Saturday Adventure

Note: This story contains sensitive content including substance abuse, physical violence and abuse.

Saturday morning arrived and after they finished their meal, brothers Jack and Billy would set off on their weekly adventure.

Jack thought the cold and meager breakfast reflected everything about their accommodations and reception at the inn.

“Billy-Bill,” Jack said, using one of his many pet names for his brother. “What news have you for our quest today?”

Billy peered over his bowl and grinned, liquid running down his chin. “I’ve heard tell the dragon has returned from his wanderings. He sleeps not far from here.”

Jack stopped munching and leaned in, “And?”

Billy whispered, “There’s plunder to be had.”

Jack resumed eating and raised an eyebrow. “We’ve never battled a dragon before.”

“It’s too strong for young men like us,” Billy slurped his food. “We’ll creep in, take what we can, and sneak back out.”

Jack gave a wry smile. “Won’t Stagger get thirsty,” he said, nodding his head at the dirk hanging from Billy’s hip.

“Come on, Jack,” Billy protested in that way a brother does after a lifetime of teasing. “You’ve said it’s not much more than a toothpick. How’s it going to slip through a dragon’s scales?”

“No, you’re right,” Jack relented.

Billy returned a grin.

“Do you know the way, Billy-Boy?” Another pet name Billy seemed to like less the older he got. He nodded.

“Provisions?”

“Just Stagger and Doom,” Billy said, eyeing their weapons.

“No helmets or mail either?”

Billy shook his head. “Just what we’re wearing…and our cloaks.”

“Clever, quiet-like.”

Billy tried to raise a single eyebrow like he’d seen Jack do thousands of times. After a quick succession of attempts, he nodded and drained the rest of his bowl.

“The clouds and mist will help hide us,” Jack said as they began.

Billy nodded his agreement, and wrapped his cloak around him.

“What are you waiting for? Show us the way.”

Billy’s eyes widened. “You mean I’m in charge?”

“Your adventure, you lead.”

Jack wasn’t sure how, but his brother’s growing smile seemed to brighten his whole body.

That’s good. Jack thought. It’s been difficult around here lately. We’ve been left to fend for ourselves since—.

Billy stopped without warning, and Jack stumbled into him, struggling to keep his balance.

“You gotta give us a little warning, Billy Boy. I might’ve run you through with Doom.”

Whatever lightness Jack had seen disappeared. Billy’s face froze in a cloudy grimace. He went rigid and toppled over. Jack caught him.

When it passed, Billy wouldn’t remember his jerking legs or twitching arms.

Although he wasn’t responsible, Jack blamed himself.

Daytime Man who provided them food and shelter wondered about seeing a doctor, but Nighttime Man saw any infirmity as an inconvenient weakness which should be overcome through sheer force of will.

After a few moments, Billy’s regular breaths returned.

“A spell got me?” He slurred.

Jack nodded and brushed hair from Billy’s eyes. “Didn’t see that one coming, did we Billy-Boy?”

“If I had me some magic, I could.” Billy squirmed out of Jack’s lap.

“I know, but we’re fighters instead. Right?”

“Right!” Billy’s returning energy spilled into his brother. “Back at it, Jacket.” Billy tried winking to let know he could play with nicknames too, but all he managed was a determined, two-eyed blink.

“Hey, maybe we should go back and catch a show instead? You know, until you feel better.”

Billy’s face fell. He put his hands on his hips and scrunched his eyebrows together.

“I’m not a baby. ‘Sides, we won’t get another chance when the dragon wakes.”

“I know, little brother. All I’m saying is maybe we should wait a bit.”

“Don’t call me little! I’m almost as tall as you.”

When Billy screwed his face up like that, Jack would not change his mind. He raised his hands in surrender.

Billy stomped away, fists balled.

He was right. Despite a few years difference in their ages, Billy seemed to have inherited some of their departed mother’s height. Jack recalled very little of her, and Billy, given his incessant questions, even less.

Ahead, Billy crouched and waved Jack to him.

“Whatcha see. Boy-o?”

“We have to go up them craggy stairs.”

“Those stairs,” Jack corrected.

“C’mon Jack. Not while we’re adventuring.”

“Right. Sorry. Habit.”

Billy returned only a pfft.

“Then?”

“Through the door.”

“If it’s locked, busting it open will wake the dragon,” Jack cautioned.

“They don’t lock their doors, dummy. They’re big enough and they can just—”

To others Billy wore his grit like armor, but Jack saw it dissolve with whatever he was considering.

“I want to go back, Billy. Maybe we’ll have better luck next time.” Jack said. If he thinks I want to, maybe that will be enough.

After a moment of internal skirmish, resolve marched across Billy’s face. “What do you always say? ‘Luck is where preparation and opportunity meet.’ Well, we’re ready. We’re here, so let’s go make some of our own luck.”

“Don’t make me regret it.”

“You will. You always do.” Billy grinned. “Come on! Who’s a baby now?” He glanced over his shoulder, a mischievous light dancing in his eyes.

Jack sighed and padded after him, shaking his head.

When they arrived, Billy pressed his ear to the door.

“I hear him snoring,” He whispered and cranked the handle.

“Slowly,” Jack’s shoulders rose to meet his head.

Billy bugged his eyes and stuck his chin out at him.

Jack relaxed when the door opened without a sound.

“Look! There’s a glass dish with gold coins in it. Plenty for both of us,” Billy breathed more than whispered.

Jack peered through the chamber’s murk and nodded.

Billy picked his steps around the foot of the dragon. Jack followed. Each footfall reverberated in Jack’s mind’s ear, but he heard no return from the walls.

Billy stopped. His shoulders shook.

Jack bounded to him. Not again, not here!

Billy had his hands over his mouth, trying to stifle his laughter.

“Stop!” Jack urged through clenched teeth.

He tried, but the extra effort made Billy force the laughter out in puffs through his nose. He pulled one hand away and pointed at the dragon.

Jack saw it then.

The picture they’d both imagined when they thought of a dragon sleeping over his hoarded treasure didn’t match what they saw. Instead of a mythical creature lying in stately repose, tail curled, here lay the beast on his back—definitely a him—appendages splayed in every direction, snores rumbling out in fitful hitches and gurgles, nary a wisp of smoke to be seen.

This parody of strength and power stirred in Jack a giggle that would soon burst into a proper guffaw. Trying to stem it, he looked back at Billy, who, seeing the mirth in Jack’s eyes, wrapped his arms around his face and released muffled chortles into his sleeves.

The dragon breathed in a violent shluuuck of air and theirs went out of them. All traces of humor fled and took the color in their cheeks with them.

The dragon belched and turned away.

Jack signaled to wait. Billy nodded.

About the same time Jack’s outstretched arm began aching, Billy started fidgeting.

Jack chopped his hand in the direction of the treasure.

Billy’s head bobbed, eyebrows raised.

Jack stood between Billy and the dragon, watching for any signs it was awakening. Dusty shafts of light seeped in. The air bore a sour, familiar scent. The dragon dispatched deep, rumbling snores.

A faint, but clear tinkling drew Jack’s attention to Billy.

He stuffed coins from the glass dish into his pockets.

He paused and waved Jack over.

Jack shook his head.

Billy insisted, using with both hands.

Jack bugged his eyes and jerked his head in the direction of the door.

Billy waved harder. One hand clipped the dish. Coins erupted into the air, chinking and portending metallic rain.

Jack dove toward the flailing Billy. Each attempt he made to capture the airborne dish sent it careening in another direction.

It landed in Jack’s hands and bounced away, spinning on the floor. Crystalline echoes grew with each maddening revolution. Coins clinked all around.

The dragon stirred.

“Go!” Jack said, pushing Billy toward the door.

The coins in Billy’s pockets chinked with each stride, drawing the dragon’s attention.

When the dragon settled his gaze on him, Billy faltered and screamed.

An angry pain registered in the dragon’s eyes; Jack had seen it before.

“Billy! Get out!”

The dragon’s voice thundered. “William! Come here now!”

As it stumbled from its bed, Jack smelled the familiar and revolting stench of a body leeching unmetabolized alcohol.

“I’ve told you boys to let me sleep!” The Nighttime Man version of their father kindled his annoyance into inebriated fury.

“What the fuck?” He roared and swung a fist at Billy.

Billy ducked and held his weapon above his head. Plastic sword fragments exploded around him. He made for the door and caught a kick in his back.

Billy pitched down the wooden stairs they’d just climbed. He thudded on the landing with a whimper.

Rage personified now turned toward Jack. Any semblance of bravery left him.

“And you,” Nighttime Man seethed. “He’s a fucking baby. You should know better. What the fuck is wrong with you?” He blinked, processing a moment. “Why is there a towel on your shoulders?”

“It’s my cloak,” Jack replied to the only question he thought he could really answer.

“Don’t be smart with me, you little fucker.”

Jack looked away and crumpled against the wall. His foot caught the coin dish, sending it skittering.

“You stealing from me?” His anger flared.

“No, it’s not like that. We were just having an adven—”

Nighttime Man, eyes watery and bloodshot, lurched toward Jack.

“I told you not to play in here, fucking idiots!” He raised a fist and hitched.

Jack knew better than to cover his head. That would only bring kicks to his midsection. He closed his eyes and tucked his chin to his chest.

The punches didn’t arrive.

Nighttime Man made a rumbling gurgle and vomited on Jack. The sharp, waxy smell of undigested food and pungent booze. Jack's guts spasmed.

Don’t puke! Don’t puke! That’ll make it worse! You’ll—

Nighttime Man’s rage obliterated the rest of the thought. “Look what you did! Look, you little fucker!”

Jack blinked away stinging goo. He braced himself.

“You piece of shit!” The first punch glanced off Jack’s head, lubricated by slimy chunks and blurry intoxication.

Whenever Nighttime Man didn’t get the satisfaction of full contact, he doubled down. Jack knew he shouldn’t run; it would infuriate him even more.

But the next round was always worse.

Jack swiped his arm across his eyes and bolted for the door.

From the corner of his vision, he caught Nighttime Man steadying himself against the dresser.

“Don’t run from me you little shit!”

Pain exploded in Jack’s leg. He flailed, trying not to careen down the stairs and squash a mewling Billy.

He grabbed the railing and teetered on the top stair.

A sharp crack and searing intensity zinged through him. His hand flopped at the end of a new bend in his forearm.

He lost his balance and fell, the back of his head punctuating the treads.

He landed close enough to see the colored slivers of his brother’s eyes rolled back in his head. Foam bubbled from Billy’s mouth as the seizing wracked him again.

“The fuck’s wrong with him?” Nighttime Man steadied himself at the top of the stairs.

Jack staggered to his feet and broke the rule about meeting a predator’s gaze.

He forgot he was a boy, much younger than the beast-man looming over him. He forgot about the coursing pain. He forgot every admonition Nighttime Man spewed at him in drunken fits. He forgot every sloppy apology their father made when his hangovers were burning away each day after.

“You.” Jack jabbed a finger at him. “Since you kicked him in the head!” Jack thought he probably shouldn’t have screamed it.

Indignity crossed his father’s face. His brow furrowed, and Jack waited for the denial. It always came next.

“I didn’t—I don’t—” He puffed. Behind his shriveled willy, his testicles retreated into his body.

“You did and you do.” Without blinking, Jack raised his broken arm in testimony.

A dim flicker registered in Nighttime Man’s eyes, a hopeful emergence of Daytime Man.

Nighttime Man won. His face darkened.

Jack grabbed Billy’s arm and began dragging him through the kitchen toward the back door.

Nighttime Man stumble-jumped down the stairs. Jack heard a loud pop when he landed. Nighttime Man howled.

Anger-fuel, Jack thought.

He hobbled toward them, naked and chuffing.

A troll!

Jack tried to smother the emerging giggle, but it exploded into laughter. A weak voice inside him screamed for him to stop, but he couldn’t.

Nighttime-Troll-Man cocked his head and stopped. He glowered.

The dark fury building behind his eyes made Jack laugh harder.

Nighttime-Troll-Man clenched his teeth and coiled for the next strike.

Jack dropped Billy’s arm and reached between their breakfast cereal bowls and across the counter. His eyes locked on Nighttime-Troll-Man’s.

Jack grasped something, and Nighttime-Troll-Man turned his attention to it. A new look crossed his face.

Billy gave him the same one when he had a new challenge.

“What are you going to do with that, you little pissant?”

Jack swung his hand in front of him. His focus landed on the thing in it: a knife, their big one.

Nighttime-Troll-Man set his jaw.

Jack straightened his back and steeled himself for whatever would come next.