OBLIVION [SEQUEL TO SATELLITE HEART: BARLEY LIGHTFOOT x READER]

chapter eleven

The boys played until they were literally falling asleep at the table and Laurel was demanding they all go to bed. But none of them moved towards the stairs; their eyes were far too heavy for that. Barley took the Viking helmet off of his head, removed his red cape, and trudged towards the living room, where Wilden was already grabbing the throws off the back of the sofa and plopping down on one side of the couch. Ian took the middle. Barley took the other side. They put their feet up on the coffee table, laughing still, joking still, feeling the sleepiness settle in. The lights that still flickered on the Christmas tree made the living room feel cozy, and after they all laughed a little more, they fell asleep.

Barley woke to the sun coming through the open curtains. It was shining directly in his face. He groaned and reached to the right, wanting to tap on your shoulder and ask you to please close them because it was far too early to wake up, but he was met with the arm of the sofa and a rush of memories. A pang in his chest let him no that you really weren't here next to him. He sat up quickly, looking at his little brother that was curled up on the other side of the sofa, his head resting on the other arm of it. 

"I'm surprised you're the first one up," Wilden whispered, stepping out of the kitchen with a cup of coffee. "Ian's always been more of the early riser." 

Barley stood up slowly. "I guess we're just changing things up right now." 

"I guess so," chuckled Wilden. "Coffee?" 

"I'm okay," he replied. 

He followed his father into the kitchen and just watched the strange scene of his dad moving from cabinet to cabinet. Everything in here was the exact same as it was before. And in a few hours, maybe even a few minutes, when Ian woke up and they went back and reversed the spell, everything would still look like this.

But Wilden wouldn't be there.

"Are you alright, son?" 

"Yeah, just thinking," Barley said. "Just thinking about how... how weird things are gonna be soon." 

Wilden raised his eyebrows. "Weird, you say? How so?" 

"I don't know, it's crazy," he said. "You know what? Forget I said anything. You wouldn't..." 

"Oh, I wouldn't understand because I'm too old? Is that it?" he teased. 

Barley laughed. "No, it's not that, Pops." 

"Are you sure? 'Cause I know I'm getting old, Bar, but you don't gotta tell me about it!" 

"Aw, come on, you don't look a day over twenty," Barley said, and it was true. His dad looked the exact same except for the small sliver of grey in his scruffy beard. Barley reached up and touched his own chin, feeling the scruff of a beard that looked similar to his father's now. And he thought about how his dad was here. Here, healthy, alive. The last time he had seen him truly alive was when he was hooked up to all of those machines, losing every ounce of life his body had held onto by the second. "You --- you look really good, Dad." 

"Thanks, son," Wilden said. "You know, we could be brothers." He winked as he joked, taking a seat at the table with his coffee and patting the chair next to him. Barley sat down smiled. Wilden grabbed the same newspaper he had been reading the day before and opened it. "So what's the plan for today? Any other One-Last-Day plans?" 

"Uh, I don't know yet. Wait. What?" He blinked in confusion at his dad's words. Did he know?

"Oh, look who's up! Good morning, Ian. You've got quite the bedhead, son." Wilden put the paper down and laughed. 

Ian frowned and patted down his matted curls. "Morning, guys." 

"Did you want coffee? I bet you want orange juice. There's some in the fridge for you. Freshly squeezed." 

"Sounds good," Ian said. He smiled and grabbed a glass out of the same cabinet. He poured the juice into it and took a drink. Thoughtfully, he said, "Mom always buys the same store-bought stuff. Usually, anyway."

"That's not true," Wilden said, yawning. "She doesn't need to. I always make sure we've got a pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice ready for you two." 

A pang of hurt hit Barley's chest, and he leaned over and threw one of his arms around his dad's shoulders, bringing him into a crushing hug as the tears threatened to spill over. 

"Oh --- Barley, you goof, I almost spilled my coffee all over you, son." Wilden laughed and shook his head. "What's gotten into you?" 

"I miss you, Dad," Barley breathed. "And I love you." 

"I love and miss you too," he said, his hand on the back of his son's shoulder. "But you don't have to worry. I'm right here."

Barley couldn't stand another second. He got up and sniffled, trying so hard to hide his very obvious tears. He grabbed Ian's wrist and dragged him out of the kitchen. 

"What's your problem?!" Ian laughed. "First you hug Dad like that, then you drag me out of the kitchen! A-Are you crying?!" 

"I'm just trying to get all the goodbyes in before we go," Barley said, wiping the tears under his eye away. "And I don't want to hear anything about me crying! Are you telling me you weren't about to cry!" 

"No..." Ian laughed again, "but you know what? This reminds me of when Dad bought you that van of yours on your sixteenth birthday." 

"Yeah," Barley grumbled, then he stopped. "Wait. What?" 

"When he bought you that van. Guinevere." Ian looked at him like he was the stupid one for not understanding. "Hello? That stupid blue van!" 

"Blue?" Barley whispered. No, Guinevere was orange. He spun towards the window and saw that the van wasn't orange anymore. It was still blue. 

Of course it was. There was never a journey to bring their dad back, because he was already there. There was no point in Barley building the van all by himself, because he had a dad to help him out. 

"You know that I built Guinevere myself," Barley said, turning back around to look at his little brother. "And you know that she's orange now, not blue. We destroyed the first Guinevere on the quest to bring Dad back." 

Ian furrowed his eyebrows and smiled nervously. "Um... what are you talking about?"

"Ian, this isn't funny." 

"I'm not trying to be funny." 

"Then stop talking like you don't know that Guinevere is orange and that dad was gone!" 

"What are you talking about?!" Ian shook his head. "Dude. Dad is the kitchen. You just freaked out and hugged him!"

Barley's chest rose and fall quickly with panicked breaths. "You... you... t-tell me who ___ is. Do you remember her?" 

"The neighbor chick? Yeah, you were all freaky and weird around her yesterday. If you like her, try to talk to her like a normal person, not make her want to call the cops on you." Ian crossed his arms. "Seriously, dude, what's wrong with you?" 

"No," Barley whispered. "No, no, no!" He turned and took off up the stairs, running past his mom who called out his name worriedly. He ran into his room and slammed the door shut. 

"What's wrong with him?" Laurel asked Ian. 

"I-I don't know, Mom. He just started acting weird all of a sudden." Ian stared after his older brother for a long moment, unaware of how much of his life he'd actually forgotten overnight.