>You are Sam
>Jacob was 18, you were 12 now
>But he still couldn’t get dinner right, leaving you to do the cooking (as usual)
>You didn’t mind one bit
>You liked it
“Y-You gotta measure the m-m-milk properly, or else it’s w-w-watery,” you say, watching your older brother eyeball a glass of milk
>”This would be easier if we had measuring cups,” he says with a groan, resting his head down on the table
>A bottle of amber whiskey isn’t far from his grip
>He looks older now, more harshed by the world
>His brown fur is frayed and unkempt, growing wild
>His body is trimmed of fat and now lean with muscle
>He stopped going to school
>He started drinking and smoking more in its absence
>Fighting more
>And dodging trains more too, when he lost a fight, or when he couldn’t get a hold of his nerves
>You’ve been going with him usually when mom and dad fight, or dad gets too drunk
>You’re scared out of your god damn mind every time
>And yet you went to feel the safety of distance from you and this house
>To have your brother buy you comic books at the gas station (some he buys for himself)
>You stand above the stove, elbow noodles roiling in the scalded pot
>Whenever mom and dad weren’t home, you could breathe a bit easier
“R-Ready with the b-butter?” You kill the flame on the noodles and hoist the heavy pot off the stove with a great effort
>Your thin arms shake under the weight
>”Sure,” he sighs, uninterested, a half-finished cup of whiskey at his side. His head is on an easy swivel as he scans around the kitchen, already forgetting what you asked him to do
>You rest the pot in the sink and drain the water, using a fork to try and keep the noodles from slipping down the drain
>Mac and cheese was what you made when you made dinner, and that was only if you ate
>Most of the money went towards rent, then dad’s drinking, mom’s smokes
> Jacob stole anything leftover to buy cigarettes or something else to drink
>On the plus side, you’ve gotten great at surviving off one meal a day, and learned to save your free school lunch for when times were especially lean
>You might have been a coward
>But you were resourceful
>Jacob eats in silence, his glass of drink filled up yet again for the third time
>You can smell it on him
>He talked little, just stared absently, eyes clouding over with dark thoughts, the angular features of his jaw set in a hard line
>He reminded you too much of dad
>But he wasn’t as cruel as dad or mom
>Jacob was hard sometimes, but you knew it was only because he was trying to give you something
>Self-reliance
>”You ever seen dad’s old gun?” He asks, suddenly, his plate barely touched
>A dumb smile goes across his face
“N-No. D-D-Dad has a gun?” You say
>You hated guns
>They meant death
>”Of course he’s got a gun, Sam. From when he served in the war. ‘Member all those stories he told us? I think he stole it too.”
“R-Right,” you say to your plate, keeping your eyes down out of sudden anxiety
>”Sam. Look at me.” Jacob says
>You look up
>And look down the barrel of a pistol
>A black hole of nothing, encased in cold steel that gleams like clean silver
>Jacob is smirking, his fingers teasing at the trigger
>”BAM!” He screams, pressing hard
>You shriek
>The gun clicks uselessly, its magazine spent and chamber void
>When you finally look up, Jacob is howling with laughter
>”Come on Sammy, did you seriously think I loaded it?”
>You try to stammer out a response but feel your throat tightening, tears springing to the corners of your eyes
>God damnit
>You coward
>You utter fucking coward
>Get a hold of yourself
>Jacob stops laughing when he sees your face
>There’s a flash of anger behind his eyes
>One that reminds you of dad
>He sets the gun down on the table
>It’s loud and heavy, and you know it couldn’t weigh more than a pound or two, but it sounds like it weighs a ton
>”Jesus, Sam. It was only a joke. Are you seriously going to be a bitch about this too?”
“I-I-I don’t-”
>”You’re such a little baby. It was just a fucking joke.”
>Now the tears come
>You can’t control it
>You cry at everything, don’t you, you big baby?
>Jacob’s face flashes with anger — and he holds that anger for a few seconds — until his exterior falls apart like ice met with a flamethrower
>”C’mon…” he nudges your arm
>”You’re bigger than this, right? You’re a tough kid.”
>You jerk your head back and forth, ears flopping side-to-side
>Your short, unwashed hair follows your ears
“I-I’m n-not. I’m s-s-sorry for… I got so sc-scared.”
>Jacob looks lost
>Though his expression hardens back into a stoic, almost cold stare, the slight frown pursing his lips says he’s still unhappy with your tears
>And why shouldn’t he be?
>It wasn’t loaded
>Amazing though, isn’t it? The first thing you do when confronted with anything frightening or dangerous is to cry
>And now you’re making life hard for everyone — just like you always have
>Like the burden you are
>Those words ring loud and clear in your head
>Burden
>Burden
>Burden
>”Sammy?”
>Jacob is standing up now
>”Do you hear that?”
>Your ears twitch
>The sound of metal clicking, locks turning, like the sound of nuclear missiles bursting from their silos, screaming across the sky
>”Fucking shit. I think it’s dad,” Jacob says
>You stand up too, the old and shitty chair squealing in protest against the horribly dirty tile floors
>Heavy, drunken footsteps approach the kitchen
>Your dad stands in the opening leading to the family room, looking leaner and more feral than before
>His dark brown fur is tossed, unwashed, and scraggled
>He’s wearing an old, dirty work shirt stained with oil, heavy, baggy work pants and boots
>There’s a fresh bottle of Jack in his hands
>His eyes coldly scan over Jacob, reflecting nothing
>When they linger on you, you swear you can see lightning in his eyes
>His eyes flick towards the table and narrow on the old pistol
>You shiver a bit
>That look only meant hell
>”Dad-” Jacob starts
>”Shut the fuck up,” he commands, eyes still fixed on the gun
>Jacob tightens his fists
>”Is that my gun?” Dad says with a simmer in his voice. “You been in my room?”
>He turns his eyes on you and steps forward into the kitchen
>”Hey, bitch, you been fucking around in my room?” He asks you directly
>Your legs start to quiver, and a rush of adrenaline hits your system
>It’s almost instinctual at this point — the terror
>The fight or flight or freeze
>You always freeze or flee
>Both a mix of cowardice and learned behavior on your part, you figure
>Dad looks ready to fuck you up something awful
>You open your mouth to stammer an apology, but before you can start speaking, Jacob cuts in
>”It was me,” he says with finality. “I found the gun. Not my sister.”
>Jacob sneaks a look at you, and it’s so full of coldness and determination that you could swear it’s like looking at dad 15 years ago
>Why?
>You can understand that he hates you, but you wish you knew why?
>Is it because you’re always hiding behind him?
>Even now what separates you from your dad is a few feet of table and the muscular, feral frame of Jacob
>”Don’t protect her,” Dad snarls. “Don’t you dare protect that fucking burden. You hear me, boy?”
>”I’m not protecting her because it wasn’t her, you old fuck. I found the gun.”
>Dad turns his snarl onto Jacob
>”You’re talking a lot like a man. Watch your fucking mouth.”
>Your brother doesn’t move
>Doesn’t even flinch
>”I’m a man now,” Jacob says
>His voice comes out in a whisper
>So quiet you can even hear your dad’s ragged breathing
>”Got something to say?” He sets the bottle down on the counter to his right
>He’s tender with the whiskey
>Just not with anyone else
>Not even mom
>Jacob purses his lips and throws his gaze to the side
>Dad stomps forward
>”I said: you got something to say, faggot?”
>Your brother cocks his head forward, staring straight down dad’s gaze
>It’s like staring down the barrel of a loaded gun
>”I’m a man now.”
>Dad smirks
>That devil smirk…
>”Oh you’re a man? You’re gonna act like a man, you smart mouthed little shit.”
>You close your eyes and wait for the violence to come
>Nothing but the sound of heavy breathing and your heart pounding in your chest
>Something clatters onto the table, stirring your nerves
>And not just one thing
>Several things, all bouncing off the table
>Heavy, and metal, with a dense weight
>Like little stones
>You open your eyes
>There’s a few bullets littering the table, gleaming brass in the kitchen light
>”You’re a man? Take those bullets. Load that gun,” Dad says
>Dad knocks the lid off the bottle of whiskey and throws it back for a dirty swig, saturating his fur
>He smelled of oil and smoke, and now of his old friend Jack stain him
>Jacob is already loading the gun
“W-Wait!” You squeak. “J-Jake, don’t!”
>Your pathetic pleading falls on deaf ears
>You know he can hear you, he just doesn’t seem to care
>Jacob loads the magazine into the pistol, cocks it back with a mechanical *click*, and levels it at his Father
>Dad just smiles
>”I won’t even move,” he says, taking another swig
>Jacob is breathing hard, the strain on his face coming out in creased lines and furrowed brows
>”C’mon, do it. Prove you’re some kind of man. Put one right between my eyes.” Dad says
>And then he starts to laugh, but you don’t hear it
>Everything goes quiet
>The buzz of the light bulb above you
>The sound of whiskey running down dad’s throat
>His laughter
>Jacob’s heaving breaths
>Even your own heartbeat
>All of these are thrown into a quiet abyss
>Jacob’s fingers twitch
>Your eyes slam shut instinctively
>There’s a concussive blast that explodes against your eardrums, shattering the stasis
>And you know what happened without even having to open your eyes
>Dad casts an easy glance above him, at the bullet hole punched in the door frame
>”I thought so. You fucking coward.”
>Jacob’s whole body is trembling
>Hot air rolls in and out of his heaving chest
>Sweat dampens his fur, and you can smell the scent of gunpowder and smoke
>He lowers the gun, slowly, like it weighed 50 pounds even
>In one swift, angry movement, dad reaches forward, snatches the gun from Jacob’s shaky grip, and…
>There’s a flash of silver as the butt of the pistol smashes across Jacob’s jaw
>Your older brother, your guardian and protector, leans against the table for support, whole body still shaking with adrenaline and pain, blood funneling from his nose
>”Don’t you EVER go messing with my shit again, you hear me? You ain’t no man, so don’t go acting like it.”
>Dad quickly drains Jacob’s glass of whiskey
>As if you were an after thought, he forces his attention on you
>”Got something to say to me?”
>You notice you’re doing a whole lot of staring and nothing else
>Do you have something to say?
>Should you apologize?
>You didn’t really do anything wrong, right?
>Jacob flashes a vulnerable look at you, his eye rapidly swelling, blood threading down his fur from the corner of his lips
>There’s a silent plea in his gaze
>Laid out and desperate
“N-No sir. I-I’m s-s-sorry sir,” you stutter
>Jacob’s eyes fall shut
>”God, just listening to you talk pisses me off. Fix your damn mouth. Y-Y-Y-Y-You retard.”
>”I ca-can’t he-help it-”
“You’re just trying to piss me off now, aren’t you?”
>No! You just…
>You don’t know what to say!
>Maybe it’s better to say nothing?
>You open your mouth to speak but force it back shut
>God you hate yourself
>God you hate yourself
>God you hate yourself
>God you hate yourself
>”Get the fuck out of here,” your father commands. “And take your pussy brother with you.”
>Jacob struggles to his feet
>He gives Dad a savage, bloody scowl
>And then turns to face you, hate carved into the lines of his face
>He grabs you by the wrist, tears leaking from his eyes
>”C’mon, let’s go, Sam.” He yanks at your fur, sending pain shooting up your arm
>Jacob leads you out of the kitchen like an impatient boy pulling a small puppy on a leash
>It’s probably best not to resist right now
>You throw one quick glance over your shoulder
>Dad is sitting at the table, gun in one hand, bottle in the other, a pack of cigarettes budding from his oil-stained shirt pocket like they were white flowers
>You know where you’re going
>Even in the darkness, you can tell by the familiar tracks in the shattered pavement where Jacob is taking you
>He does this all the time
>When he’s angry
>Depressed
>Upset
>Had a bad fight
>Lost a bad fight
>A train roars in the night like an invisible, incomprehensibly large animal rolling over in its sleep
>The lights flicker out over head; most of them don’t even bother to come on as Jacob drags you away from home
>Some time passes before he speaks, his voice tinged with fury
>”What the FUCK Sam. What the FUCK is wrong with you?”
>You say nothing, only swallow hard, like you understand
>Best to just let him talk before you make it worse
>”I mean, you could have said something. You could have done something. I- I don’t know! All you do-” He tenses his grip on your wrist
>You squeak in pain as his his coarse fingers ring your wrists, pressing marks into your flesh
>As long as he gets out his anger safely with you, it’s for the best
>”-All you do is stutter, and cower, and hide, and wimp out, and let shit happen to you! And then to me! We’re supposed to be on the same team here, and all you fucking do is keep your head down.”
>You stumble in trying to keep up with his pace
>The houses thin out as grass and weeds overtake the pavement
>Soon the stooped houses disappear entirely, leading only to empty warehouses, unused plots, and industrial refuse
>That train horn booms in the distance, as if it knows you’re coming
>”Well!?” Jacob yells
>You can hear the heat in his voice
>You’re almost glad you can’t make out his face in this darkness
>”You gonna say something? Or are you going to keep your mouth shut like you always do when shit gets tough?”
>And what can you say now, after you’ve yet again hurt your brother and fucked things up?
>Good going, Sam
>You had this one chance to stand up for your brother and for yourself, and you let it go
>You shake your head and stay silent
>”Well you’re not going to pussy out on me again. Not this time,” Jacob says from behind clenched teeth
>Past the quarry
>Over the river bends
>Bridges
>Sheds
>Warehouses
>Where there are no houses
>Where the fields spread out even further and the stars creep out from behind clouds
>You know where you’re going
>Closer now
>Your heart starts to hammer when you see the tracks laid into the ground
>Jacob drags you down into the old pit where the train runs through, tunnels on each side
>A horn blares — it’s close now, but it’s even worse because you can’t see it
>He pulls you onto the tracks, gripping you by the ears
>It must be instinct, because you try to sprint away
>This is the way it’ll always be, you guess — you cowering and running
>Your older brother was too much like Dad
>He grabs you by your dangling ears and yanks hard
>You scream in pain
“Jacob!” You pull desperately at his hands “W-We don’t need to do this! P-Please let me go!”
>Your pleas fall on deaf ears as you’re dragged onto the ties
>You’re just watching for smoke in the moonlight now, sweat beading down your forehead, saturating your fur
>”Shut the fuck up and stay there. You understand me? Don’t move. Not even an inch. Not until I say so.”
>His words make you shiver
>”One god damn inch too soon and I’ll break your legs.”
>He shouts above the oncoming squeal of the train, your sensitive ears twitching at his hot whiskey breath
>Your brother steps away from you, leaving you upright on the tracks, facing the opening of the tunnel
>And you can see a spot of light, like an angry nail in the darkness
>Growing larger
>”You will not move. Not until I tell you to.”
>The train whistle shrieks as the ground rumbles
>”HOLD YOUR GROUND! IGNORE EVERYTHING ELSE BUT ME!”
>Prove yourself
>Prove your bravery
>Grow the fuck up, Sam
>Your brother is saying something else to you over the shuddering sound of steel barreling forward, but you can’t hear him
>Everything goes quiet
>The engine is roaring forward, that train shot forward like a bullet aimed right between your amber eyes
>There is only you and that train
>It’s so close that you swear you can feel the heat coming off of it
>Everything is deaf, muted, blunted, a galactic mile away
>Just you
>And that train
>The rush takes over your head, like a flood of adrenaline and blood pounding in your ear to the speed of locomotive engine piston rods
>You can feel your legs again
>You can hear your heart hammering in your delicate ribcage, pounding war-drums in the crevices of your skull
>And you can hear Jacob at last
>”Holllddddd!” Jacob shrieks over the worried blare of the train’s horn
>YOU CAN FEEL YOUR LEGS AGAIN
>”Holddddd!”
>Don’t move
>MOVE NOW!
>”HOLD!”
>MOVE!
>The train blasts out of the tunnel, its horn screaming in panic as its brakes squeal and struggle to halt 200 tons of steel and coal-fired velocity
>”HOLD!!!”
>Your fear sends you toppling from the tracks onto the cold, hard dirt
>You hit the ground face first, and then you just lay there as the train rumbles past you
>You’re frozen in panic and pain
>You don’t want to move, you don’t want to be alive
>You want the thrumming beat of your heart to stop altogether
>Then you look up and see Jacob towering over you, that devil-look etched into his face with his father’s hands
>”That’s no dodge, you fucking coward.”
>The train rolls by in the night
>It’d take miles for it to come to a full stop
The Leaves of Fall Act 2: Fear the Nobodies (Part 27)
You've never really 'fit in' with the heavily divided Ranchview High School crowd. Jock, Goth, Prep, Cheerleader, Nerd... you were never any of these. But as Halloween approaches, strange things start happening, and a dark ritual begins with the finding of a curious red book. It's a race against time for you and your friends to stop a group of students from ushering in an age of darkness, and to also figure out just what the hell is wrong with that rabbit.
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About this version: originally, The Leaves of Fall was split into two pastebins to compensate for the length of the story. Given that pastebin has chosen to censor this story for ambiguous reasons, it will forever be stored here and on AO3. This new version contains spelling, grammar and content fixes. Please understand that the content is all the same as the earlier versions minus some sentences being changed and fixed up. I cannot stress this enough: no new content has been added. It's my hope that this is a cleaner, easier-to-read version of the story.
Cover: https://imgur.com/a/vZS4Q
Sam (drawn by Akella of /hmofa/) https://imgur.com/a/nk3t1wT
Fan art collection: https://imgur.com/a/SCCSIQv
Accompanying playlist (WIP): https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL9aXlzDRA49QKxgYsOV2JuDd410_nI-0J
Alternative link: https://www.sofurry.com/view/1479078
Total word count: 147,552 words
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
About this version: originally, The Leaves of Fall was split into two pastebins to compensate for the length of the story. Given that pastebin has chosen to censor this story for ambiguous reasons, it will forever be stored here and on AO3. This new version contains spelling, grammar and content fixes. Please understand that the content is all the same as the earlier versions minus some sentences being changed and fixed up. I cannot stress this enough: no new content has been added. It's my hope that this is a cleaner, easier-to-read version of the story.
Cover: https://imgur.com/a/vZS4Q
Sam (drawn by Akella of /hmofa/) https://imgur.com/a/nk3t1wT
Fan art collection: https://imgur.com/a/SCCSIQv
Accompanying playlist (WIP): https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL9aXlzDRA49QKxgYsOV2JuDd410_nI-0J
Alternative link: https://www.sofurry.com/view/1479078
Total word count: 147,552 words
4 years ago
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Estimated reading time
16 Minutes
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