You hate December. Well, you don't hate December because it's December, you just hate it because your brother hates it. It's always such a struggle doing anything when his lazy ass is spread out across the couch, head buried into that same fucking pillow, every fucking day. It's never usually the beginning of December where he starts to get mopey and bitchy, it's usually a few days in until a few days after christmas.

You established that it wasn't because of christmas or else he would make no effort what-so-ever to give a fuck about your happiness, but luckily, he paints a smile on his face and acts like everything is just so fine and chill. He's the biggest fucking bullshitter on the planet and you know it, but you don't know how to approach him about it. It's not exactly like you're dying to know why he's a depressive bitch through the last month, you've lived with it since you were young so you can live with it through the rest of you life. It would just be nice if he could give you some sort of hint.

Especially when you want to watch TV and he won't. Fucking. Move.

"Bro, oh my fucking God, will you just move?" You ask, around the umpteenth time. He just grunts and stays in the exact position. You could just fucking suffocate him with that goddamn pillow.

You have to admit, you're quite surprised that he actually got out of bed and left the apartment this morning, that is an achievement worth fighting for in this particular month. He made the effort of dragging himself out of bed, getting dressed and leaving the apartment.

Although this has been the scenario for as long as you can remember, you've never really changed the scenario. For as long as you can remmeber, you've just let Bro do his thing without question or even expecting an explanation for his strange behavour.

You decided enough is enough and that this TV is for both of you and he isn't even watching it, so you force all the weight into the lower half of your body as you leap your way onto your brother's body draping over the couch. Of course, you're expecting him to move before your ass even skims his back, but in all surprise, he doesn't move. He doesn't move at all until your ass causes his back to crack in a way which your pretty sure isn't normal, neither is the pained grunt that muffles from under the pillow.

Immediately as your ass hits his back, he's up and glaring at you as you retreat to the other side of the couch. His shades aren't on his face and his eyes are like bullets at you, that makes you realise perhaps you should have just sat on the floor and bothered Bro because he is not in a good mood. "The fuck do you think you're doing?" He almost spits fire as the words leave his mouth. You have never seen him so pissed, and that makes it all the more terrifying.

"You weren't moving your lazy ass from the couch." You reply bluntly, controlling your fear. But you know he can smell it.

Suddenly, his twisted glare softens dramatically at you and he untenses his shoulders, letting his legs slip on to the floor and leaning back against the couch. "Could have just asked instead of trying to paralyze me." He mutters softly.

You're confused as fuck.

When has Bro never beaten your ass for doing something as reckless as that? When has he ever just done the mature thing and walked away? It's not like you aimed to hurt him, all you wanted was for him to move. "I did. About ten times. And all you did was mumble something at me." You see him glance at you, then you hear him mumble something you've never heard him say, in like, forever.

"Sorry."

You're not quite sure how to respond, so you let the silence sink in through the walls. A couple of minutes pass before you're bored of TV and place the remote in the middle of the sofa as a way of telling Bro he can change the channel. When he doesn't take the remote, you turn to him. "Roof?" You ask, hopeful to get him out of...whatever state of mind he's in. Perminantly. So you don't have to deal with this every fucking December. He shakes his head, not at you, but at the TV, before speaking quietly. "Nah, sorry man."

"Why, you not feeling too hot?" You let the question slip, but before you know it, Bro's looking at you directly in the eyes. You know he can see through your shades and that he can see your disappointment. You expect to see a little bit of anger in those eyes, you expect him to yell at you for doubting him because you always do when he doubts you. But...nothing. He's tired, he's exhausted and you can't search his eyes because of his goddamn boss-mode barrier blocking all his thoughts.

Bro turns away after noticing your efforts and clears his throat. "Yeah, just feeling sick." You know he's lying because it's obvious! He's like this every fucking December and it's not because he's feeling sick. It's pretty tough being a Strider and having a lot of your mind,(you'd know from experience.) but sometimes it's acceptable to let it all out, like you've always done with Bro.

Now you just want him to let it all out on you, whatever is pissing him off or turning him into a depressing little emo bitch, you want to know. But it can wait. So you let the silence drift into the apartment again, and you let it drift into the hallway as Bro retreats to his bedroom in silence once again, and you also let it drift into your bedroom when you're lying there, wondering if your older brother is really as okay as he puts out.

What if he comes into your room one night with a knife and stabs the shit out of you? Wait. You push all your thoughts aside when you hear a noise. Oh shit this is it, isn't it? I'm going to fucking die because I'm a selfish little brat who can't keep his mouth to himself. There's the noise again, but it's further away. It sounds almost like the front door. What the fuck is that? You keep thinking as your feet carry you numbly over to your bedroom door. Your hand hovers for a moment before you kick yourself into gear and silently open it, calling out for your Bro a few times to realise he isn't in his bedroom, or in the kitchen, or on the couch.

A little bit panicked, even though you shouldn't be, you slip your feet into your red converse and leave the apartment and climb the hazardously dark staircases towards the roof, where you can bet your whole dead fetus collection that's where he is. God knows why he'd be on the roof at three in the fucking morning, but that's what you're hoping to find out as you reach the metallic and heavy door to the roof. You slide it open slowly and peer around the darkened roof, allowing your eyes to adjust to the widened area which is mildly lightened by the city lights and bright moon shining above.

As soon as you step outside, you realise how fucking freezing your balls are and you shiver violently as you walk towards the end of the roof. As you get closer, you see a figure sitting on the wall the looks over the roads and streets below. He doesn't know you're here yet, his shoulders aren't tensed and his stance isn't patient. You're considering whether this is a good idea or not, if he'll jump off when seeing you or maybe he'll kill you.

You have seriously got to stop thinking those things.

Your sneakers rub against your cold and numb feet as you walk your way over to your brother as if it isn't minus fucking thirty degrees outside. Holding your arms, you slowly slip beside him and he doesn't notice until you speak. "We have a couch, you don't have to sit on a fucking freezing wall."

He jumps slightly at your sudden appearence but it's not that much of a big deal, you can't blame him, you were like a fucking ninja back there. "What are you doing awake?" He asks after a moment of silence.

"I could ask you the same thing." You sit on the wall beside him, except facing him. Damn your balls are going to get stuck to this wall.

"Couldn't sleep." He replies, casually. So you reply as casually as you can too.

"Same." And the silence overcomes both of you apart from the sound of the city below. "Why do you hate December so much, Bro?" He visibly tenses at your question and you suddenly have no idea what you're doing. "It's not hard to realise, you mope around the house, you don't beat the shit out of me when I'm a bitch and you're constantly laying on that couch with your head until the pillow. I sometimes wonder if you're even in possession of a bladder or a stomach."

Moments pass and you look up at him; he still isn't wearing his shades but his eyes are focused on the downtown lights thirty stories below you both. His knuckle are white from the grip on the wall and his shoulders are tense as fuck. "I might just be a teenager, Bro, but sometimes I'm not the only one with problems and I don't always need a shoulder to cry on. You sometimes do." You're almost pleaded him to just let it out, and you can tell he's struggling to keep it all in. He wants to tell you, he's swallowing hard because the words are forcing themselves at his lips but he's just rejecting them.

Your cold hand shoots out at his and you grip it, letting the warmth of your palm calm his death grip on the brick wall. He loosens his grip and your hand slips in his. Finally, he looks up from the lightened town, but he looks towards the sky instead and swallows again. He opens his mouth to speak and your breath hitches.

"After I left school, I got my final results and joined the military to get away from...well from this." He nods towards the buildings and crowded streets. You let him continue with deep concentration on his anecdote. "I met somebody in said military, and we became close. We were inseperable, the sergants would always pair us together during training exercises because we were amazing as a duo." He pauses to swallow thickly again and blinks a few times. "Then there was that one day. That one day that changed everything." He pauses again and shakes his head. You noticed the waver in his voice near the end, even though want to know more, you don't want your brother putting himself through pain just so you can hear a good story.

To your amazement, he continues after a few moments of silence. "We were sent to Iraq, and that's when I found out I had a little brother who was one and a half years old. I wanted to see you so I asked if after a few weeks, I could be sent back to see you. I was able to, so I was excited. The guy I met was going to come with me, he was going to meet you and spend Christmas with us, seeing as he had no family to spend it with. No matter how shitty he had it, that fucking goofy grin would never leave his face." You know that reminds you of your friend John and you feel to laugh and roll your eyes, but you don't. You sit quietly and wait with that growing pit of eagerness in your stomach.

"We were walking through the abandoned villages when a gunfire was heard. We all turned to see our sergant fall to the ground from a shot to the knee. My idiot friend ran after him to save him, and that's when we heard shit loads of gunfire. We were told to get down and...and he just didn't get down fast enough, because by the time I was ducked behind a useless piece of junk, his stomach was blown to pieces by a M-249." Your brother choked out before stopping completely. His breathing was deep and his eyes slid closed for a moment. "I tried to help him, I ran for him but everyone was pulling me back, telling me to leave him, and that he was...he was gone."

Whether your brother is crying or not, you can't tell. You have a feeling he is but you don't say anything, you rub your thumb calmingly over his hand and focus your mind on anything else other than the numb feeling in your balls. After moments of silence, you ask very quietly, "what was his name?"

It takes you brother a while to steady his breathing. "Jake English." And you nod in reply. You don't feel the need to say anything more as your hands reach out for your brother's head and gently pull it towards your chest. You feel his arms wrap tightly around you as his head rests on your chest. It's strange how you're comforting your older brother, but you enjoy it. You've never seen him cry, you've never seen him so weak and sad before, and you don't think of him any different for needing you.

After a while, he mumbles something into your chest. "I'm fucking freezing."

You chuckle and reply, "my balls are numb, Bro, please can we go inside?" He pulls away and smiles slightly at you and kisses your forehead gently. "Yeah, last thing I want is you complaining about being ill."

You smile back as he looks up at the sky and smiles again. "I hope he knows I care."

"You've got it written on you with a sharpie, Bro." You rub his shoulder and climb over the wall. He climbs over after a few seconds of looking at the sky again and turns towards you before heading towards the stairs. "You have the keys, right?" He ask slipping through the metal door.

"I thought you would've brought some." You stare at him for a moment before he laughs and pulls the keys from his pocket.

"Pizza's on me."

"Fuck yes." You wrap your arm around his shoulder and disappear into the darkness of the staircase.

mdsjfhg helps with my writers block and lazyness.

based off the song Wake Me Up When September Ends by Green Day. The song always makes my dad cry because my grandad was in the war and my dad remembers him going away for ages and coming back with bullet wounds. My cousin died during the Afghan war around two years ago.