#he’d so do the puppeteering with your stuffies before tucking them in beside you

[cowboy-kidd]

“Yeah, yeah, I got you kid..”

x - x - x

x - x - x

x - x - x

-DNI NSFW-

[beerecordings]

“Hey. Hey. Marvin?”

He jolts to attention on the third word, shocked like a cat who’s just seen a cucumber, putting a hand over his heart and letting out a low, frantic, shaken breath. “Schneep, you fuck!” he laughs, his hands trembling around the paper bag. “You scared the shit out of me.”

Henrik regards him carefully from the doorway, his arms folded over his chest. Marvin’s heart thuds so loud he can hear it. Is this another ‘what’s going on?’ talk? Now he’s getting it from his little brothers as well as Jackie?

“I did knock,” says Henrik.

“Oh. I guess I was distracted.”

“You got take-out.”

Marvin’s eyes flicker down to the bag of food in his hands, quickly pushing one of his crystal balls out of the way to make room. Noodles and Company. Japanese pan noodles. He doesn’t even like this shit, but it was close and it was open and he hopes that the kid will. The kid has to. He hasn’t been eating anything. Marvin feels like he’s about to lose his mind. He wants to shove Japanese pan noodles down his fucking throat. He lets out a wild little giggle, pushing his hair from his eyes. What is he thinking?

“Are you not getting enough to eat at dinner?” asks Henrik. “We did finish off the kima in one sitting.”

“No, no,” he says quickly. “I got enough kima. I just, uhhh.”

Why was he stupid enough to let Henrik catch him with this? He quickly pushes the second bag behind the table. He can explain some things, maybe, but not that. What does he say?

“I guess I’ve just been hungry.”

Henrik’s voice goes very soft, his eyes steady and dark in the evening light. “I worry you’re losing weight.”

Marvin blinks, glancing around his room. There’s a slight motion at Henrik’s side and Marvin sees that Chase is standing shyly beside him in the hallway, blinking at him with his big blue eyes. He touches his stomach, self-conscious.

“No,” he manages after a moment. “I think I’m doing okay.”

He is losing weight. He didn’t mean to. He didn’t want them to notice.

“Have you been throwing up?” asks Henrik, in a voice impossibly softer still and entirely uncharacteristic. “Or eating a lot at one time, maybe, and then throwing up?”

Oh, fuck.

“No!” he tells them quickly, almost gasping on the rejection. “No, no, I don’t have bulimia or anything, Schneep, I’m fine, I was just hungry! Just tonight. Geez, you little twerps, give me some space, okay?”

A forced laugh shoves its way out of his mouth. Henrik and Chase exchange looks. Marvin turns away from them, hunched over the noodles, biting down hard on his lip.

“Marv,” says Chase’s familiar voice, laid low. “I know you been sneaking food back to your room. And you’ve stopped going out with Jackie to look for my little brother. Are you feeling okay?”

Is he feeling okay? Is he okay?

The truth is that since it’s started, it’s only gotten worse, worse and worse with every day that passes. The guilt haunts him in his dreams, gnawing on his organs and ribs like he’s a split-open pig with an apple in his mouth, making him feel sick and numb intermittently without relief. His mind wanders back to the boy constantly despite his best efforts, his temper boiling and his moods shifting wildly as his rationale assesses and re-assesses with every hour that passes. He can’t sleep. Eating makes him guilty. The sight of himself is a stab to the chest – which is only one of the reasons he’s covered up the mirror in his room.

He feels like he’s dying.

Chase’s hand comes down on his shoulder, the warm fingers wrapping lovingly around his muscle and bone. He shudders once and then, for a moment, rests. For a moment, peace beneath his hand.

“You gotta tell us what’s going on, man,” murmurs Chase. “You been with me through the darkest parts of my life and I can tell that you’re hurting. You gotta tell us.”

Tell us. Tell us. Tell us.

Oh, he wants to. He wants to. He wants to fall against Chase’s chest. He wants to let Henrik soothe his hand through his hair as he looks him over for injury, for illness. He wants Jackie to wrap his powerful arms around him and tell him everything will be alright, he’s here, we’ll figure this out, together like we always have. Together like a family.

And then he imagines the looks on their faces if they knew.

“I’m fine!” he shouts, shoving Chase’s hand away and whirling on his little brother, who stumbles back in surprise. “I said I was fine, didn’t I? So why the fuck are the two of you still in here instead of off minding your own fucking business?”

“Don’t you dare!” shouts Henrik, his concern snapping open and oozing out furious aggression in a second, stalking forward and putting himself between the two of them. “Don’t you dare yell at him!”

“Then leave me alone!”

“Please stop!” cries Chase, grabbing the back of Henrik’s coat. “Marvin, I don’t know what the hell is wrong with you, but we don’t have to get shouted at just because you’re going through something and won’t let us help.”

His eyes glitter with tears. Marvin turns his head away hotly, trying to swallow down the horrible welling of the guilt, the guilt, the guilt, stinging through the whole of his body. He can’t breathe. He can’t make any of this stop. Everything’s just getting worse and it’s his fault.

All your fault.

“I hope you’ll tell someone when you’re ready,” croaks out Chase, turning to go before he can really start crying. “All anybody wants to do is help.”

Henrik and Marvin stand across from each other, gazes set and angry and confused all at once. Marvin’s eyes flicker away.

“I don’t know if one of your boyfriends is treating you badly or if you’re high or what,” hisses Henrik, and if Marvin didn’t know better, he’d almost have thought Henrik was on the verge of tears too. “But if you ever yell at him like that again – ”

Marvin throws his crystal ball with all the rage he can muster.

Henrik gasps, closing his eyes as it shatters against the wall beside his head, only missing him by a few inches, covering the floor in glass and whatever liquid was kept inside. Marvin stares with wide eyes at the mess he’s made. He didn’t even mean to throw it.

Henrik does not move. Eyes closed. Mouth slightly open. Body tense with fear, his arms crossed more tightly around himself than they were a moment ago.

“Henrik,” says Marvin, in a voice that wavers.

Henrik turns and runs, slamming his door shut behind him.

Marvin sinks down to his knees, breathing hard.

“What am I doing?” he whispers. “What am I letting myself become?”

Tell them. Tell them. Tell someone. Anyone. Please.

He doesn’t.

He picks up his noodles and his second bag and he pulls the covering gently back from the mirror on his back wall, stepping inside on shaking feet.

He has to get the kid his dinner.

.

Lately, Jamie seems hardly to move.

He hasn’t always been like this. Marvin’s sure. He hasn’t. He used to just cry and cry. He was terrified of Marvin. Terrified of being a prisoner again, like he has been his whole life. But then – well, Marvin’s brain likes to tell him that the Stockholm Syndrome kicked in. The guilt – oh, it is a familiar enemy these days, the guilt like a dragon rotating in his stomach, breathing fire and ice – the guilt coils in his gut and makes him feel nauseous.

He wishes the kid was still angry with him. He wishes the kid was still fighting. It would be so much easier if he could pretend Jamie was violent or hateful or dangerous or angry. But he isn’t.

Three weeks, that was all it took. Three weeks and he stopped being afraid, and started being loving.

“You don’t hit me like Anti did,” he had signed once, as though in awe, and Marvin hadn’t even been able to answer. “You just leave me alone and take care of me.”

It was true in a sense. Marvin brought him food and toys and art supplies and even, on request, a violin to play. With each present, Jameson grew fonder and more grateful.

But then the begging had started.

“Marvin? Can’t you stay a little while longer and talk with me? Marvin, couldn’t I come out of my cage for just a little while? Marvin, I’ve been good, please don’t leave. Please, can’t you touch me? Please, can I have a hug, something, please? Marvin, Marvin. I don’t feel good. Please, I need you. Don’t you love me? I’m a good puppet. I’m a good little brother. Please don’t leave me alone again. I can’t take it anymore. Please just touch my hand, just for a second. Please look at me!”

His sign name for him was simple – an M and the word ‘brother.’

Marvin wants to throw up just thinking about it, but even that was better than this.

“Hey.” He knocks on the side of the window, trying to get his breathing back under control. He shouldn’t have been angry with Henrik, but he can’t be angry with Jameson. Not now. He has to make him feel like they’re brothers again. Anything to get him to eat. Anything to just get him to move. “I brought you food. Aren’t you hungry?”

Jameson doesn’t answer.

Jameson doesn’t move.

“Can you even hear me?” asks Marvin, hearing his own voice break. “Are you even there inside your own head anymore?”

Every strand of Jameson’s soft, overgrown hair is unmoving in the silence of the mirror dimension. His small body is tucked into the very corner, pressed to both walls, hugging his knees to his chest.

“I got something for you,” says Marvin, reaching into the second bag. “Super cute, just for you. Look!”

He pulls the big hedgehog stuffie out of its bag, pulling the tag out of its paw. He’s never brought Jamie a toy this big. He’ll have to shove it through the bars of the window. Its chubby brown face smiles widely at him, black eyes shining in the fairy lights decorating the walls of Jamie’s cage.

“Ta-da!” calls Marvin, shaking the stuffie enthusiastically. “You love your animals, don’t you? Look how big. Come here, James!”

But all of his toys have been abandoned on the floor around him. He isn’t even clutching the puppy that he briefly convinced himself was real to his chest. His violin is slumped over in the corner. His puppets are scattered over the untouched bed. Jameson does not move.

“Kid, you gotta come here,” cries Marvin, shaking on the bars over the front of his box. “Please, Jamie! Just tell me what you need! Medicine, a psych eval, something else to eat, something else to play with? You can have whatever you want! Just tell big brother!”

But none of it will move him.

“I’ve never pretended to be a good person!” Marvin screams, slamming his hand down against the wood of the box, not even drawing a flinch from JJ. “I knew what I was doing when I put you in here! I’m protecting my family and that is all that fucking matters. So if you think that this little sad boy act is going to make me feel bad, it won’t. It won’t!”

He strikes the wood again, heaving for air, his head swimming. He thinks he’s going to be sick. His stomach is chewing his intestines up instead of the kima he had for dinner. He’s going to throw up. He’s going to cry. He’s having a breakdown.

“Just tell me what to do,” he sobs, and crumples over the ledge of the box, his hands tearing at his hair, his face in his arms, weeping. “Someone just tell me what to do.”

He knew this was the sacrifice he was making when he locked him away. He knew it would hurt. He knew it would haunt him. But he didn’t know it would be quite this hard. He feels like it’s killing him. How long does he have to do this to keep his brothers safe? He wants someone else to take this terrible weight off his shoulders, this dragon out of his stomach. Why can’t he just tell them?

You know they would just let him go. And then Anti would see him, and Anti would use him, and Anti would kill the only people in the world that you love.

He has to protect Jackie. He has to protect Henrik. He has to protect Chase.

But he doesn’t know how much longer he can keep doing this.

It registers slowly that he’s never cried in front of Jameson before. He tries to keep the strong front up. He never really cries in front of anyone, actually. He shifts slightly on his arms, trying frantically to brush the tears away, and –

Oh.

Jamie is standing in front of him.

He’s hidden slightly behind the wall, staring shyly out at Marvin with huge blue eyes that look much too much like Henrik or Chase’s for his comfort, but this is something Marvin has mostly adjusted to. What he has never seen before is this level of exhaustion in Jamie’s young face. He is sallow and grey, with deep bags under his eyes. Refusing to eat – or not being able to get up through the weight of his distress – has left his face thin, and his usually oh-so-neat beard and mustache clump patchily around his cheeks and mouth. His clothes are wrinkled from days without changing. He seems to list as he stands.

Marvin stares at him, uncertain, breathing thickly through his nose and wiping his hot red tears away.

Jameson’s mouth parts like a word might come forth. He blinks wearily – Marvin wonders if he was, in fact, unconscious or asleep – and his timid hand moves forward as if to touch Marvin’s.

Instead, he takes the bag of noodles gently from between the bars of the cage, pulling it towards himself. He doesn’t take his eyes off of Marvin’s as he pulls out the black plastic fork, cracks open the little bowl of noodles, and carefully sticks a piece of beef in his mouth.

“Yeah!” cheers Marvin, his voice snapping in half once again, but this time for a good reason. He shoves at his disarrayed hair and stands up straight, coughing on the last of his tears. “Yeah, there you go! That’s right, there you go.”

Jamie’s pale mouth tilts in the smallest smile, blinking numbly across the bars at Marvin. He twirls a noodle on his fork and presses it into his mouth, and when Marvin nods again and babbles praise at him, Jameson seems to settle in some way, his mouth relaxing into the smile, though he’s still got this strange film over his eyes that Marvin doesn’t like or recognize.

“Just eat your pasta and you’ll feel all better,” Marvin reassures, standing in relief at the front of the box, stroking his own wrists to calm himself. “You really are the nicest kid, Jamie, you really are.”

Jameson’s mouth flickers, though the smile does not fade. Marvin stands in front of him, catching his breath, finding his calm again. After a couple minutes, Jamie steps back to his corner and sits down, still looking at Marvin and eating his pasta slowly, his head drooping every now and then, as though he cannot bear to stay awake.

“How can you be so tired if you’re just sleeping all day?” asks Marvin.

Jameson doesn’t answer, his hands picking robotically at his noodles.

“Can you sign? Can you hear me alright?”

Jameson puts a piece of broccoli in his mouth and chews slowly, staring straight ahead.

Marvin would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little unnerved, but more than anything he’s just relieved he’s eating again. “You must be feeling sick, huh? If you don’t get better soon, I’ll pick you up some medicine. And you can have those noodles again if you want, okay? As long as you eat, I’ll get you any food you want, little mister. Yeah?”

James nods slowly and twirls up more noodles, raising his gaze to him.

“Good work,” says Marvin, feeling much more at peace than he did when he came in here fifteen minutes ago. This was what he needed – just to know there were things he could fix a little. He won’t let JJ die. It’s going to be okay. “Thank you, petit-o. I think I need to go sort things out with Schneep, but I’ll be back tomorrow morning, okay? Okay.”

He straightens out his shirt and turns to go. There is a moment of silence, and then – plastic crashing to the floor, hands slamming against the bars of the cage, and a desperate choke like the dead end of a voiceless scream.

Marvin whirls back, alarmed. Jamie is staring at him from behind the bars, his face gritted with distress, shaking his head and crying. His pale fingers grip desperately at the wood of the box, scoring scratches into the edge of it, tears running down his sickly face.

“Fuck’s sake! What?”

“Alone, alone, alone,” signs Jameson, stopping only to curl in on himself and pull at his hair, choking for air. He shakes his head hard, wheezing. “No, no, no!”

“Jameson.” Marvin moves back towards him again. “Hey, calm down. Calm down, it’s okay.”

He stares up at Marvin, making a little noise like a broken squeak that makes Marvin distinctly uncomfortable. Jameson manages one deep breath and then drops out of view for a second, crouching down. He comes back up again with pasta in his hands and quickly puts a noodle in his mouth, chewing quickly, reaching a hand out for Marvin through the bars.

Marvin draws back, alarmed.

“Come on,” he says, shaking his head. “Come on, don’t – hell, Jamie, you’re okay.”

“I’m losing my mind, I’m losing my mind!” He shakes his hands out as he speaks, scratching at his palms between words, groaning with only his breath and jumping slightly, like there’s too much energy in his body and he can’t get it out. It almost reminds Marvin of Jackie when he’s under-stimulated, but he’s never seen peaceful, shy little Jameson acting like this. “I can’t live like this anymore! I’m going crazy, I’m going crazy!”

“Don’t say that,” snaps Marvin, a thrill of fear electrifying his fingers. “Stop it!”

“What am I doing wrong?” Jameson’s hands scream, his body shaking with that horrible energy, his pupils blown wide. “Why can’t I make anybody love me?”

“That’s not – that’s not why – ”

“I can be like your real brothers if you just give me a chance, I promise! I’ll go to medical school! I’ll learn to fight! I can be nice like Chase, I swear! I’m trying so hard! I’m being so good, please!”

“You don’t understand. I’ve explained this to you before!”

“I’ll eat all the pasta you want!” He picks beef off the ledge and puts it his mouth. “I’m so good! I’m so good! I do everything you ask! I did everything Anti asks! Nobody wants me, not even my own brothers. I promise I’d be really nice and good if someone would just let me go!”

“Stop it!” shouts Marvin, and his power bursts out of him without a single warning but for that burning in his fingers, and he sees the boy stagger back just the same as Henrik did. Jameson crashes to the floor, covered in Japanese pan noodles and beef, a streak of magic burned across his cheek, and for a second, Marvin sees the desperation in his eyes – and then he goes dead again.

Jameson rubs at the burn, snuffling softly, his eyes quiet, staring straight ahead. He stands up. Moves to his corner. Sits down. Hugs his knees to his chest. And goes still.

“Jamie?” calls Marvin to his little brother’s back, his heart pounding in his chest. “Jamie, I didn’t…”

Jameson doesn’t move.

Marvin swears and steps back, feeling ill once again.

“What am I doing?” he whispers, rubbing at his forehead.

This is like torture. This is like torturing him. This is what Anti did.

Marvin is finally sick the moment he gets back to his bedroom, falling to his knees beside the little waste bin beside his bed and throwing up until there’s nothing but bile dripping from his lips.

He thinks…

Fuck. Fuck.

He thinks he needs to tell Jackie.

He’s already crying just at the thought of it. He can see the look on his face. The betrayal.

But he doesn’t think he can do this anymore. He’s breaking Jameson completely. He’s tearing himself apart. And he still, after these long months have passed, has no idea how he’s ever supposed to change this situation.

This is what he has to do.

He’s on his feet, feeling unsteady and ill. Talking to Jackie won’t make tonight better, but maybe, maybe, he’ll have some relief in the days to come. Maybe Jackie can help him carry this weight.

He steps out into the hallway and there is blood on the carpet.

Marvin’s own distress dissipates into fear for his family. “Guys!” he cries, all but leaping towards the living room, magic cackling in his fingers. “Henrik! Chase! Jackie?”

“Is that him? Marvin, we’re down here!”

“Chase?” He hurries down the hall towards their little ‘first aid room.’ “Who’s hurt? Is everyone okay?”

“Jackie found Anti!”

He shoves into the room, eyes huge. Chase hurries forward to comfort him, standing back from the table where Henrik is pinning Jackie carefully down, their older brother groaning and heaving with blood and terror. Marvin races past Chase, curling over Jackie’s body, taking his brother’s face in his hands. “Jackie, baby,” he croaks. “Anti did this to you?”

“He doesn’t know where JJ is!” Jackie shrieks, tears running down his face. If Henrik wasn’t holding him, he’d be thrashing. Blood leaks from a wound in his side. “He was taunting me! He said it must hurt to know he was going to take him from me again! He thought he was still with us! Anti doesn’t have Jameson!”

Marvin’s blood runs cold. Even the air panting through his mouth seems to have gone cold.

“Jackie, be calm!” snarls Henrik, shoving him down on the table. “You’re making this worse.”

“My baby brother, my baby,” screams Jackie, throwing his head back and forth. “He ran away and God knows where he is now! Homeless or lost or being fucking trafficked, my little brother! No, no, Jamie! I would have taken care of him, I would have loved him so hard. Why didn’t I make him feel safer, why did I fall asleep, I’ll never fucking forgive myself…”

“Marvin!” snaps Henrik, grabbing his shirt. “Focus! Tell me you have something to calm him down.”

“Right, right, sorry.” What does he have on hand? He thinks he has a calming spell somewhere, but he needs incense, and somewhere in the back of his mind there’s a memory of a spell for pain relief, but right now all he remembers is…

One sleep spell.

He curses himself quietly, squeezing his eyes shut.

“I’m going to sedate him,” he tells his little brother, and Henrik nods tersely.

Marvin affixes his hands to the back of Jackie’s head, holding him gently, summoning the spell.

“No, no,” sobs Jackie, tearing at his hands. “Let me stay awake. I want to fucking feel this. I want to feel every second of it. I want to remember this hatred when I find the person who’s keeping him from me.”

“Jackie… I…”

“I’ll make them regret being born,” spits Jackie, a sob mangling his fury. “I’ll kill them. Jameson… why didn’t I protect him…”

“It wasn’t your fault,” whispers Marvin, his voice trembling. “You did everything you could.”

“I shouldn’t have fallen asleep,” Jackie whispers back, wrapping his fingers around Marvin’s. “I was meant to be guarding him.”

“Go to sleep,” murmurs Marvin. “Go to sleep. In the morning, it won’t hurt so bad.”

He presses into Jackie’s head the same sleep spell that left him unconscious the night he stole Jameson away. For a second, he almost thinks he sees something like recognition in Jackie’s vivid blue eyes – but then sleep is scooping him up, and Jackie’s eyes flicker, and he fades trustingly into Marvin’s hands.

“Thank you,” says Henrik, oblivious to the intensity Marvin is feeling, and he hurries to peel back Jackie’s shirt and begin working on the wound.

“Is he going to be okay?” asks Chase, scooting forward and putting a hand on his shoulder, peering over Henrik at Jackie on the table.

“It will be a painful wound, but he will heal just fine if we can convince him to rest.”

“Do you think… that’s true?” Chase’s eyes flicker up to Marvin’s. “That Anti doesn’t have JJ?”

“Maybe he was just trying to upset Jackie,” mumbles Marvin, stepping back from his brother’s body.

“Jackie would be more upset to know that Anti had JJ and was torturing him,” replies Henrik, shaking his head. “A picture of Jameson in pain would have sent Jackie even more wild than this. It doesn’t make sense. He must really not have him.”

“Is that good news?”

“I’m not sure,” says Henrik uncertainly. “Maybe. Unless someone even worse has gotten their hands on him. It is a big world for a young man who has never known anything but Anti and the 1900s. And Jameson is supposed to be powerful. I fear the people who would seek to use him the same way Anti did. Right, Marvin?”

For a second, Marvin thinks he knows, but then he realizes Henrik is only deferring to the person in the room with the most experience with magic. “Right,” he manages weakly.

“You look pale,” says Chase, back at it with that same much-too-soft voice he used before.

“Chase, take your brother to lie down,” commands Henrik. “I need to concentrate on this.”

“I’m sorry for throwing that at you,” Marvin tells him even as Chase moves around the table to wrap an arm around his waist. “I don’t know what got into me, Henrik, I just…”

“Let’s talk about it when everyone’s calmer,” answers Henrik, not looking up from his work. “Myself included.”

Marvin lets Chase lead him away, listening to his little brother blabber about JJ and Anti and Jackie and Schneep, though he doesn’t seem to take in a word of it. All he can focus on is the warm weight of Chase’s body pressed to his own.

He’s not sure, suddenly, if Jackie would forgive him if he knew what he had done.

He broke Jackie’s heart that day.

Tears threaten to fall and Marvin squeezes his eyes shut, breathing in the smell of Chase, the feel of Chase, the comfort and safety and familiarity of Chase. To his surprise, his little brother has decided to take him to his room instead of Marvin’s, and he’s grateful. He doesn’t want to be in there right now, with the mirror gleaming hatefully beneath its covering, waiting for him to come back and face what he’s done. He just wants to be with Chase.

“Lie down with me, yeah?” asks Chase, changing into a sleep shirt and cuddling up in bed. “You’ve seemed spooked all day. I’m worried about you.”

Marvin nods numbly and crawls into the covers beside him. Chase keeps talking, but Marvin doesn’t hear. Just focuses on the arms wrapping warmly around his neck, and Chase’s weight curled up beside him.

This is what he would lose if the others found out.

They would let Jameson go, and then Anti would use him to hurt his family even worse than he did this night. Or maybe… maybe…

Maybe Jackie wouldn’t even keep him around to let him watch that happen.

Maybe Jackie would hurt him, if he knew.

No. Marvin has to shake the thought off. He knows what he did was wrong, but he did it to protect them and to spare Jackie from having to make the difficult choice that Marvin knows was necessary. He did what he had to do.

Right?

“Marvin?” whispers Chase, when the evening light has gone and the moon hangs over him. “Hey. Are you crying? What’s wrong?”

Marvin doesn’t answer, shuddering against Chase’s body. He buries himself in his brother’s chest and he does not move.

------------------------

Taken from the Marvin’s Cage AU: Marvin is the one keeping Jameson in the little puppet box so that Anti can’t use him to hurt his family. When Jackie finds out, he sets Jameson free and throws Marvin out of the house, cutting off all communication from him and leaving him to devolve into hatred and magical corruption. Jackie becomes ferociously over-protective and grieves the loss of his brother while Jameson is just trying to understand what it is that happened to him and learn to live a normal, happy life with the help of his brothers.

Find Part One here if you missed it.

[myhusbandsasemni]

The Adventurers-Royal AU

For my best friend uwu

WC: 2745

CW: slight violence to minor

Rin knew he was a puppet. He had no say in it. Rin sat dejectedly on his bed, pointedly ignoring the clothing laid out on the bed next to him. He had been the King of Teliar for several years now, ever since his father had died on his way to the kingdom across the sea, but Rin didn’t feel like he was. His council held an iron fist on his life by way of his sister. They threatened to do so many horrible things to her, and Rin knew them well enough to understand that they would do everything they’d threatened and more, just for the fun of it. So, he’d just have to live with someone else making every decision for him, including his clothing. 

There was a pounding on the door that made Rin jump to his feet, hands reaching for a weapon that he hadn’t been allowed to wear in months. He relaxed when he heard his retainer’s voice on the other side of the dark wood. “Your highness, Lady Snow is waiting downstairs for you.”

A subtle reminder that Rin had a ball he was supposed to be attending.

“I understand,” Rin replied. “Thank you, John.”

Rin finally slipped into the rich silks and fabrics the suit was made of. He didn’t particularly care for the style. It was a bit too stuffy, though the color choice was something he had no quarrel with. Blacks and golds didn’t clash with the maroon hair on his head, unlike the purple they made him wear the week before.

Rin finished by glancing at his hair in the huge mirror on his wall. He sneered at himself before turning to the door. He opened it to find the only servant he could stand waiting for him. John looked him over and sighed with relief. “I intervened with your clothes today,” the servant explained as he walked with the king. “They were threatening to put you in a sky blue or something.”

Rin gave John a relieved smile. “Thank you. You have no idea how much that means to me.”

John nodded as they approached the ball room. The noise was already too much. Rin could sense a headache approaching. 

“At least Kiera is here,” John consoled, dropping the formalities a little. 

Rin nodded in agreement. Kiera was his fiance, who he did not choose, but if he had a choice he still would have chosen her. He thanked whatever God would listen to him for the fact that he loved the woman who had been chosen for him, and she loved him. He wasn’t sure what he would have done if there had been issues in that area.

“Good luck,” John said softly to Rin. 

Rin just nodded, accepting his fate and stepping into the room. He ignored the flourishes that came with a king entering the room and scanned the crowd for Kiera. He found her in a corner, reading a book and wearing a dress too casual for the occasion. But he didn’t mind. She looked much better this way. 

He crossed around to her, ignoring any attempts from people to talk to him. He stopped in front of her, hand out. Kiera looked up at him from her book. Something in her eyes said she didn’t want to dance, but she could tell Rin needed to talk to her and she wasn’t going to take that away from him.

She stood up, smoothing out the simple black and blue dress that went nicely with her dyed hair and followed him out on the dance floor.

As they started dancing, Rin pulled her into a sort of hug, unable to control his breathing all of the sudden. Kiera recognized it as the beginning of a panic attack and secretly led the dance, helping him work through it without the court realizing. 

“It’s okay,” Kiera said softly, rubbing his back. She made sure he could feel her breathing as she took long slow breaths. She had gone through plenty of panic attacks so she knew how to help. 

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” he said, barely holding onto his voice. He was terrified.

“I know,” Kiera said softly. “I’m here. We’ll figure something out. I’ll be able to help, now.”

Rin nodded and managed to pull himself together over the course of the next two dances. They would have to do it soon. He wasn’t entirely sure he could endure much longer. 

………………………………………..

“Almost there,” Anisha whispered to Laurance from where they danced. They were more dressed up than they had ever been in their lives. The two thieves had been slowly growing in popularity over the past few months, their first break being on a mission to steal from a Lord Shad. They had been climbing the ranks in the many thieves guilds and were looking to come to the top of the ladder so they could settle down and finally get married and have children out in the country where they couldn’t be found. Due to their pasts, they hadn’t really been able to choose any other life. 

So, they had the plan of all plans. They had snuck into the party after months of work and training. The two moved and acted like nobles now and they knew all the dances. They were so close to their goal. All they had to do now was sneak off like a loving couple and find their way into the jewel room, steal some smaller ones that could easily have been pieces in a noble’s outfit, and make it out with their spoils.

For now, the two were dancing carefully and watching the king and his lady. Anisha’s eyes squinted ever so slightly. Her eyesight wasn’t the best and her glasses were in her purse as a lady would not be seen wearing such an inexpensive pair. So she was following Laurance’s lead as best she could.

Laurance smiled down at her. “Almost. It’s been a long time coming.”

Anisha nodded. The two danced fairly near the royals. Laurance glimpsed the pain between them and almost faltered.

“What?” Anisha whispered.

“They’re….. I’ll tell you later,” he replied. With that, they finished the dance on the side of the room they wanted to be on and started giggling and acting generally starstruck with each other. They soon slipped out with barely anyone paying any heed to them. Anisha pulled out her glasses and put them on. Laurance took her hand and they went off down the halls the way they’d planned. Within minutes they were coming back with new brooches and buttons and a necklace or two tucked away under their clothes. It hadn’t taken Anisha long to pick the door and for her and Laurance to determine the right jewels to take. Laurance was already planning how he’d take the gems apart to sell them off without anyone realizing where they came from. 

They went back out among the party goers and stepped out to dance again. They didn’t want to leave too soon. That would be fairly suspicious considering the time of night, though they tried to dance away from the royals.

The two started to get very cute with one another, whispering softly to each other and discussing where they would like to live. Laurance was about to bring up the topic of marriage and children when a shout from the guards and a small and defeated wail cut through the pleasant chatter and music. The dancing stopped as a young boy in servants clothing was dragged onto the dance floor in front of the King and his lady. Anisha and Laurance slipped closer out of habit. Knowledge is power, no matter who you were.. 

“What is this?” Rin asked sternly, glancing between the boy and the guards. The boy seemed to be trying to hide in his own clothes and overgrown hair.

“This boy was caught trying to steal food from your table, your Majesty,” the guard said, yanking on one of the boy’s arms. He whined softly, but continued trying to hide.

Anisha clenched her teeth at what she heard, being unable to see quite what was happening. Laurance gripped her hand so tight it almost hurt.

Rin hesitated. An older man, one of the head members of the council slipped up beside the king and whispered something. Laurance watched as the king went red with anger. Then, the councilman whispered something more and the blood in Rin’s face drained out in an instant.

He licked his lips nervously, trying to regain control of himself. “He will be put in the dungeon until I can deal with him further.” The councilman frowned a bit but allowed the answer.

The boy started struggling weakly at this. He made no noise, but Laurance could see the tears coursing down his young face. A face that had seen too much horror, felt too much pain. The guard backhanded the boy, sending him to the floor in a sprawl. 

Anisha and Laurance moved together to stand over the boy protectively. “You will do no such thing,” Anisha said, an unladylike snarl edging her voice.

“Who are you?” the councilman asked with disdain as he watched her through his monocle. 

“That doesn’t matter,” Anisha said, her voice shaking with rage. “How heccin DARE you threaten this boy like that. He is a CHILD! And he’s obviously terrified and confused.”

Anisha whipped out her glasses so she could fix them with a proper glare. 

Laurance helped the boy up and the child instantly latched onto Laurance’s side. He was shaking badly. 

The councilman opened his mouth to say something horrible when a woman spoke up. “Wait, why is she wearing my brooch?” 

Anisha turned to the woman wildly. The woman stared at her in confusion. It only took a moment of assessing her grey dress and maroon hair to realize she was Rin’s sister.

Rin was visibly shaken. He stepped forward and plucked the brooch off of Anisha’s dress, who was now so incensed and filled with a sudden fear that she didn’t stop him. He turned it over and looked at the back. Anisha had picked out unmarked jewels but there must have been something in the metal patterns on the back that made it distinguishable, as he nodded in shock. Guards surrounded the two in an instant and Laurance and Anisha struggled against gloved hands that found several other clearly stolen jewels.

Rin opened his mouth to say something but the counselor cut him off saying, “Take them all to the dungeon! We’ll make a decision about these three at a later time.” 

With that, Laurance, Anisha, and the server boy were dragged off, Laurance almost escaping twice before a sword handle to the back of his head silenced him. Anisha screamed in her fury and fear. 

Rin clenched his fists, trying not to be sick. He couldn’t understand what was happening. “I have to go,” he whispered. He turned and stumbled out of the ballroom, ignoring anything the councillors said. He nearly tripped into his rooms in his desire to be away from everyone, and looked around as if he were lost before falling to his knees on the floor, arms wrapped around his stomach. He heard the door open and close and cool hands made themselves known on his face. He looked up into his fiance’s face. She looked just as confused and sick. Rin pulled her into a hug, burying his face in her shoulder. 

After several minutes of comfort, Kiera sat back. Rin wiped his face and stood up to start pacing. 

“Councillor Hendrake wants me to kill that boy,” Rin whispered, his hands running through his hair as if he were trying to dislodge the whole situation from his life. “And I’m sure I’ll have to murder those other two as well. Kiera, I can’t do this!”

Kiera rubbed her own face, avoiding the makeup around her eyes. The only way out of this seemed to be getting the councillors out of the way and giving all the power to Rin. But that felt impossible and it wasn’t like there was anything they could do about it. They were constantly watched. Then, it hit her.

“Rin, those thieves. They got the jewels without anyone knowing. I’m sure that if the thing hadn’t happened with the server boy, they would have made off with them.”

“Yeah. Probably. Your point?”

“They’re good!” Kiera exclaimed. “They’ve got to be professionals. Which means they can probably help us.”

Rin paused and thought it over. He looked to her with actual hope in his eyes. “We can stage an escape,” Rin said softly. “And then they can help us be free!”

Kiera nodded, smiling wider. “Hendrake won’t stand a chance, that weiner.”

Rin could only burst into uproarious laughter.

…………………..

Laurance woke in a cold cell, wearing a tunic that was not his own. He sat up slowly, his heart sinking when he heard the chains rattle around his wrists.

“Laurance?”

Laurance got up faster despite his headache and pressed himself against the bars. He could just barely see Anisha in another cell, devoid of her dress and glasses.

“Nisha,” he said softly, hating the way his voice echoed in the horrible chamber. 

Anisha hugged herself, rubbing her arms. “W…..What are we supposed to do?” her voice broke fearfully as she spoke.

Laurance winced, glad that she could not see his expressions for once. “I don’t know,” he said gently. He looked across the hall from his cell and saw the server boy tucked in a corner, his head buried in his arms. 

He peaked out of them, fear in his eyes.

“Hey, there,” Laurance said, confusing Anisha who couldn’t see who he was talking to. “Are you alright? What’s your name?”

The boy stared at him for a long moment during which Anisha chirped in a confused way. The boy finally opened his mouth and said, ���I’m Souka.”

Laurance nodded and waited a moment. When Souka said no more, the thief asked, “And are you okay?”

“I’m……” Souka trailed off, searching his cell for the answer. He looked back to Laurance, horror leaking out with the tears.

“Hey,” Laurance said, already checking the lock on his cell. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay. We’re going to get you out.”

“Yup yup,” Anisha declared, trying to check the locks on hers but having obvious difficulty. 

Souka held his shaking hands to his face as a sob ripped through his chest. 

Laurance searched harder, looking around his dimly lit cell for something to unlock the door while Anisha did the same thing, though at a slower pace. They all froze as the sound of footsteps came down the hall. Souka retreated to the darkest part of the cell while Laurance and Anisha only took a step or two back from the bars. 

The two owners of the steps came into view, wearing cloaks. The taller one pulled his hood down and the King stared in at Laurance. Laurance set his face to stone, though he was very surprised by the hope he could see in the man’s eyes. 

Kiera lowered her hood and stepped down the hall to start unlocking Anisha’s cell while Rin stepped forward to do the same with Laurance.

“We don’t have much time,” the king said, fingers shaking with the keys. “Hendrake likes to have random executions in the middle of the night.”

“What are you doing?” Laurance asked guardedly. 

Rin took a shuddery breath and looked up from the lock. “I need your help,” he whispered, the desperation cracking his tone. “I’m sure you know as well as anybody that I’m just a puppet. The council’s threatening my sister and I can’t do anything about it. I’m going to save your lives, and I just ask that you help me get free.”

Laurance glanced to where Kiera was unlocking Anisha’s cuffs.

“And if we don’t agree?” he asked.

Rin froze, looking a bit like he wanted to be sick.

“Then I’ll still let you go.”

Laurance, surprised by the sincerity, glanced at Anisha, who nodded.

“We’re freeing Souka, correct?” Laurance asked as Rin got the cell door open. 

Rin glanced over at the cell with the boy. There was relief in the King’s voice as he said, “Of course.”

Anisha gave a nod in Laurance’s general direction and Laurance took a deep breath.

“We’re in, then.”

The Adventurers tag list: @dowings @writeblrfantasy @artrayasnow93 @doubi-ixi @extraisthmus @thethistlegirlwrites @thepotatowriter

[beerecordings]

The Fish

He's a fish in pollution, pushing up the sand with his snout.

“Hi, honey,” calls Jackie from the kitchen. He only uses pet names when he's upset.

“Hi,” he answers softly, closing the door behind him.

He's a fish with big, ugly golden eyes, the little black pinpricks frozen in amber, surveying the murky water around it with its stupid fish mouth hanging open like a dead thing.

“How was work?”

“Fine.”

“Good, good... you work so hard, I'm proud of you, doc...”

He's a fish and it's heavy and hard to swim. He hears Jackie playing with some papers through the water pressing down on him.

“What is it today, Jackie?”

“Hm? Oh, this – don't worry about this, sweetie, I've got it handled... I'll just... just need to... I've got it handled, yeah...”

He drifts away again, deep enough in his head that he doesn't look up when Henrik comes to stand beside him in the kitchen, staring at him. He's a fish, sure, but Jackie is just a bird who can't find somewhere to land. He's been flying for months. His wings must ache. Henrik touches his back and presses the pad of his thumb against the knuckles of Jackie's spine, hard, just for a moment. Jackie doesn't notice. His blue bird's eyes are far-sighted and he can only see parts of the documents in front of him, something about Jameson's therapy or the rent or police reports on strange glitches in the government computer system two countries over.

“Jackie,” says Henrik softly.

But Jackie doesn't hear him, cause nobody's listening to the way that fish bubble and pant when they can't find anything they need in the reeds, and the tide keeps dragging hiding places farther and farther away. The water's getting lower and damn but the sun burns a painful glow against his scales through the clear, loveless waves. But Jackie is just an albatross, and they're not swimming in the same tides anymore. His brother rocks on unsteady winds, his feathers ruffled and oil-heavy and his muscles straining, catching glimpses of Henrik in the silver water below, unable to help him til he finds somewhere to land, and Jackie can never find anywhere to land these days. Jackie can never, never, never find anywhere to put his head down and rest these days. Albatrosses don't have it much easier than the fish the sailors scoop up. Sometimes the sailors shoot them down too, and then, in fear of bad luck, the other sailors take the dead body of the bird and tie it around the killer's throat, so he gets nothing to drink but the blood of the albatross around his neck for days and days and days, but at least the bird is sleeping then. It's an old legend. Jackie is just rocking above it. He wouldn't be able to stop anybody from shooting him down. He wouldn't be able to stop anybody from scooping Henrik up. He probably wouldn't even notice, and that would only make the wind harsher, and the bird would find a way to cry even though birds don't really do that. This one does.

“Work so hard,” he repeats lovingly, still not looking up, still barely noticing that Henrik is beside him. There's a line of pale sweat along his hair. “I do love you, Schneep, I'm so proud... glad you're doing better these days, little brother, little brother...”

Henrik fills up a glass of water and puts it beside his hand before heading up the stairs. Jackie hunches over the paper in the kitchen. The lights aren't on and he can't find his glasses.

“Hey,” Henrik whispers, peering into Chase's room. “You awake?”

Chase jolts up on his bed, hair everywhere. “Hey? I'm awake, I'm awake!”

Henrik chuckles. “I can see that.”

“Aw, Schneep, it's so early! Eight A.M.? Ahhh, you woke me up...”

Henrik's chest rumbles merrily and he jumps onto Chase's mattress to make it bounce, drawing a low groan of protest out of his little brother.

“What, what?” teases Schneep, getting up to press Chase back into the bed, digging his fingers into his ribs. “Dumb-ass, were you sleeping?”

Chase laughs and pushes him off the bed, dumping Henrik onto his ass.

“So mean! Asshole, I was up til four editing!”

“You're nocturnal,” says Henrik, shoving his feet away from him as they come to hang off the bed. “Raccoon man.”

Chase grins slowly at him, his mischief mouth filling up with the joy of it, and Henrik is grateful for him. A shiver runs down his whole body as comforting fingers come down to massage at the back of his throat, warm and reassuring. Long raccoon claws stroke across Henrik's flesh without judgment or fear. Chase is a scavenger, it's true, and nothing scares or disgusts him anymore. He's been in the garbage himself enough times to shrug all the bullshit off. What's the smell of sterile hospital bandages and blood to a raccoon? Forget about it and share whatever comfort you can find with me. The smell of sweaty sleep clings to him. Chase tugs teasingly at his hair and then lets him go, sliding to the ground beside him.

“Did you wake me up for something?”

Henrik stares at him, wondering if he'd even hear if he said something.

“Schneep? Hard day at work?”

“Just a little,” he answers. “But I just wanted to see if you knew where Jamie was. He's not in his room.”

“Think he fell asleep in my closet again, yeah. Poor little buddy all frantic last night. Just needed a place to hide.”

Chase's tiny walk-in is stuffed with pillows and blankets and toys these days. Henrik gets up and opens the door gently. The wood finds tucked-in legs quickly and Henrik tries to slip into the closet without waking his little brother too abruptly, but the slightest change in environment has awoken every one of Jameson's fine senses, and his eyes flash open, glittering in the darkness. He leaps to his knees and curls back against the wall of the closet, swirling into himself, clutching his knife in one hand and his sock puppet in the other. Chase's daughter gave it to him because she said she didn't like it anymore, but Uncle Jameson might. She had said this as she sat down abruptly in his lap, and Jameson had flinched so hard Chase shouted, sure that Izzy was about to be slapped or shoved off. Jameson had just gone stiff and allowed his niece to slump back cheerfully against his chest. Chase heaved this huge sigh of relief and come over to pat Jameson's head, and Izzy had held his scarred white hands and pressed the sock puppet into them, and Jameson accepted it.

Jameson growls an exhale of air at him, one of the two warning noises he's capable of making. Henrik holds his hands out and crouches gently down to his level, murmuring his name. Jameson relaxes. He's smart and he knows a friendly face even when he's spooked. Henrik reaches out to brush his fingers through the long hair growing towards the back of his neck and Jameson sighs, closing his eyes, letting his head drift back against his hand.

“Poor tired bud,” says Henrik.

“He was playing all violent with his toys again,” reports Chase dutifully, getting up and grabbing the first shirt he sees from above Henrik's head, stripping his sleep shirt off and changing right there, heading back towards his drawers for boxers and pants. “Trying to tear that one stuffed cat up. He hates the fucking thing but he'll never let me take it from him.”

Jamie whines wearily and goes pawing for the cat in the darkness, reaching around until Henrik finds it and presses it into his hand. He's lived most of his life the way that fighting dogs do, tied up and beat til it made him violent and agonized, and even now he has to have something to bite. He doesn't mean to. He just gets upset. He bit Marvin once, dog's teeth digging into venison. The shock on his face was almost funny, but the despair in Jameson's was not.

Jameson buries his face in the cat stuffy and huffs distressed air out, pulling at his clothes. The small box of the closet is a comforting cage but he never feels safe.

“It's okay, puppy,” soothes Chase.

“Don't call him that,” snaps Henrik.

“Well, it calms him down.”

“I don't care, you're not Anti, don't call him puppy.”

“Is everything okay, Schneep?”

He's just a fish. His big mouth gapes open. He's stupid and ugly and he can't breathe air.

“Fine,” he says, and pulls Jameson in for a hug. Jamie whimpers again and puts his chin down on his shoulder. His teeth are very close to Henrik's face, but he knows that he won't bite. He's trying his best. Dogs shouldn't be treated the way he was treated, people even less so. Raccoon fingers come to stroke at the back of Jameson's head. They are a warm mismatched family in the darkness. Jameson's back gets wet with tears, but he doesn't say anything about it, and Chase, no matter how well his eyes see in the dark, does not notice.

“I lost my job,” says Henrik three days later at the kitchen table.

An abrupt silence pierces the table the same way his knife is piercing chicken cordon bleu. Fish, as it turns out, will eat just about anything. He saws at his chicken, his pinprick eyes fascinated by the thin yellow flesh sliding off it as he tears.

He sticks a piece of chicken in his mouth and chews.

“At the hospital?” asks Jackie. “You lost your job at the hospital? With Nadia, with the boss that you liked?”

“She's the hospital coordinator,” says Henrik.

“But it wasn't her decision.” Jackie's talons are grasping at straws. Henrik's surprised he's even managed to get this close to the water where he's swimming. He feels the little silver fish turn its golden eyes up to see the bird, but it's barely staying in the air and its presence is no longer comforting like it once was. He wonders if one day the albatross will just crash into the water with him, and he'll be the one trying to keep its head up while it drowns. “She wouldn't do that to you. She's the one who worked with you. Let you have two whole months to have a break, go to therapy... she wouldn't do that to you.”

“She did what she felt she had to,” says Henrik softly. “I'm a liability.”

“Hold everything, slow down, slow down,” demands Marvin beside him, and he feels his big brother's hand come to press down on his thigh, squeezing to make sure he's still there, in one piece, beside him. “Schneep, tell us what happened.”

Henrik glances over shyly. Marvin's eyes used to be blue, but these days Henrik thinks they're a deep, dopey brown, warm but shy, prey's eyes. Always trying to figure everything out, all careful, all timid, trying to find all the answers to make anything make sense to him anymore. But nothing ever does, so Marvin keeps hiding in the trees. The cat mask is a joke and Henrik knows it. Marvin is a deer.

“They can't just fire you!” spits Chase, furious on the other side of the table, his face turning red with grief. Henrik imagines grey and black fur all puffed up. “That's discrimination because of your disability! It's illegal!”

“I can't do my job anymore.” Henrik shrugs his shoulders. Shakes his head. He can't cry over it anymore. The last three days have had too many tears already. “My hands... most surgeons are done by the time they're forty, fifty, maybe. I just took an extra ten years early. Anti took an extra ten years early.”

Everyone is staring at him. Everyone is staring at the gaps in his scales. Everyone is staring at the fish-hook jammed down his throat. Everyone is staring at his shaking fins. He wants to be sick. Can fish vomit?

“You had a bad episode or something at work?” asks Marvin frailly. Yeah, that's a deer, a deer sitting next to him, using its hooves to pick at its food. The image almost makes him laugh in Marvin's elongated face. Henrik thinks he used to be something else, maybe a lion or a bird of paradise, but these days – nah, Henrik can see the spots along his legs and the antlers, getting loose the closer winter gets. His brother is a deer these days and he just wants to run away to the forest and hide for the rest of his life. He hasn't touched his chicken, just nibbled at the carrots Chase cooked to go along with them.

“Yeah,” says Henrik. “Yeah. In the middle of a surgery. Open heart. The blood all turned so much redder than it had been... and I was just a fish in the Nile when the water changed, you know, I was just... couldn't take it all of a sudden. Took my instruments right out of the body and tore my mask off and threw up in the trash can. All the nurses looking at me. Sick of dealing with my breakdowns. They called another doctor up at four in the morning and he came in and finished it. Then Nadia takes me back to her office... not even sorry, you know, put on her tough coordinator act, or maybe it wasn't an act, and she was sick of me too... They gave me a fair chance. All the accommodations they could. Let me have my nice long break. I just can't do it anymore. I can't. I'm not a doctor now.”

He is getting up from the table before he's registered his own actions, his eyes burning. Chase is talking too loud about how she can't do that, you love your job, you're so good at what you do, and Marvin is reaching out for his hand like he's offering half of his sugar cube to bring him to sit back down, while Jackie just stares at his plate, far-sighted, far-sighted and lost. Henrik tears away from Marvin's fingers and swims towards the stairs, panting water and blood, exhausted, distressed, pushed endlessly back by the waves. He hears the small chirping barks of Jameson clicking his tongue after him and he's grateful that the little one is, for once, clear-headed, but he isn't about to turn around. Too many eyes. Too many eyes and too many open bodies, and he's just a fish, a fish swimming up against the tide, and soon he'll be a dead fish, cause even though his therapist tells him shortened life outlook is a symptom of his PTSD, he's felt enough lives drain away beneath his hands to sense when sailors are opening up their nets, and there's nobody left in the water beside him. Just deer and raccoons trying to stay in the shade on the shore, and birds too exhausted to keep flying, lost above the water.

And one lone pitbull swimming out into the ocean after him.

He wakes up that night to movement in his bed.

“Drunk again?” he mumbles. “What?”

Someone blows air on his face.

Henrik startles, pushing at the body above his own, shoving its shoulders away. “Chase! Oh.”

It's not Chase. Jamie rubs at his slim shoulders in mock protest, screwing up his face all sweet and offended.

“Ow, ow,” whine his hands, and he flops dramatically back onto the bed. “Mean doctor.”

Henrik snorts despite himself and shoves him with his foot before getting up to crawl over him. “Little terror,” he signs back, grabbing his hands and pulling him sitting up. He fits Jameson's chin in his hands and tilts his face from side-to-side. Jameson, all too used to examinations, lets himself be turned about, gazing at the ceiling.

“Your color's up a little. Feeling clear tonight, then?”

“Feel quite alright. Back and forth a little. Ping pong ball.”

Henrik chuckles, putting a hand on his own forehead as he feels the exhaustion swimming back towards him. He sinks back against his headboard, drawing his blankets around him.

“You scared me jumping on me like that,” mumbles Henrik, reaching out to touch his arm. He's maybe a black and white pittie, Henrik thinks. Nice dogs, really. Just got a bad reputation. Just got used for bad things. Nice blue eyes. Clever, friendly breed, a lot smarter than fish, and a lot tougher, too. Henrik halfway expects Jameson to dart forward and lick his face. They'd have to have another conversation about boundaries. Maybe if Henrik used German Jamie would understand him better.

His little brother breathes out a happy little sigh and flops onto the bed beside him, clutching Marvin's laptop to his chest as he gets comfortable.

“Well, make yourself at home,” grumbles Henrik, trying not to be endeared. “Little terror. What are you doing, anyway? I thought you'd been sleeping in Chase's closet.”

Jameson's mouth turns down. He pauses, shrugs, holds up a hand. “Drunk.”

“Ah, fuck,” sighs Henrik, glancing at the door. “He scare you?”

“Loud,” says Jameson.

“At least he's home.”

Jameson nods. Forgiving. One of a myriad of jumbled traits Henrik's noticed on him in the five weeks since he came home to them.

He wishes there was nothing to forgive. He wishes they had made a better home for him.

“Hey, pet me,” Jameson insists, sitting up and leaning over him. Henrik pushes him gently back down.

“Hey, what we did say about this word –  'pet?'”

Jameson simpers wearily, squirming unhappily, but he doesn't whine at all today. Henrik knows how hard he's trying to get this all right. He never wanted to be anybody's dog and he wants to be alright now. Henrik sees it in him, moment to moment, in the moments when the short, barking signs turn into sudden eloquence, when he gets stuck staring out the window and his eyes go distant, when he watches, careful, the way that everybody else speaks and acts and goes about their day, trying to recreate the understanding that once existed in his head – how to be, if not normal, then at least functionally typical. Trying to remember all the rules that come naturally to everybody else.

“I'm sorry,” says Jameson clearly. “No demand. No pet. Would you hold me for a little while, Henrik?”

Henrik's heart pangs at the carefully selected little sign name – healing. H. H-healing. Henrik. Smooth and sliding. He shivers. Not much of a healer now.

But he can hold him, at least.

He lets Jameson settle down on his chest and wraps his arms around him, rubbing his back through the smooth fabric of his big blue sleep shirt. Jameson sighs, delighted, and puts Marvin's computer on Henrik's stomach, hitting play on a video.

Henrik drifts sleepily on his pillow while soft music plays from a demonstration of a man making a big boat sculpture entirely out of chocolate. He feels Jamie pat his stomach eagerly a couple times, when the man does something really clever, like molding a little crest for the head of the ship or getting out the edible spray-paint.

Shouting echoes up from downstairs and Jameson stills.

“You just don't want to admit there's something wrong with him – ”

“Don't you dare say that!”

“Neurologically wrong, Marvin, he needs to see a specialist!”

“He likes the lady he has right now, we are not moving him around anymore! You know how hard it is for him to trust anybody! His brain is fine, Jackie, he's just traumatized! Why is that so hard for you to grasp?”

Henrik rubs at his face, exhausted.

“How about I will grab you headphones, Jameson?” His voice is a fish croak. He feels sticky purple blood on his chest.

JJ shakes his head, staring at his video. The man is adding an octopus to the top of the ship. A big chocolate octopus. Do octopus eat fish? Henrik can't remember. Squid do, don't they? Probably octopuses are just the same.

“This,” says Jameson, pointing at the video. “Want to do this.”

Henrik pauses, glancing between him and the big chocolate octopus. “What – make chocolate?”

Jameson digs his chin into Henrik's chest, humming airily. “Carve. Carve things. But not... sometimes with Anti we... but I don't mean like that. I like how someone can take a dead piece of wood or a big, melty slab of chocolate, and then turn it into something so intricate and lovely. Who doesn't want an octopus sculpture? A chocolate octopus sculpture! Tearing the boat apart like that. No more sailors.”

“I don't understand why now, of all times, you want to get into this!” Jackie sounds close to tears. No where to land. It's storming out. “And now poor fucking Schneep is out of a job, and what the hell is he going to do? He loved being a surgeon better than anything and he's probably upstairs right now hurting, with nobody to comfort him, but you want to get into a fucking fight?”

“You never listen to me unless we're yelling!” He only says it because he's afraid. Henrik can hear his deer's feet retreating away from Jackie. Marvin made timid... who would have thought he'd see the day? “Besides, let's not pretend you have the first idea how to comfort Henrik anymore!”

“Well, at least I don't avoid everyone in the whole goddamn house!”

“That is not what's happening!”

“Oh, please – ”

“Never listen to me at all – ”

“You're the one who doesn't ever work with me!”

“Don't trust me with any of the problems in the house anymore!”

“I'm not the problem here – ”

“Everything is falling apart and you – ”

Something flames like a coal fire in Henrik's chest. Suddenly he is crying, covering his ears with his hands, wrapping his body tighter around Jameson's, still rubbing, gentle, at his soft back, clutching his brother to his chest, sobbing on his bed at one in the morning, because nothing is right, and nothing is going to be right, and he's tired of being alive.

Jameson picks softly at his beard, scratching his fingers through it. Someone is throwing up in the bathroom across the hall.

“Why will nothing get better, Jamie?” His golden, pinprick eyes are weeping salt into the great black ocean around him. He is limp on the waves that throw him around and around in the water, bleeding purple, ill with the motion of it, too tired to keep on, and the worst part is he knows fish are too fucking stupid to get the metaphor of any of it, and there is no less glorious death to be imagined than the dumb staring up at the sun as the corpse floats bloatedly to the surface of the ocean and the seagulls swoop down for a snack. “Why will none of this ever get any better?”

“I'm better,” say Jameson's scarred white hands. “I'm better.”

Henrik buries his face in his shoulder. He's so fucking good. What the hell did he do to deserve a friend like this? “Yeah,” he manages, frail as fish bones. “You are.”

Jameson breathes that breathy hum against his head, gone warm and still and patient in his arms. Henrik holds him closer and closer, hiding in his chest, soothed by the feel of the fabric beneath his hands. Just keep rubbing his back. Just keep rubbing his back. Just keep rubbing his back. Soft and steady across his palms. Warm heartbeat beneath his fingers. Maybe Jameson didn't come in here for his own reassurance. Good dog, better man. He thinks he might be a man again too. He thinks Jameson might be holding him in the water, his head pressed against his shoulder, kicking his legs to keep them both afloat, Henrik limp in his arms as he swims. He sees them both thrown by the waves, wrapped around each other, heads down and close and steady and soaked, brothers in misery, brothers on the ocean waves, while fur and scales fall away.

Jameson draws away from him slowly. Henrik whimpers and Jameson shushes him, clutching his hand for a moment before he darts away, returning just a moment later and pressing cool wood into Henrik's hands, Henrik's shaking, tremulous, tormented hands.

“It's a fish,” Jameson tells him. “I made it for you.”

His fingers encircle the proud round body of the wooden koi. Henrik stills, sniffling, running his hands over it before it ever reaches his eyes.

The thin texture of scales fill the soft whorls of his fingerprints. A delicate curve enters his palms, moving through him, forward through his hands. Little paddles of fins interrupt the sure circle of the body, and the face, short-whiskered, unpainted, is perfectly smooth, perfectly smooth. Jameson presses it against his wrists and holds it up inside his brother's hands, so Henrik can see the softness of the wide mouth, the wise wide eyes, the calmness of it, the still water of it, the koi fish.

“Mein Gott,” whispers Henrik. “You made this yourself? With your little blade? But how did you know?”

“Know?” asks Jameson. “What did I know?”

Henrik stares between him and the fish. “Nothing,” he murmurs. “Never mind. Hell, Jamie, it's beautiful, it's really beautiful. Your hands must be steady.”

No one ever seems to hear him through the water. Sometimes he can't tell if the things he hears are reaching anyone. He runs his fingers over the indent ears of the fish. The koi can hear him. The koi did hear him. Jameson squeezes his hands.

Jackie and Marvin have, at last, had the good sense to take their argument outside, and the house is still again, leaving only the faint reverb of their braying and crying to slink its way into their home.

“It won't last long though,” murmurs Henrik. “Always another storm on the horizon. I am no longer strong enough to stand through them.”

Jameson puts his hand on his brother's heart, just for a moment, and then draws back to speak.

A wild solid thud slams through the air and they both jolt. Henrik grabs Jameson's shoulders, sitting up, staring at the door.

Chase shrieks, a sob thrashing through it, and bursts into tears on the other side of the door.

“Chase!” cries Henrik, leaping out of bed and darting into the hall. The bathroom glows gold from the cracks beneath the door and his hands are yanking it open with enough force that he busts the shitty press-in lock of the handle in one go.

Chase is wailing at his feet, hot tears coursing down his face, curled in on himself and clutching his head. Blood seeps from beneath his fingers and smears the side of the counter beneath the mirror.

Henrik falls to his knees beside him and grabs his hands away from his skull, sending Chase into writhing, rocking himself back and forth on the floor. His face has drained of all color, except the bright red of his mouth where he bites down on it.

“What happened, what happened?”

“Schneep!” he screams, trying to clutch at his head again. “F-fell, hit my head, hit my head!”

“And hard, too,” murmurs Henrik, taking his chin in his hands and pulling him closer to gaze at the burst of blood at the top of his forehead. “Chase! Why won't you stop getting so drunk you can't walk through the bathroom? Fuck, I – I can't – hell, okay, okay, Jamie, can you get me my first aid kit?”

“Where?”

“Beneath my bed, bottom left corner,” he replies, clipped and sure, stroking his thumb down Chase's cheek.

“It just hurts!” sobs Chase, rocking himself. Back and forth, back and forth. Swaying on the branches of the trees.

“You really got it at just the wrong angle.”

“Not my head,” chokes Chase, hugging his own shoulders.

Henrik's eyes sting again. “I know. I know.”

“I can't do this anymore, Schneep, fuck, I'm sorry, I can't do this, I can't go on.”

His hands scrabble for the bottle watching them from the top of the counter. In a sudden burst of fury, Henrik leaves Chase on the floor, gets to his feet, and picks the bottle up in his hand. A heavy square of poison clutched in his palm. He turns his body like a baseball player pitching and flings the bottle at the wall above the bathtub.

The glass glows and glitters as it shatters into the body of the tub, spilling cold gold alcohol all over the floor and the porcelain. Chase draws back and wraps his arms around himself, moaning as Henrik gets back to his knees beside him, breathing hard.

“Have to stop trying to do it alone,” mumbles Henrik, reaching back to get the first aid kit from Jamie.

“Henrik,” signs Jamie softly. “Shaking.”

Spasming might be more accurate. His hands flicker and rock, tremble and sway, shaking so hard he can barely clutch fists.

He shoves at the clasp of the box until it falters open, hands scrambling for butterfly bandages.

“Have to stop trying to do it alone... have to stop trying to do it on your own...”

Clean red blood wells across the ridges of Chase's fingers. Henrik shudders. He sees knives and open wounds seeping puss and he closes his eyes, panting, trying to get his fingers to pinch the bandages.

Jameson's scarred hands come down to help him hold them.

They pull Chase's hands away from his head and unfurl the first bandage. Jameson mops blood away and then moves Henrik's fingers with his own, pressing the plastic over the small, weeping cut.

Marvin and Jackie are louder through the window of the bathroom.

“Why don't you act like my friend anymore? I don't understand what's happening to you. You feel like you're a hundred miles above me, and I'm just stuck on the ground.”

“Marvin – I – I never meant to push you away...”

“Ohh, it stings, it stings,” groans Chase, pushing the heels of his palms against his face.

“We'll get it all closed up,” whispers Henrik, rubbing at his back. “Good doctor's here.”

Jameson smiles gently at him and helps to undo another bandage. He doesn't really need his help, Henrik realizes belatedly. They press a second bandaid over the cut to keep it together. Henrik sits back on his heels.

“I know you're trying to protect us... trying so hard to protect us, to take care of us, but Jackie, I just want... I just want...”

“Fuck, Marvin...”

For long minutes, Henrik rubs Chase's back and talks to him. Jameson swathes the blood away, rubs stinging disinfectant over the wound, replaces it with butterflies, and, finally, adds a great patch bandage to cover the wound. Chase has gone quiet, holding Henrik's hand, his eyes closed, his face getting its color back. Jackie and Marvin murmur outside the house.

“Garbage kid,” says Henrik.

Chase's mouth flickers fondly. “Just a raccoon man, aren't I, Schneep?”

“Some days,” agrees Henrik. “Not all. Some days you're just my Chase. Head out of the goddamn dumpster.”

“Think I need to den up for the night,” Chase mumbles. “Or I'll end up with raccoon circles on my eyes and then we'll be back at the beginning. Will you... will you help me get up?”

Jameson and Henrik grab his arms, steadying him, and together they haul him to his feet and hold his hands, leading him back towards his bedroom.

“I'm sorry I'm so dumb,” says Chase. “And I'm never what you need me to be.”

“You are what I need you to be,” says Henrik.

And Chase stares up at him like he needs more explanation, but what do you say to that? He doesn't know how to tell him the truth of it. He believes it about Chase, but not about himself, so how does he speak it out loud, and face the hypocrisy always tearing him apart?

“You don't have to be anything other than who you are,” says Jameson. “Because I don't love you because of what you provide. I don't love you because you saved me, though you did. I don't love you because you are what I expected you to be or because you do what you promised the world you could. So when you tell me you can no longer take care of me, or you are no longer allowed to look after your children, or your hands can no longer take hearts apart and put them back together, well, I'll still love you both just fine anyway.”

And there it is, tangible in the air – the wisdom often sleeping behind long months of fear and uncertainty, the intelligence, the way that love is always waiting to speak through his little brother, his warm, clever little brother, the pitbull, the man.

“I love you because love asks only for love in return. And sometimes, even then, it can wait for the day that you'll know how to love me better.”

Chase reaches up and brushes his thumb over Jameson's cheek. His little brother tilts his head softly into his palm, closing his eyes, and he trusts him, and Chase's fingers tremble to be holding that much warmth against their skin.

“I do love you,” says Chase, very low, very true. “So much. And I will, someday, love you better.”

“Better and better with each day that passes,” answers Jameson. “Besides, Henrik will smash all your bottles next time you try to get drunk anyway.”

Chase closes his eyes, laughing, and Henrik slaps Jameson's shoulder. For a moment, even as he laughs, the pain of everything flashes over Chase's face, and then it is gone again, and, situated between his brothers, he falls asleep and does not dream, except of a quiet beach, and his white feet digging into the sand of it, watching the tide recede.

Jameson leans over to kiss Henrik's head and he chuckles, pulling his little brother to his chest, not sure why he's crying.

“Wrong?” asks Jameson. “Bad, what is?”

“I don't know,” says Henrik. “Maybe nothing. Just overwhelmed.”

“Time for bed,” Jameson insists, tugging on his sleeve.

Henrik runs his eyes over him, sighing through his nose, his eyebrows raising with a challenge. “Well... what do you think about trying your own bed tonight, huh?”

A blush floods Jameson's cheeks and he looks away, biting on the nail of his thumb.

“It's okay if you're not ready,” Henrik says. “But I'd like to see you try.”

“Can't do it alone,” says Jameson. “Afraid.”

“I'll come in there and sleep with you, if you want.”

“Really?”

Henrik nods, a smile curving on his tired mouth.

Jameson plays with his hands. “Just let me get my stuffies and the lightbox.”

“Computer,” laughs Henrik. “It's a computer.” He signs it.

“Computer,” Jamie signs back exaggeratedly, rolling his eyes, and Henrik beams to see him teasing. But there's one more storm he has to ride through tonight, cause who else is going to make it all better?

“I'll just go check on Jackie and Marv,” he says, getting up. “Meet you in your room.”

“Tell 'shhhh,'” says Jameson, ducking towards Chase's closet for his kitten and finger puppets. “Loud, angry.”

“Not at you, though,” says Henrik softly, pausing in the doorway. “Not at you.”

“Yes,” answers Jameson's hands. “I know. Not even at each other.”

“Not at each other? Who were they yelling at?”

Jameson shrugs. “Go look,” he says, disappearing behind the door.

Henrik swims down the stairs, feeling his fins trail behind him. He's a fish. He's a big ugly fish. Or maybe a nice wooden koi, warm and lovely between Jameson's hands. But he's still a fish and the albatross can't reach him and the deer is hiding in the forest, because that's the way it's been for long, long months now.

He opens the door of the house.

Before the roots of the forest dig their way into the dark, steady earth, Marvin kneels in the grass, his head held up, staring at the stars.

Jackie is laid across his lap, pressed to his chest, resting in his arms.

Antlers of deer, when they come out from the trees, make nesting place for birds.

Arms of brothers make spaces for each other.

And Jackie has found a place to land.

Marvin turns, suddenly, alerted to his presence, and today, he does not turn his head away, does not duck his face down, does not retreat to the trees.

“I love you,” he mouths in the light of the moon.

Henrik smiles despite himself, alight with tears.

“I love you too,” he signs back.

“Ready for bed?”

“Almost, H-healing.”

“What are you doing?”

“Finishing my video,” says Jameson happily, reaching out for him, so brothers can sleep on the same piece of driftwood, and one day make it back to land, even if it's a very different shore from the one they were cast off from.

“Did he finish the octopus?” asks Henrik sleepily, sinking down into the bed beside him. One of Jameson's stuffies squeaks on the mattress beneath him.

“Yes,” answers Jameson. He closes the lid and lies down beside Henrik, presenting the wooden koi again, putting it on the bed between them and moving it towards their heads like it's swimming. “And then, when he was done, he squished the arms of the octopus together.”

“Did it crush the boat?”

“It crushed the boat, and it drowned all the sailors. But you know what, I think it's okay, cause they were pirates, so they probably did bad things to people and locked men up like dogs in the little box – the brig, yeah? Well, now they're gone, and they can't hurt anybody, and the ship will go down in chunks, so there's no one to hurt the fish, and they have places to hide now, when the tide is too strong and they can't swim anymore, and I bet a whole family of them can stay safe in the remains of what once was.”