Pretty Bird

When Baby Sykes sleeps, he does look like a baby. On the plane, it was no different. His eyes were gently shut closed, his eyelashes resting against his upper cheeks, his mouth upturned into a tiny little smile. His hair was messy, ruffled up in the back and falling in wispy pieces around his face. He had taken off his jacket hours before, and was just in a thin striped v-neck, his hands resting in his lap. Oliver on the other hand was about the opposite, his leg bouncing subconsciously next to me as he bent over the retractable tray in front of him, his concentration all focused on a sketch in front of him. He had his black zip up on, the hood up, covering the majority of his hair. His fringe stuck out though, getting in his eyes as he drew the outline of whatever gory thing he had thought of. I had slept the majority of the flight, Oliver's shaking leg finally rousing me from my dreamless rest.

"Oliver.....Oliver stop it. Please." I groaned, my eyes fluttering open as I reached down and grabbed his knee, holding his leg down onto the ground. "You woke me up."

"Oh..." He looked up at me, an apologetic smile on his face. "Sorry. I was concentrating."

I smiled back, taking my hand off of his knee and stretched both my arms high up over my head. "How much longer?" I tried to speak over my yawn, but my words came out slow and awkward.

"The pilot actually just called for descent." Oliver reported, turning to his little brother, who was still sleeping soundly. "I should wake him up too."

I looked over Oliver to see Tom's peacefully sleeping face, before sighing and resting my head on Oliver's shoulder. "Just let him sleep til we land. He hasn't had a good sleep in ages."

Oliver nodded, leaning his head onto mine. "Have you heard from your parents?"

"Yeah," I replied, sighing. "I have their new address. They're expecting us."

"Mint." He replied, lifting his head off of mine and quickly kissing my hair. "You should be excited, love. I am."

I was about to reply when the copilot's voice interrupted me over the speakers.

"Attention passengers, be sure that your seatbelts are safely secured as we make our descent into Berlin."

Oliver just smiled, reaching over and clicking my seat belt together over my waist. "Wouldn't want you getting hurt, would we?"

I just rolled my eyes, before leaning over and pressing my lips against his, skipping all of the usual formalities beforehand. Normally, I would brush my lips gently against his, as if I was asking permission to feel his lips against mine. He would oblige me, of course, his hands pulling me close into him as his lips parted gently, and the real kiss began. This time, I was hungry, as if he hadn't kissed me in years.

"Woah.." He breathed as I finally leaned back into my own seat, his eyes looking dreamy and hazed. "Where did that come from?"

I just stared, the logical side of my brain finally catching up to my physical actions. "I'm scared." I admitted, biting my bottom lip pensively. "I'm really scared." I didn't really want to elaborate anymore than I had to. A sliver of the truth is just as good as the whole thing, anyways. As long as it gets the point across. I didn't want to tell him I was scared to death of my parents, of them seeing me and thinking it was a good decision that they left. I was scared for Tom, and the amount of shit he was going to get from Caroline. I was scared for Blake, and Curtis too.

The day before we had left, I had went over to Curtis and Holly's house, to plan out this said intervention. Holly's organizational talents were really helpful; she found a rehab that would take him. It was out of Sheffield too, which was the most ideal. Blake had to get away from Alena. She was absolutely terrible for him. Even though I knew he had made his own choices, I couldn't help but blame her for Blake's problems. If she had never shown up, he would still be the same Blake he was a year ago. The plan was to get Blake into Curtis' house and to spring the ambush upon him as soon as Oliver, Tom and I got back from Germany. All of the Bring Me The Horizon boys would be there, willing to offer support and to try their best to get Blake to go. Everyone was going to be there except for Oliver. It wasn't a secret to me that Oliver didn't like Blake much, so I just skipped on inviting him. I didn't want Oliver to say or do something wrong, and ruin Blake's chances of willingly going to treatment.

"Don't be scared, Serra." He said, his hand tucking a lock of my hair behind my ear. "It'll be cool to call you Sykes one day, you know."

I felt my cheeks instantly heat up. I'm sure they were now a very obvious red color. "Yeah yeah, Sykes. Calm down."

All of a sudden, there was a loud crunching noise, and out of the window were the bright, urban yellow lights of Berlin, Germany.

______________________________________

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Tom asked, his jacket wrapped tightly around him, his hands pushed deep into his pockets. We may had been on the metro, but the cold gusts of wind were still finding their way underground, keeping us all bone chillingly cold.

I didn't answer, just turned to him, my eyes full of nervous energy. I couldn't stop shaking since we got on the metro, Oliver's hand keeping mine still as he led me into the train, and sat me next to him. I felt like a mannequin; just being led around by him, my mind completely overloaded and clogged.

"We're doing it." Oliver turned to Tom, giving him a tiny glare out of the corner of his eye. His hand squeezed mine gently, his thumb rubbing over the top of my hand. His fingers were cold, but not cold enough to shake me out of my reverie.

"Alright, alright..." Tom just stared, slumping down in the plastic seat and closing his eyes. "I just don't want Christian to like, freak out and faint."

"I'm fine." I managed to choke out over my taught vocal chords, all of my thoughts focused on controlling my breathing. "I'm fine." I smiled weakly at Oliver, and then Tom. Oliver just smiled back, squeezing my hand again gently. Tom's eyes seemed to tear apart my core, looking right through me. He finally let his eye contact go, and slumped back into his seat, my inner stability in shambles.

We had finally reached our stop, and climbed up the stairs, back from underground. A piece of paper with their address scribbled on it in my shaky handwriting was smashed into the very bottom corner of the pocket of my jacket, making me have to dig for it to make sure we were standing in front of the right house a few blocks later. The building their apartment was in was clearly pre-war, on the capitalist side of the old Berlin Wall. There were grey, heavy bricks making up the exterior, stacked diagonally on top of each other for three consecutive stories, with wide windows outlined by wrought iron bars, flanked by rusty red shutters. Two skinny trees stood parallel next to the front door, the front steps covered in orange and brown leaves.

I couldn't stop staring at the building in front of me, which seemed to be so cold and menacing. I felt so small in front of it; not just physically small, but my mind began to curl up inside my head and brace for impact. All I could focus on was my breathing, which began to feel thick and impenetrable in my lungs, as if I had breathed in a gallon of water. The weight began sloshing painfully inside my body, my brain feeling nauseous and weak as Oliver's hand grabbed mine and pulled me up the stairs, Tom following behind me. If Tom wasn't there, I could totally imagine my 'flight or fight' instinct kicking in. I imagined a great surge of energy and power forcing itself through my veins as I ripped my hand away from Oliver's, before turning around and running as fast as I could down the street, and away from this. I felt as if I was standing on the edge of some mountainous cliff, and Oliver's hand was leading me slowly but surely over the edge.

I didn't even realize I was standing at their front door before it opened, and Oliver squeezed my hand reflexively.

It was my father. Tall, impressive, with the same deep eyes he had when I was a little girl. I think every little girl goes through a stage where they think their father is the tallest man in the world; as tall as mountains and as powerful and strong as an ocean storm. The man standing in front of me though, was still tall, but skinny, with a multitude of wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. His hair, which was a golden color when I was little, was now white and thin, like down fluff that was stuffed in my bed comforter at home.

"Christian...you've grown up." He remarked, his German accent now stronger than it was when I had seen him last, almost 5 years ago.

I nodded, before my eyes fell back towards the floor, my eyes set staring at my shoes, which were damp and covered in a layer of mud.

"Right. Well, come in." He pressed, opening the door wider. Tom walked in first, followed by Oliver, who still had to lead me in by my hand. "If you don't mind," My father began again, walking down out of the small foyer and into a sitting room, "If you'd take your shoes off. Annabelle would hate to get mud on the rugs. They're antique. From Persia."

"Iran." Tom muttered under his breath as he slipped his shoes off, his coat coming off next. Oliver just smiled and laughed under his breath, his shoes coming off also. My mind was on auto pilot, just slipping my shoes off as well and sliding them over against the wall. We all three walked through the house together, down the dark hallway. Tom and Oliver just walked on through, not noticing the plethora of pictures on the walls. They were all framed in dark wood, and mostly black and white. The sight made me absolutely sick. Starting from one of the hall and progressing towards the other end opening towards the sitting room, were pictures of Evan, starting from her baby pictures, and ending when she was 15, before cancer, when she had all of her hair. Even in the black and white, her eyes were shining, giggling at me even through the photograph. Every picture brought back a distant, faded memory; Evan at her 4th birthday party when she dressed up as Rainbow Brite, Evan at a horse ranch in 1st grade, Evan at Disneyland taking a picture with Peter Pan, her favorite. She had always said that she wanted to be just like Peter Pan, never growing up, staying young forever. This photographic display of her life almost seemed to make fun of her wishes, objectifying her life like this in some random, German apartment. I had to try really hard to keep the bile down my throat.

"Take a seat." My father motioned to the couch across from the one he was sitting on. It was old, with a dark cherry wood frame and sky blue fabric. I sat in the middle, Oliver next to me, Tom next to me as well, closest to the hallway. My mother was still nowhere to be found. The situation made me want to choke on all of my nervous energy. I could feel Oliver's foot tapping gently against the hard wood floor, his nerves materializing as well.

"I'm Oliver." He spoke, his voice giving off no hints that he was nervous. "I proposed to your daughter."

"You did?" My father asked, leaning towards the coffee table in front of him and picking up a china cup full of tea. "Oh, right. You did mention that, didn't you Christian?"

I smiled weakly, nodding once. I focused on the floral print of the tea cup, the colors in the antique Persian rug the coffee table was sitting on, Oliver's persistent, rhythmic tapping.

"I didn't know you fancied boys like him, though." He remarked, his eyes clearly staring at the tattoos on Oliver's neck. "But, love is blind, isn't it?"

My stomach dropped about 50 feet in my stomach, as I felt Oliver's grip on my hand tighten around mine. His feet also stopped tapping; a bad sign.

Tom clearly sensed Oliver's anger as well, and tried his best to diffuse the situation. "I'm his younger brother, Thomas. Tom, actually." He turned and looked at Oliver, before turning back to my father. "Everyone calls me Tom."

"My best friend back in The States was named Tom." My father replied, setting the tea cup down. "I haven't heard much from him."

We stayed in that awkward silence for a few seconds, Oliver's obvious unease at being so cleverly insulted finally going away, the tapping starting once more. My mother then burst into the room from a doorway, which led from their kitchen. Unlike my father, she was just like I remembered. She was tall as well, with more round features, and light, kaleidoscope eyes. Although those eyes were pretty, to me they were cold and unresponsive, just like the rest of her angular features. She came into the room with a tray, carrying 4 china tea cups, exact replicas of my father's.

"Care for some tea?" She smiled at Tom, and then Oliver. It was as if her eyes completely skipped over me as she set the tray on the coffee table, and sat next to my father, her hand resting on his knee before falling back into her lap. No words were said between the three of us as we leaned over and retrieved a cup of tea, thankful to have something warm to thaw our bones.

"So, Annabelle," My father began, turning to his wife. "This man here," He turned now to Oliver, studying his face."

"Oliver." Oliver interjected, swallowing his first sip of tea.

"Right, Oliver here is going to marry Christian. In April, right?"

I nodded again, avoiding eye contact with my mother as if it were the plague. "April 4th. In England."

My mother flashed her notoriously sickening smile at Oliver. "Well, I hope you have a way to make money with all of those tattoos." She took a sip of her tea. "I think it would be awful to be that covered up all of the time. Almost like a walking pin cushion with all those needles, right?"

"I think they can be expressive." I mumbled into my tea cup, Oliver's body tensing up next to mine. "Besides, Oliver makes a fair amount of money, Mother."

"Oh, and what is it that you do exactly?" She asked again, that smile still covering up her absolutely vile demeanor.

"I have a clothing company. And a band." Oliver replied, his eyes narrow. "My brother works in both, actually. We were here in Berlin for work originally."

My father nodded, sipping his tea. "Well, that's nice. It would have been wonderful to have had Evangeline in your wedding, wouldn't it have been?"

I just shrugged, my sudden burst into the conversation officially over. Tom was silent also, his hands clasped around his tea cup, his eyes studying all of the antiques around us in the sitting room.

"Oh, my Evangeline..." My mother sighed, setting her cup of tea onto the tray. "Her wedding day would have been magnificent. She had the best taste, even as a little girl."

"Well, Christian is the one getting married." Oliver retorted, as if my mother had said some blazing hot insult to him.

My mother's eyes narrowed, her smile fading. "Well, obviously, dear. She is the daughter sitting in front of us after, how many years was it Christian? 4?"

"You're the ones who left." I narrowed my eyes back, setting my tea cup back on the tray. I felt Tom's body sink into the couch next to mine. He was incredibly perceptive; he knew it was the calm before the storm.

My father spoke next, his words hot and stinging like acid. "Our baby had just died. We couldn't stay there, living in her memories."

"I was your baby too! And you left me! I needed you!" Anger surged through my body, my legs instantly shooting up, making me stand above all of them. "I was a baby too, dad!"

My mother scoffed, staring up at me as I buried my face in my hands, leaning on Oliver's side. "You were 17. You could manage."

I just scoffed, throwing my hands up into the air as I sat back down again. I leaned forward, bringing my head into my hands again, trying to stop myself from crying.

I heard my mother speak again, her voice muted. "My Evangeline would never have such a temper tantrum. She was such a well behaved girl."

"Enough!" Oliver spat, his body leaning forward, his body now sitting on the edge of the couch. I felt Tom's gentle hand against my back, rubbing in small circles. "We came here to visit you, so Christian could possibly come back into your life! To tell you about our wedding, to tell you about our life in England! I wanted to meet you, show you how happy I've made your daughter, and here she is crying on your couch!"

"My daughter..." My father spoke in a low growl, as if he was about to explode at any moment. "My daughter is dead."

"I am not dead!" I shrieked, my body forcing itself into a standing position once again, this time Oliver's and my father's bodies standing as well. "I am alive! I'm living and breathing and I'm doing it all without you! You don't want me and you never did!" I felt the first sob racking through my body, making my entire body quiver. "I'm sorry I'm not Evan, I really am!"

"Christian," My mother whispered, her evil eyes staring up at me, the tea in her cup swirling around the china rim. "If you know we never wanted you, why are you here?"

I finally let myself give up, letting the sobs take over my body as I slumped back down on the couch, Tom's embrace catching me as I descended as if my legs had given out on me. His arms were warm and strong, catching me and holding me close, my tears wetting the front of his striped shirt.

"I have seen some pretty fucked up things in my life," I heard Oliver begin, his voice cutting through the aggression in the room like a razor. "But I have never seen a mother and a father disown their own daughter for no reason. I've known for a long time that Christian is a fantastic, amazing, most loving and caring person. Now I know it has nothing to do with her parents."

My body lifted along with Tom's, my feet taking on my weight again. It was a complete blur; I felt like a ghost floating down the dim hallway and slipping my shoes back on in the foyer, my coat somehow finding a way back onto my shoulders and around my body. The chilling Berlin air hit my face like a freight train though, as soon as Oliver opened the door. We walked a few blocks in silence, the entrance to the metro becoming closer and closer, until Oliver stopped suddenly, pulling me into his body.

"I'm so sorry, Christian. I'm so fucking sorry." He whispered into my hair, his breath warm and stinging against my freezing forehead.

All I could do was respond with a sob, wrapping my arms around him tight and burying my face into his shirt, his coat shielding me from the world.