The return of Bran's grandfather

[maculategiraffe]

Several people expressed interest in seeing this drabble extended (and others at various times have expressed the desire for a similar encounter) so...









Yves had no idea who the old man on the doorstep was, but that wasn't too odd, even with the lack of a nervous teenager in tow. Probably a grandfather or uncle, looking to sell. He didn't look too down-at-heel; he was dressed neatly, if not handsomely, his expression guarded.

"Can I help you?" Yves asked politely.

"Yeah," said the old man, and cleared his throat. "Is this where Bran Olafsen lives?"

"Yes, it is," said Yves, surprised.

"Is he here?"

"May I ask your business with him?" Yves hedged.

"I'm his grandfather," said the man.

Yves shut the door.

He stood by it for several minutes, heart going faster than usual, waiting for the doorbell to ring again, praying it wouldn't. Holden or Bran might get curious then, and come investigate, and Yves wasn't at all sure it would be a good idea even to tell either of them about this, if the man would just go away and leave them alone. But then what if he came back tomorrow, and Bran answered the door?

"Who was that?" Alix asked, coming down the stairs. "Yves? Are you all right?"

Yves bit his lip. "Where's Holden?"

"In the kitchen with Bran, I think," said Alix. "Why? Do we have trouble?"

"You could say that," said Yves, and explained.

"Oh, dear," said Alix mildly. "And you just shut the door in his face?"

Yves nodded. "Should I not have-- I don't know. I didn't want to just yell for Bran, without talking to him first. And I was sort of afraid Holden might just punch him in the face."

"Whose face am I punching?" Holden asked, emerging unexpectedly from the passageway to the kitchen.

"Oops," said Yves to Alix. "Um, Holden? You have to be calm, okay?"

"Has that sentence ever in the history of language had a calming effect?" Holden asked. "Go on."

When Yves had explained again, Holden flung the front door open, making Yves' heart leap into his mouth, but the doorstep was empty. Holden looked up and down the street as if planning to track the man down and pummel him. Which was probably what he was planning. "What the fuck was he doing here? What did he want?"

"I didn't ask," said Yves. "I just shut the door on him."

"What did he say before that?"

"Just asked if Bran was here."

Holden's brow lowered. "What do you think he's after? Money?"

Yves shrugged. "Or fame. He used Bran's last name, so he probably knows he's free."

"Do you think he'll be back?" Holden asked.

"I have no idea," said Yves. "Do you think we should tell Bran?"

"We have to," said Alix firmly. "He has a right to know."






Bran looked nervous when the three of them sat him down in the kitchen, his glance darting from face to face.

"What's wrong?" he asked uncertainly, looking at Holden. "Is Jer okay?"

"Last anybody heard," said Holden.

Bran looked at Alix.

"Greta's fine, too, dear," she said; Greta was visiting Valor at the university, on what Holden referred to as a maternal reconnaissance mission. "It's just that, well, this afternoon, when Yves answered the door--"

"There was a man outside," Yves continued. "He asked for you, and when I asked who he was, he said he was your grandfather."

Bran blinked, and paled. "My grandfather? Here?"

"Not any more," said Yves. "I shut the door on him, and he left. But we don't know if he'll be back."

Bran turned and took both of Holden's hands in his, looking intently into his face. "Holden?"

"Yes, love."

"You can't kill him," said Bran seriously. "I mean it."

Holden scowled. "Why not?"

"Because you'd go to prison, for one thing," said Bran, "and for another thing-- I'm sort of curious about why he came. What do you think he wants?"

"If you try to give him any money, I will kill him," said Holden. "I'm not having that scumsucker show up out of the blue ten years after selling you into slavery and feed you some line about how sorry he is and how glad he is that you're free now, and weasel you out of your hard-earned cash just because you're too sweet to bear a grudge at the man who ruined your life."

"My life isn't ruined," said Bran calmly. "And it's my life. If I want to talk to my grandfather, I can."

"Of course you can," said Holden, slightly deflated. "I mean-- no, of course I can't forbid you-- but, Bran, why would you want to? He abused and neglected you for six years, and then he sold you to that, that warehouse--"

Bran let go of one of Holden's hands to stroke the other, soothingly.

"I know," he said gently. "But I'm all right now. I'm free, and happy, and I've got a home and a job and-- you. He can't hurt me any more."

"Well, no," said Holden, "but still-- why would you ever want to see him again?"

"Well," said Bran thoughtfully, "aren't you curious? I mean, do you really think it's about money? He has to know I don't have much. Maybe he does feel guilty. Maybe he wanted to make sure I was okay. And I am okay."

"No thanks to him," said Holden. "If there's any comfort to him in knowing that after he turned his own flesh and blood over to get forcibly sterilized and raped and beaten and tortured and starved for three years, the kid finally got hold of a master who tried to do all right by him-- I don't think he deserves comfort."

Bran shrugged, looking down at their linked hands.

"He's my mom's dad," he said without looking up.

"If he were anything like your mother--"

"If he comes over again," Bran said, looking up at Yves, "will you please come and get me?"

"Bran," Holden began.

"And you, too, if you're the one who answers the door," Bran added, turning back to him. "Don't punch him or anything, just-- come get me."

"Bran--"

"Please, Holden," said Bran softly. "I just-- if he cares enough to come back, I want to talk to him."

Holden sighed. "Okay, kid. If you say so."




Yves meant to be the one to answer the door again, if necessary. He didn't want it to be Bran, and he certainly didn't want it to be Holden; Alix would be all right, but Yves felt vaguely that the grandfather ought to realize that he was being admitted after due deliberation, and not just because someone different had answered the door this time.

But the next afternoon, Yves was studying upstairs and lost to the world until the chapter ended and he belatedly registered the sound of the doorbell's chimes (how long ago?). He hurried downstairs, to find the front door closed and the passageway empty. The kitchen door was open, and there were voices inside; Yves went cautiously to the door.

Bran was at the stove, apparently absorbed in cooking something complicated and time-sensitive; Holden and Alix sat side by side at the kitchen table, and facing them, nervously twisting his fingers together, was the old man, who looked up twitchily at the sight of Yves, then scowled at him.

"He's the one that slammed the door on me yesterday," he said to the back of Bran's head. Bran turned briefly and smiled at Yves.

"I know," he said, going back to the onions that sizzled faintly in a large pot. "This is Yves Gilssen. Yves, my grandfather, Ryan Nielsen."

"Hi," said Yves, and sat down between Holden and Ryan, rather enjoying Ryan's sour expression. It didn't look like he and Bran had had a joyous reconciliation just yet.

"I meant to talk to you alone, Bran," said Ryan loudly.

"Did you?" said Bran, without turning and without sounding particularly interested. "But you must have known I don't live alone."

"You could talk to me alone," said Ryan. "Ask them to leave, or come out somewhere. They don't own you."

"No thanks to you," said Holden.

Ryan shot Holden a black look. "This is between me and my grandson."

"It's between whoever Bran says it's between," said Holden. "If it were up to me, it would be between you and my fists, but Bran specifically requested that I not beat you up, so."

"Who do you think you are?" Ryan snarled. "Threatening me, acting like you're better than me-- because I sold him? Well, you bought him, didn't you?"

Holden reddened as if he'd been struck, but to Yves' surprise, said nothing.

"And you," said Ryan angrily to Bran. "Letting him talk to your grandfather like that-- are you a man or not?"

Bran turned around at that, a spoon still in his hand, and met his grandfather's eyes.

"This is his house," he said levelly. "It's not yours. And no one invited you here."

"I came here to talk to my grandson," said Ryan, laying stress on the last two words.

"Whatever part of me was yours," said Bran, turning back to the stove, "you sold it ten years ago, for cash money."

"I knew you'd have a grudge for that," said Ryan, "but--"

"It's not a grudge," said Bran. "You did what you did. But whatever claim you ever had on me, you sold it fair and square. I don't owe you a thing."

Ryan turned an unbecoming mottled crimson shade. Yves folded his hands together to keep from applauding.

"You ungrateful brat," Ryan shouted, and smacked the table; Bran didn't jump, or turn around. "I fed and sheltered you--"

"--until I was old enough to sell," said Bran. "Men feed and shelter prize pigs for market, too."

"If you hadn't been such a worthless snivelling little milksop--"

"Bran," said Holden, his voice silky and even, "if you don't want me to to pound his ass into the ground, you should probably try to get him to shut up."

"Mr. Nielsen," said Bran, turning around again.

His grandfather glowered. "Like I was a stranger--"

"You are a stranger," said Bran. "You sold the right to be my grandfather. So if you want anything from me, you'd better give me a good reason to want to give it."

"I won't be spoken to like that," Ryan said, and stood up. "I guess I shouldn't have come."

"Why did you come?" Bran asked, not belligerently, just curiously. "What did you want?"

Ryan didn't answer for a while; his face was still red, and his mouth-- his only feature that Yves could trace to Bran-- was unattractively twisted, pursed and frowning, almost as if he were trying not to cry.

"You're my grandson," he said eventually, his voice strained. "You're my Helen's boy. I thought-- Never mind what I thought. Selfish, spoiled little--"

"Spoiled?" said Bran, laughing. "Really?"

It wasn't a bitter or angry laugh, just the bright peal of mirth with which Bran answered Holden's teasing, or any casual absurdity. Ryan's lips parted; he stared at Bran as if Bran had suddenly sprouted wings, and Bran looked back at him, not smiling now, but not scowling either, as if waiting.

"You laugh like her," said Ryan finally, tonelessly.

Bran said, after a moment, "I do?"

"Just like her," said Ryan, looking at Alix for some reason; Alix sat, impassive and silent, her hands folded together on the table in front of her, listening. "She was a good girl, Helen was, until she married that worthless farmer and--"

"Don't talk about my dad like that," said Bran swiftly, and for the first time there was real anger in his voice. "You didn't even know him."

"I knew him well enough to--"

"You didn't know him," Bran repeated. "Or me, either. You didn't ever bother to get to know me, not in six years, and that always-- it made me sad, okay, I thought, when they died, and you came to get me, I thought maybe we could talk about her, I thought maybe you'd-- understand. But you never wanted to talk to me and you didn't even let me cry, I was a kid and my parents were dead and you yelled at me for crying at night, even, and now I thought maybe you finally wanted to talk to me, but-- what did you even come here for? What do you want? Money?"

"I don't have to stand here and be insulted," said Ryan stiffly, but he didn't move any further towards the kitchen door as Bran turned back to the stove, his shoulders bowed as if in defeat.

"I think you should go," said Holden coldly.

Ryan glared at him, and said to Bran's back, "You wanted to talk, but you've got your, your, I don't know what, your boyfriend, both your boyfriends, and your girlfriend, or whatever these people are to you now-- sitting here and threatening me and I don't know what all. I meant to talk to you alone."

"I'm not ready to talk to you alone," said Bran, stirring something with more vigor than seemed strictly necessary.

"Why not?"

"Because the last time we were alone together was my fifteenth birthday," said Bran. "And you took me out to an ugly little building and pushed me at a man with bad teeth and greasy hair and he said was I a virgin and you said yes and he dragged me down over his knee and yanked up my tunic to check, right in front of you, while I was still begging you to help me, not to leave me--"

Holden got up and went to Bran, putting a hand on his taut back; Bran turned off a burner before he leaned back against Holden, relaxing visibly as Holden wrapped arms around him from behind.

"I wish I hadn't of sold you," said Ryan to their backs. "I do-- but it's past, it's done. What can I do?"

"You could say you were sorry," Yves suggested; Ryan turned to stare at him as if the table had spoken. "Just a thought."

"I can tell I'm not welcome here," said Ryan stiffly, "so I'll be on my way."

He moved slowly, as if hoping to be called back, but he was halfway through the kitchen door when Bran, still leaning on Holden, said, "You can come again."

"He can?" Holden asked,

"Yes," said Bran to Holden, and to Ryan, "If you want to do this again. If you ever want me to be ready, to talk to you alone. You can-- earn it."

Ryan turned, without answering, and walked out the kitchen door. In a few moments, they heard the front door slam with unnecessary force.

"I think that went well," said Bran, and lifted a hand to wipe a couple of tears briskly from either cheek. "It's okay, Holden. I'm okay."

"You're sure?" Holden asked, taking him by the shoulders as he tried to turn back to the stove.

"I'm sure," said Bran. "Just let me check how ruined dinner is. Do you think he'll be back?"

"If he's worth getting to know, he will," said Alix, and Bran smiled at her.

"That's what I figure," he said. "So it did go well. And the onions are a little burned, but that's okay-- it won't hurt the soup."

"I can't believe you didn't let me beat him up," said Holden grumpily.

"You were great," said Bran, and leaned to kiss him, briefly, on the lips. "Thank you. Thank you all."