just something i've been feeling

/ / /

After a long night shift, Colt Bronco was eager to get home and get to bed. Tonight just proved it to him that he was far too old now for twelve hour night shifts. He would have to be giving them to the young cadets that were just starting out. 

As he walked up the driveway, he stretched his arms and placed his hands on his hips to pop his back. He unhooked his keys from his belt and then unlocked the front door. The sound of loud laughter and pots banging against the stove top made him groan. A headache was already forming in his temples, and he was fighting against the urge to pour another cup of coffee before heading to bed. 

The kitchen was where everyone was gathered. Ian was leaning against the counter, tossing Blazey pieces of his leftover breakfast. Laurel was flipping pancakes on the stove. Barley was sitting at the head of the table with his girlfriend sitting next to him, leaning forward with her elbows on the table as Barley tossed a blueberry into her mouth from as far back as he could lean. They high-fived when he made it in and laughed and cheered. 

Colt was appalled to see splatters of blueberry on the floor and on the table. They were everywhere, and he stomped on a couple when he walked into the kitchen. He looked down at the bottom of his hooves in disgust. 

"Hey, honey," Laurel said, smiling apologetically at her new husband. "How was work?" 

"It was... work," he said, grimacing at his stepson and his girlfriend as he walked over to give his wife a quick kiss on the cheek. As he did, he whispered, "She hasn't been here all night, has she?" 

"No," Laurel said, laughing softly. "She just came over for breakfast. I thought I'd make something nice for the boys. They've been working so hard, you know." 

"Working?" Colt asked. He grabbed a plate off of the counter.

Laurel nodded. "Well, Ian's report card came into the mail. The boy has straight A's for the third semester in a row!" 

"Really? Wow, that's great." 

"Mhm." She flipped a pancake onto his plate and adjusted her glasses. "So I just asked what he wanted to celebrate, you know, thinking that he'd just want to go out for dinner or something, but he just wanted blueberry pancakes, so I decided I'd cook that right up with some hashbrowns and bacon..."

"It smells great, honey," he said. "But you said the boys have been working hard."

"Yes, I did." She poured more batter into the frying pan. 

"What has Barley done?" 

"Well," she said, "You'll be surprised but he---"

At the same moment, a blueberry bounced off the back of Colt's head. His eyes widened and he turned slowly.

You covered your mouth with your hands. "I am so sorry, Officer Colt. It bounced right off of Barley's head."

Barley laughed, his fingers swiping the blue stain off of his forehead. "That was a nice shot, babe. Two in one." 

You snickered. 

"Could you two not make a mess in my kitchen?" Colt asked, his voice strained. 

"Aw, honey, they promised they would clean it all up," she said. "They're kids. Let them live a little."

"They are not kids, Laurel," he said, gazing at his wife in pure disbelief. He pointed at the couple, who fell silent as Colt's voice only got higher and angrier. "They are in their twenties. They are adults, and they should be at their jobs working to pay off bills. Instead they're having food fights in the kitchen. In our kitchen!"

"It wasn't a food fight, Colt," Barley said. "We were just trying to toss them into each other's mouths---"

"I'm sorry," you said, biting your lip. "I'll be more careful."

"No, you both will just knock it off." He jabbed his finger at Barley. "No. More."

"Colt," Laurel said. 

"I'm serious, Laurel! That boy has been messing around far too often. He should be applying to jobs, not wasting his life away in his room, sucking up all of the wi-fi that I am paying for. This is getting out of hand. Twenty years old, Barley. You are twenty. Years. Old. When are you going to start taking some responsibility for your life?"

Barley blinked. "I'm in college---

"You started two years late. What did you do in those two years?" 

"I took it as a break. I think that's pretty---"

"That's lazy, that's what that is," Colt said. "And what about you?" 

"Me?" you asked. 

"Yes. What are you doing with your life? You're here all of the time. Clearly you don't have a job!" 

"No," you said, "I don't, but---"

Barley stood up, holding a hand up. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Why are you getting onto her for not having a job? She isn't even your kid."

"No, she isn't, but you two talk about getting married soon all of the time and well, frankly, it is clear to me that her parents don't right care if she's a screw up or not and if my stepson is going to marry young, he and his wife need to get things sorted out beforehand---

You gasped in hurt, feeling yourself shrinking impossibly small. The word stuck to your mind and pulled at your chest. You wanted to spill over.

Barley's eyes furrowed. "A screw-up?" 

Colt shut his eyes and shook his head. "I didn't... look. There's a difference between trying and not, and she definitely isn't trying. And neither are you, Barley---"

Laurel slammed the frying pan down on the stove top. It hit with a loud crash. She put her hand on her hip and glared at her husband, snapping, "Colt."

He fell silent at once, his ears pressing down. You got out of your seat and ran towards the back door, yanking it open harshly and not bothering to close it behind you. Tears were streaming down your face; they blinded you enough that you didn't see your boyfriend's arms stretch forward to stop you as you hurried off. Ian grabbed Blazey by the collar and solemnly took her upstairs to get out of the way of the inevitable fight that was about to occur. 

Barley looked at his stepfather. "I am not a screw-up."

"Now hear me out, Barley. What I meant is that---"

"And neither is she!" He pointed where you went. "I told you that I didn't appreciate getting called a screw-up. And I definitely don't appreciate you calling her one, either. If anyone here is a screw-up, Colt, it's you." 

Laurel grabbed her son's wrist as he pushed past his stepfather. He stopped and she looked at him pleadingly. 

But Barley was hurting, and he didn't want his mom to see it. He closed his eyes and jerked his wrist away before darting out the door and closing it with a loud slam. 

Laurel sighed and dropped her head for a long silent second before her head snapped up to look at Colt. "You. Upstairs, now. We're going to talk this out." 

/ / 

Barley was running out of the yard, his eyes scanning for you. He wondered where you had gone, but you couldn't have gone far. You never went anywhere without Barley right behind you, close enough to catch back up. 

And sure enough, you were waiting for him, sitting in the passenger seat of Guinevere, your face in your hands. Barley had given you the spare key to her a while back, certain that whatever was his was yours too, forever. 

He climbed in the driver's side and shut the door. His face was solemn as he stared forward at the wheel, and then looked at you. 

"Hey," he said, his voice soft. "You are not a screw-up."

You dropped your hands slowly and sniffled. Red-rimmed eyes blinked at him. 

"You are a lot of wonderful, amazing things. There isn't a single possibility ever that you could be a screw-up." He reached over and touched your chin, lifting your head up slightly. You smiled a little, and he sighed, opening his arm for you. "C'mere, kid---"

You fell against him, nuzzling close to his chest and shutting your eyes as you fit against him. You sighed heavily, a fist gripping the front of his favorite t-shirt. You felt his hands in your hair, brushing it out with the tips of his fingers, gently and lovingly. 

"You know, you aren't a screw-up either," you said. "You never could be."

He kissed the top of your head. "I'm sorry." 

"No," you said, pulling back to look at him. "You don't ever have to apologize for what your step-father says to us." You put your hand on his knee and shook your head. "Barley, let's just go. Let's just drive for a long time and then find somewhere quiet to sit together. I don't want anyone else around me today, just you."

He nodded and smiled. "Okay, babe. Let's go." 

As you put your seat belt on, he started up the van. Colt glanced over his shouting wife's shoulder and watched Barley pull away from the house. 

/ / 

The sky was full of bright stars, and you and Barley had found a hill that was high enough to almost touch them. You climbed on the top of Guinevere and helped pull him up with you. You both sat with your legs dangling over the side of her. Your left shoulder was pressed against Barley's, and his right hand laid on top of your left as you both sat with your heads tilted together, watching the sky above you. 

"I have applied to fifty-two starter jobs," you said. "I've been asked to interview for seven of those jobs. Each and every one of them has turned me down." 

"I interviewed yesterday," he said. "And they really liked me, but... I guess they must've not liked me enough, 'cause I got the call that I wasn't getting it. And this was an interview to work at Swamp Gas. Can you believe that?" 

You giggled softly. "Is it bad that I can completely believe it? The discount store had on their sign that they were desperate for workers, but not desperate enough for me, I guess." 

Barley grinned and shook his head. "Oh, baby, what are we gonna do?" 

"I don't know," you admitted. "I don't think either of us are cut out for this adult thing." 

"No we are not," he said. He sighed. "I just want you to know that I'll figure it out, though. I don't know what I'm doing right now and that is painfully clear, but I will figure it out. I've got you to take care of." 

He looked at you and you leaned against his shoulder, pressing your lips there in a chaste kiss. "I'll take care of you too, Bar. We'll figure it out." 

"Yeah." 

"Yeah," you said. Placing one hand on his opposite shoulder, you pushed him gently down until he laid flat. You leaned over him and hovered above his lips, your eyes flickering around his face. "And I don't care if we don't have it all figured out right away. I'll marry you anyway."

"Yeah? Well I'll marry you anyway, too," he said. "I'd marry you right now if there was a way to."

You laughed as you pressed your lips against his. His hands found their way around you so he could hold you close and you melted against him. 

It didn't matter to Barley if Colt thought he was a screw-up, or if his officers of Mushroomton thought he was, or if the people who interviewed him thought the was. You didn't think he was a screw-up. You loved him, and he loved you, so whatever, right? Everything would work out so long as you kept kissing him like that.