Baaargh! You're trying to bribe me out of bed with food? What do you take me fer? A child?"
"Alright, fine, I'll just eat it myself."
"You'll do no such thing!" Jon got up with a grunt and crackled his back, which was genuinely hurting, despite what all the youngbloods claimed. He fished his slippers out from underneath the bed, slipped them on (as one was want to do with slippers), and stood up with yet another groan and a crackle of the back. "Damn friggin... telling me 'lazy grey tail'... I've worked more in ten minutes than they've worked their whole lives! Friggin damn stupid friggin... Maybe if we get there a bit late, all the heavy jobs will be done."
"This coming from the Fox who just claimed he wasn't lazy?"
"I'm old!" Jon snapped, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "That's why they call me 'Old Jonathan'! The 'Old' gets a capital 'O'! Meaning it's not just an adjective! It's part of the name! It's part of my identity! I shouldn't be out there a-haulin' and a-draggin' and a-liftin'! That's work for the young'uns!"
"Oh please, you're not that old. The only reason people keep calling you 'Old Jon' is because you act so old."
"I beg your pardon!?"
"Yelling at kids to get off the lawn..."
"The mill's full of gears! They could lose a hand! And those blasted twins keep trying to ride the grind stone! Worse than kids, they are!"
"Drinking tea at all hours..."
"What the bloody hell is wrong with tea!? Tea is delicious!"
"Pretending to throw out your back all the time..."
"Maybe I wouldn't throw out my back all the time if you helped with the mill a bit more!"
"Neither of us will be working in the mill today. The wall is almost done, Father. After the last nail's been hammered, we can both get back home, relax, and drink all the tea we want. Maybe, if you don't embarrass me and yell at everyone like you did yesterday, I'll bake some scones. Gods know we need to find a use for all that jam Sarah gave us."
"Mreeaaargh, alright alright, keep your britches on, I'll be there! But not 'fore I finish me breakfast! Those twins show up today I'll ram my cane so far up their arses they'll -"
"Cane? What cane? You don't use a cane."
"I very well might need one after all the rigours you young people pile upon the old and the weary these days! For shame, Jonah! For shame!"
"Okeydokey, you old Fox."
"Don't roll your eyes at me! I invented that move! I -"
A slow, but very loud knock came from downstairs and, for a moment, both father and son stood in silent contemplation. Until...
"Those bloody twins!" Jon erupted and stormed out the door, his nightcap trailing behind him like a second tail. Jonah followed close behind, crowing something or other about staying calm.
"Now now, Father! No need to go flying off the handle!"
"They come here at the crack of dawn -"
"It's almost noon!"
"- and bang on my door! Maybe they wouldn't need all hands if they used their own bloody paws instead of walking around town bothering everybody!" He took the spiral stairs two at a time, dropping past framed sketches of the mill his late sister-in-law had drawn up for them a few years back.
Down in the kitchen there were two plates, stacked to high heaven with a miniature plateau of bacon and eggs on toast, drizzled with melted cheese, steaming ever so slightly.
The knock came again, even louder than before, more urgent.
"I hear ya, ya bloody rascals!" Jon shouted. "Rouse me from my slumber at cockcrow, will you!? I swear to all the gods, if my breakfast gets cold 'cause of you, I'll -" Jon flung the door open and all his words died in his throat, simply to flow out on his breath in a noiseless whoosh. The Foxes standing in his doorway... these shades that might as well be knocking on death's door instead of his own...
"James?" he whispered, not believing. "James... Is that...?"
It really was his little brother standing before him, although 'standing' might be putting it too highly. He was barely conscious and being supported by his sons on either side, Lucas and Timothy. Even little Valery was trying to help. All four of them looked like something out of a horror story, haggard and beaten down, sweaty and dirty, covered in random patches of frost, but the worst by far was all the wounds, almost too many to take in. James had a dark spot of blood smack bang in the middle of his chest, and Tim had a rather nasty cut on his head. And Valery, his darling little niece... were those _bite marks_on her neck!?
"Jon..." James croaked. "Sorry to bother you... but... we could really... use your... help..." His eyes rolled back in their sockets and his body went completely limp. The boys' faces contorted as their father's full weight fell upon their shoulders and little Valery threw her hands up, screaming.
"Daddy!"
Jon jumped in and grabbed hold before all three of them could go sprawling. "Jonah!" he yelled over his shoulder. "Jonah? Oy!"
The lad was rooted to the spot, holding one hand up to his mouth, his eyes wide with shock.
"Jonah, for gods' sakes!"
That snapped him out of it. "Y-Yes, Father?"
"Pour some brandy! Start a fire! Get clothes! Fetch water! Grab some blankets! Get food! Put the kettle on! Go go go!!"
He dashed off, changing direction several times before turning back, wringing his hands. "Which do I do first!?"
Gods give me strength...
"Brandy first, ya idjit!" Jon bellowed. "Brandy_always_ comes first!"
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