Work Text:
Tommy looks at Joel out of his peripheral and tries not to think about how easy it would be to kill him with the fallen tree branch that's sitting beside him.
"Ya know it ain't polite to eat with your mouth open, right?" Tommy grouses, and Joel looks up at him, confused.
"What the fuck are ya talkin' about? I ain't got my mouth open." Joel looks down at his sandwich and then at Tommy sitting in his camp chair.
"It's fine, whatever." Tommy waves him off. They have been on patrol alone for three days now, and usually, around day three, Tommy starts to think about the numerous ways he can kill his big brother for all the annoying things he does when no one else is around. It's fine. They only have one more day of patrol left, then they'll be back home in their perspective houses, and Tommy won’t have to think about how annoying the sound of Joel’s teeth is when he crunches down on lettuce.
—
If Joel has to hear fucking Farmer in the Dell one more time, he's gonna throw his brother out of the upstairs window of this damn lookout. Joel moves around the campsite, picking up their stuff, trying not to think about the best way to pick his brother up without putting his back out.
Their mama had taught Tommy the song when he was three, and she had been trying to potty train him. He kept getting distracted, and it seemed to be the only way to keep him on task. Unfortunately for Joel, it meant for the next 48 years of his life, he had to listen to it every time his baby brother needed to take a leak, and Joel happened to be nearby.
"Do ya have to do that every fuckin’ time, Tommy?" Joel complains as soon as Tommy returns to the campsite, still doing up the buckle on his jeans.
"Do what?" Tommy asks, his brow furrowed.
"You know fuckin’ what," Joel says, moving the metal sheet that covers the entrance to the lookout back into place with much more force than necessary.
"No, I fucking don't know what," Tommy says, throwing his hands up in the air.
"Oh, for fuck's sake, nevermind. It's just been a long patrol, and I'm gettin' grouchy." Joel says, picking up his pack and throwing it over his shoulder.
"You’re right about that," Tommy mumbles under his breath as he grabs his pack and shrugs it on.
"What was that, Tomás Isaac Miller?" Joel says, his tone sharp as he swings up onto his horse with a grunt.
"Nothin' Joel José Miller. Ain't nothin', let's go," Tommy says sarcastically as he climbs onto his horse.
---
"What the hell are you playing?" Ellie says as she stumbles out onto the porch, plate of eggs and bacon in hand, and slumps onto the chair next to his. The girl is all uncoordinated legs and arms these days, he has no idea how she manages to get through each day without knocking herself out or breaking a limb, but he just sucks his teeth and lets it go.
"Hope ya don't plan to eat that with your hands?" He asks, continuing to work out the fingering for the song he'd been working on.
"No, of course not," Ellie says, her tone snotty as she reaches into her sweatshirt pocket and pulls out a fork that looks like it hasn’t been cleaned in days.
"Girl, when was the last time you washed that fork, and why the hell is it in your pocket?" Joel questions, his tone frustrated. Ellie gives him an eggy grin as she shovels eggs into her mouth.
"Everyone needs a pocket fork, Joel. Never know when you're gonna need it." Joel tsks as she continues to eat with her dirty fork and goes back to working on the song. "So what is this song anyways?" She asks him again, a piece of bacon dangling from her fingers.
"It's fuckin' Farmer in the Dell is what it is." Ellie and Joel both look up as Tommy clomps through the back door, plate in hand, and frown on his face as he speaks. "You just fuckin' had to, didn't ya, Joel."
Joel's lips twitch just a little before his face smooths out, and he says, "I have no earthly idea what you're talking about, Tommy. I'm just learin' a new song for the kids on family night, is all."
"Oh, is that right?" Tommys says, leaning against the porch railing and crossing his legs at the ankle.
"Yup, don't have anything to do with an annoying pest of a brother always needin' to hum it every time he takes a fuckin' piss," Joel says, his eyes on the strings as he plucks.
"I fuckin' knew it, I just fuckin' knew it. If it bothers you that fuckin’ much, all ya have to do is move further away. Ain't my fault you always gotta be that damn close." Tommy throws his hand up in frustration.
"Ain't my fault you always gotta take a leak so close to the damn lookout," Joel grumbles. Ellie looks between the two of them, a confused look on her face.
"What the hell is wrong with you two." She says, and Tommy waves her off.
"It's nothin' just old people shit. Ya see, Ellie, when ya spend enough time with a person, don't matter if they’re blood or not, everythin’ they do starts to piss ya off. Like a certain someone and their inability to eat with their damn mouth shut." Tommy complains, giving Joel a sharp glare.
"You noticed that too. I thought it was just me," Ellie says to Tommy.
"I have no idea what you two id-yits are talkin' about. I do not eat with my mouth open, and Tommy, please tell me you are not gonna try to eat those eggs with your hands, are ya? I just had to yell at her about that," Joel says, jutting his chin out at Ellie.
"Course not, Joel. I weren't raised in no barn," Tommy says as he reaches into the pocket of his jeans and pulls out a fork. Ellie's eyes light up, and she crows.
"Pocket fork! Wicked!" Joel rolls his eyes and puts the guitar down next to the chair.
"That's right, girl, I never go anywhere without my trusty pocket fork," Tommy says, smirking.
"You two are fuckin' id-yits," Joel says, hiding his smile as he gets up from his chair and makes his way into the house. Just before he does, though, he sees his daughter and his stupid ass brother tink their forks together and say, "Pocket Forks!"
Fucking idiots.