I don't own anything.

Sorry if it's a little choppy.

"Damn." Will dropped his face into his hands absently kneeding his throbbing temples. Another fight with Jacob. Another mention of "magic beans". More yelling. More accusations. More guilt. Concluding with one leaving the room with hurt feelings. The other staying to regret words. Neither one understanding the other.

Will did not hate his brother. No, of course not. His brother was his last living family and his closest friend. And he loved him. He just couldn't seem to catch that familiar phrase before it slipped out to attack Jacob.

He wasn't even sure why he used the phrase. He didn't blame Jake for their sister's death. Not directly. Jacob was just a child. He had blamed his ignorance. Blamed his fantasy. Which, when he really did think about it, was blaming Jacob. Jake lived in his fantasy.

At the time he had needed something to blame. Something solid, something real to focus his anger on. She was his sister. She was too young to die. They were poor. They couldn't afford to keep the house warm. And when she became sick they couldn't afford a doctor. Not after father had died. It wasn't fair. She shouldn't have died. Father shouldn't have died. He shouldn't have had to be the man of the house. And Jacob shouldn't have brought home those damn beans!

There was an anger Will had about the beans that surpassed just the death of his sister. The beans, tied in with Jacob's acquiring of the beans, represented something deeper to Will. Will had to step up in role when his father died. He had become a man far before he was suppose to. But Jake remained unfazed, unchanged. Jake was still a child. When their sister was dying, Jake was still a child and Will became the man. And at the time, Will hated him for it.

So why now? Why after years did it haunt them. Why after so long together that it still hung between them, eating away at their relationship. Defining it with "beans".

"I don't know." Will whispered and with a frustrated grunt he pulled himself up out of the chair he had plopped into when Jake had run out the door. He began tidying the room to distract his mind or maybe to focus his thoughts. He pulled up the fallen chair he had kicked over in his anger. He got down on his knee to pick up the pieces of the cup that was broken when Jake dropped it in his clumsy startled fashion.

Then his eyes fell on Jake's worn journal. Forgotten in the highly emotional exchange. He picked it up flattening the pages that were now ruffled and bent. Jake would have a fit to see the damage done to his precious book. His hands slid over the leather cover, smoothed over with wear from Jacob's own hands. It was in fair shape from the abuse it had taken over the years when the brothers themselves faced nature's obstacles (and a few human ones as well). Fondly, Will set the journal down on the table.

He never dared to look into Jake's journal. It seemed an invasion of his brother's privacy and trust. And most the time he just assumed it was filled with the sketchy thoughts that ran through Jake's mind. Fantasy and other blotchy jumbles of words that had significance to Jacob alone. He couldn't deny, however, that his high moral on this subject was partly due to the fact that the book was never far from Jake's reach.

Will sat himself down again in his chair. He felt restless but resisted the urge to chase after his brother. Jake deserved some time to cool off. Instead he sat, face in his hands, watching the door. If Jake was out too late he would go and find him. There he was being protective again. Jake wasn't a child anymore, so why did he insist on treating him as one. Because he still acts like one. But was that really true. Will was tired of being left alone with his thoughts. He would have anything over this. Part of him wished Jake would come back through the door and resume the fight.

Will dropped his head into his folded arms. His breathing deepened at the cloudiness of the incased air bouncing off the surface of the table. Then he felt it, a sort of rumbling through the table. He reflexively pulled his head up. The room trembled with an apparent gust of wind that slammed on the front door, shaking the very frame of the house. And just as suddenly as it came it was gone leaving the calm of an empty room again.

Will sat bewildered, wondering if he had imagined the whole thing. His eyes focused on the front door again his thought returning to his brother when he saw something slide past the frosted window. His curiosity perked, Will moved to the front door and swung it open.