Time Well Wasted

Today, in Oliver's opinion, is too beautiful for a funeral. 

        Sunlight spills in through the branches of trees, painting Oliver's face in a soft warmth. He tips his head back for a moment, sighing. He could imagine somewhere children lying on the grass pointing out shapes in the clouds. Maybe a family barbecue will be held at a local park across town. A first date, proposal, or even a wedding. Days like these are reserved for celebration. 

Now Oliver would stoop to calling his mother's passing a celebration, although he won't deny it's a relief. 

He’s off to the side, watching as guests trickle away one by one. The dresses and suits worn by the men and women all look expensive and, in Oliver’s opinion, maybe too over the top. His mother had been a respected woman, at least, he thinks he remembers her being so. A woman attracting drama and wealth. He peers down at his own attire. A black too-big button-down borrowed from Max and the darkest pair of pants he could find (Now, in the sunlight, Oliver can clearly see they are navy blue rather than black). 

In all honesty, Oliver isn’t quite sure how his mother died. In all honesty, he's not too bothered to find out. He didn’t come here to mourn the woman who had looked at him with cruel and careless eyes, only seeing him as a shiny object to profit off of. He knows that if she had any say in the matter, Oliver would have been the one in the casket. 

Huffing out a breath, He watches the guest carefully, ignoring the steadily growing pit in his stomach. After what feels like ages, the last of the guests leave. A familiar face can be seen, shaking the hands of almost everyone who walks by. Oliver's breath stutters as that pit finally drops.

It's surreal seeing Nick only a couple of feet away. Sure, Oliver had seen his face on TV every so often. Not as much as he had when they were kids, but he's here and there. It's almost like Oliver can see the years he's been…gone manifest physically. The baby fat Oliver remembers had once clung so stubbornly to Nick's face has now been replaced with slight stubble and sunken cheeks. Hair that had once been messy and long enough to tuck behind Nick's ears was now styled neatly and pushed out of his face. (And, of course, he's wearing an actual suit.)

The last person he sees leave is an old woman whom Oliver doesn't recognize. She wraps her arms around Nick, patting his back before pulling away and telling him something, pointing a shaky finger at him as he laughs slightly, a laugh that Oliver hasn't heard in ages. 

The woman finally walks away, leaving Oliver and Nick alone in the burial sight. Nick, who had held himself together fairly well throughout the whole service, the actor that he is, seems to break the minute the woman is out of sight. His face crumples as he turns to walk towards the tombstone, seemingly not noticing the freak that is Oliver just standing there. 

Oliver shakes out his hands at his sides, his feet feeling rooted into the ground. This is a really bad time. Horrible even. 

Still, as if on autopilot, Oliver's feet begin to walk forward. He quietly makes his way next to a sniffing Nick, keeping his head down before settling next to him and clearing his throat, attempting to make his presence known. 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Oliver says awkwardly, eyes raking over the photo of his mother set before the tombstone. Nick only scrubs at his eyes, trying to rid his face of the tears. He sniffles a few more times before speaking up. 

“Thank you,” He says hoarsely. He clears his throat again before chuckling. “I’m sorry,” he smiles. “Justa’ lot, know?” 

“Of course.”

Nick looks up at Oliver. (Oliver hadn't realized that he was now taller than Nick. A part of him wants to tease and get revenge for every time Nick had used Oliver's head as an armrest or told Oliver that he can't have a shotgun because he isn't tall enough for it.) 

“Nick Clarke,” He says, stretching out a hand to shake Olivers. There's no recognition in his face as he does so. There's a young voice in Oliver's head that tucks itself into the corner of his mind. It weeps at how his brother is treating him like a stranger, something foreign. However, given the amount of time Oliver has been hiding, he supposes that he might as well be one. 

“Oliver” 

An expression flickers over Nick's face. He smiles warmly. “I’ve got a kiddo named Ollie.” He says, his hands tucking themselves into the pockets of his jeans. 

There's a pang in Oliver's chest. How much had he missed? Oliver manages to return the smile, “Nice name.” That gets a laugh out of Nick. 

“Yeah,”

There's a soft silence that follows. Distantly Oliver hears the sound of the breeze rustling grass and trees. He brings a hand up to cover his eyes from the sun beaming down on his face. “Were you close to her?” he asks abruptly, curious about how Nick will answer. He remembers the way his mother used to fawn over him. Where Oliver had been a source of steady profit, Nick had always truly been Jennifer Clarke's son. Next to him, Nick seems to suppress a flinch. His brows furrowed as he made a “So-so” movement with his head. 

“Uh— I mean, used to be,” he begins, “It's just hard. Moms, you know?” Oliver nods. Oh, doesn't he? “She was awful,” Nick laughs, eyes pointed toward the ground. Oliver just hums, allowing Nick to continue. “Honestly, I— I was her favourite son, you know? She told me multiple times. In front of my brother, too, Which like— Who does that?” Oliver's lip twitches up. “And— I don't know why, but I let her get away with the shit that she did. She had no idea that I even knew about—I should've—” Nick turns his face away from Oliver, bringing a hand up to rub down his face. 

“I get it.” Oliver offers. Truthfully, he doesn't. But he's spent too many years holding resentment. Nick just shakes his head as he huffs. 

“Sorry,” He sighs, shaking his head. He uses the toe of his shoe (expensive, Oliver notes) to move around a bouquet lying against the stone. “So, uh, how did you know my mom?” 

Oliver holds his breath for a moment before letting it out carefully. “Same way you did.” 

Nick's eyebrows draw together in confusion. He smiles awkwardly, turning his head when he hears the sound of birds coming from the right. Oliver shuffles his feet. Nick has to have caught on by now, right? 

“What did you think of her?” Nick asks suddenly. His face is lined with suspicion, yet his body language remains open. 

“Uh,” Oliver subconsciously takes a step back, “Shouldn't speak poorly of the dead, right?” He shrugs awkwardly. Bring a hand up to bite at the dead skin surrounding his nails.

Nick squints before the corners of his lips quirk up. “Nothing she could do about it. She’s not God,” 

Oliver huffs, almost rolling his eyes. “Felt like it sometimes.” 

Instead of laughing, sighing, or showing any sign of life, Nick just stares at him. Oliver can feel the scrutiny hanging heavy over his shoulder. 

Hypothetically, Nick could have lived without knowing for the rest of his life, and he'd be completely fine. As Oliver's thoughts begin to spiral, his brother suddenly speaks. 

“I'm sorry, have we met before?” Oliver goes to answer, mouth hanging open like a goldfish, before Nick cuts him off with a hand. “Or is this some fucked up idea of a joke?” 

“No! No– this isn't a joke.” Oliver almost shouts, waving his hands out in front of himself. Nick stares a bit more. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He looks at Nick, trying to think of what to say, but nothing comes out. He simply stands there, eyes wide, waiting for the other man's reaction.

“Who are you?” Nick asks, anger and confusion lacing his tone.

“Oliver.” 

Nick's brows furrow before they shoot up, eyes widening. 

Oliver swallows hard, averting his gaze. “I shouldn't have come here,” he says softly. He feels Nick's eyes on him as if trying to read him. Oliver can feel his heart pounding. He turns to leave, or take a breather, or maybe find a cigarette. He can't quite decide what he will do before two hands land on his shoulder blades, shoving him to the ground. 

“Are you serious?” Nick shouts. Oliver lands hard; the wind is knocked out of his lungs. Scrambling to his feet, he turns to face Nick once more. They stare at each other for a moment, Nick’s eyes searching Oliver's face for something. Whatever he’s looking for, he's not going to find it. 

“Nick,” Oliver holds up his hands. “I know this is a really bad day for this, but I didn't know when else to tell you, okay? I swear! I swear on mom— well— I swear on my life.” 

The anger has slowly begun to leave Nick's face. Oliver just sits there, waiting to see if Nick is going to react. Suddenly, Nick's shoulders drop. He buries his face in his hands and lets out a loud groan. “ I am going,” He takes a breath, “ to check myself into an institution.”. Oliver slowly lowers his hands. After a moment, Nick reveals his face once more. Only now does Oliver notice how truly exhausted he looks. He glares at Oliver. “So what? You're my brother?”

Oliver doesn't quite know how to respond to that. “I mean,” he clears his throat. “Yeah.”

“You don't look like him,”

“Yeah, I know.” Oliver chuckles softly, trying to lighten the mood. Nick doesn't seem amused.

“I'm hallucinating,” 

“No—you're not.” Oliver pushes himself up. Nick just groans again, running a hand through his hair. “I thought you were a detective now. Why can't you figure it out?”

Nick glares at him, “How did you— No, I'm not going to feed into this. Fucking— Hallucinations.” 

“I'm not— You shoved me! Look!” Oliver begins to make his way to Nick, who doesn't even flinch. Oliver grabs Nick's hands, taking them into his. He takes a deep breath and focuses. His senses slowly begin to dull. There's a familiar wave of a void lapping at his ankles, allowing him to slowly sink into an in-between. The last thing he sees is Nick's wide eyes, accompanied by a gasp that fades out along with the rest of the world.

~~~

“Ollie's birthday is in two weeks,” Nick says, shovelling fries into his mouth. The dim light above the booth Vision-Oliver and Nick sit at flickers. Now-Oliver stands in front of the booth, Vision-Oliver and Vision Nick completely oblivious to him. 

“Yeah, I know,” Vision-Oliver says, taking a sip of what seems to be a coke. “I got him a water gun.” Nick nods his head along, drumming his fingers on the table to the sound of whatever song is playing throughout the diner. 

“Okay, so do you want to come a little earlier so you can take Ollie and Tatum out to breakfast while we decorate.” Vision Oliver nods, beginning to smile. 

“I had a vision about this,” he says. Vision Oliver turns his head to look in Now-Oliver's general direction. He points off to the left of Now-Oliver. “I'm right there.” 

Nick looks slightly disturbed. “God, that's so freaky.” Right as he says that, the vision begins to fade out. 

Oliver thinks that's a future he's looking forward to. 

~~~

As usual, His hearing is the first thing to come back

“Fuck you, Fuck you, Fuck you.”

When his sight returns, Oliver sees Nick pacing. Despite Nick's anger, Oliver smiles. 

“You will believe me eventually.” 

Nick turns to face him once more, eyes wide with fury. “I thought you were dead! I thought— Fuck you. Seriously— Fuck you.” Nick points a finger at Oliver's chest. The same way the old woman had to Nick earlier. Except now, there's no light-hearted laughing. 

Oliver tries to remain calm despite his racing heart. Nick hasn't been anywhere close to this angry at him since they were children when Oliver had accidentally broken Nick’s then-new pc. And even that wasn't this bad.

 It's frightening.

“I know, I’m sorry I didn't tell you sooner,” Oliver says, his voice soft and steady. “I was just—” 

Oliver is cut off by Nick pulling him into a tight embrace.  

Oh.

He can't help the feeling of relief that washes over him as he slowly brings his own arms to wrap around his brother. The two of them stay that way for a long moment. 

Nick pulls back first, bringing a hand up to wipe at fresh tears. The ever-sensitive man that he is. “Where have you been?” 

Feeling a sting behind his own eyes, Oliver looks down, “Oh,” He sighs “Y’know.” 

“I don’t,” 

There's a beat, neither of them saying a word. The rustling of the trees has begun to speed up, sending a cool chill to wrap around Oliver. 

“Did mom know?” 

Oliver looks up, “No,” He laughs bitterly, trying to rub at his eye covertly. “That's actually why I’m telling you now.” 

“Oh,” 

“Oh,” Oliver mocks. He kicks a rock that happens to hit their mother's headstone. “I wanted to wait until she couldn't do anything anymore,” He mutters, bringing his thumb up to bite at it. There's a beat. 

“God Ollie.” Nick wraps his arms around Oliver once more, like he's afraid he might disappear, again. “I'm so happy to see you. Really. Because for the past six years, I thought that I'd never be able to—” His voice cracks, “apologize to you.” His voice is thick like he’s trying not to cry again, "I'm sorry, Ollie. I'm so sorry."

At this, the emotions that Oliver thought he had a firm grip on, slip. Tears prick at his eyes, threatening to spill over onto his cheeks. Nick continues. 

“I should have done something. Taken care of you somehow. I should have stopped her,” 

“You were a kid too,” Oliver sniffles, voice muffled from where his head lies buried in his brother's shoulder. “You didn't do anything—” 

“Exactly,” Nick argues. “I didn't do anything. I should have done something-” 

“Nick,” Oliver pleads. Taking a breath, he attempts to pull himself together. “Not right now. Please.”

Nick smiles tightly. 

It's strange seeing his brother again. Guilt makes a home in Oliver's gut. Nick had mourned Him. Oliver had watched over news stations and interviews. He remembered specifically the interview that had come around year one of Oliver's disappearance. The grief on his brother's face when he finally admitted that his brother was most likely dead. 

“You’re going to be twenty-one now? Right?”  

Oliver shakes his head, “Not for another two weeks ‘member?,” To his side of him, Nick winces. Looking around the burial sight, Oliver sighs. “You named your kid after me?” 

Nick scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Yeah when I thought you were dead,” He shakes his head, “Now he’s just got a stupid name.”

“Hey!” Oliver laughs, “I happen to like my name.”

“Obviously,” Nick crosses his arms, “figured you change it when it comes to faking a death and all that.” 

“No, I did,” Oliver says, “Just not my first one.” 

Nick’s brows furrow, eyes raking over Oliver's face. “Why do you look like that,” 

Oliver rolls his eyes and reaches over to elbow his brother. “Dick,” He mutters as Nick laughs at him. A small smile tugs at Oliver's own lips. The same movie star smile that had once charmed every other girl and annoyed a little brother shines through. “It's a really long story,” 

“How long?” Nick raises an eyebrow. 

“Six years long.” 

Nick seems to consider this for a moment before lowering himself to the ground in front of the grave. He looks up at Oliver and pats the patch of grass next to him. 

“I have time.”

They settle in front of their mother, a family broken, yet repairable. 

“I’m really sorry I didn't tell you.” Oliver manages to get out past the lump in his throat. 

Nick just shrugs, “Better late than Never.”