#niece 1 is a certifiable genius and my nephew started walking at 8 months old so... it's been busy

[jmflowers]

prompt party returns (maybe? I'm trying)

shout out to my niece for hitting us with a gem like this for the inspiration... little minds are a trip

more of this universe (expanded) can be found on AO3 here or check out all the tumblr versions here

prompt #23: you found a way to stay next to me, in my blood and in my bones (Everywhere I Go by Wild Rivers)

May 2025

It starts with a gasp, sheets clinging to sweat-covered skin as she sputters awake in the dark of their bedroom. She crawls to the edge of the bed like she's drowning, swimming desperately for a shore just beyond her reach.

“Carina,” Maya calls in the distance, warm hands reaching out to soothe.

But her body remembers, the things that her mind shuts away. Her body shies away from the touch, curling into itself as she drops to the bedroom floor.

It always remembers.

~

            “Do you want to talk about it?” Maya asks over breakfast, cutting up pancakes for their toddler. He huffs impatiently as he watches her, little fingers grasping the edges of his highchair in anticipation.

Carina shrugs, placing his sippy cup of water in front of him as a distraction. “It was just a bad dream, Maya,” she placates.

“It’s a recurring bad dream,” her wife argues.

“Dream,” their son echoes, clapping his hands as the plate of pancakes finally arrives on his highchair tray.

They don’t mention the date on the calendar, that it’s always this week of the year. That it’s still grief, after all these years, making it hard to sleep.

~

            His picture is on the shelves in the living room, looking down over the space where their son plays with his toys in the stretching rays of afternoon light. Cars and dinosaurs and piles of books, enjoyed and discarded haphazardly across the carpet.

Carina sits beside him on the floor, watching as he navigates the placement of puzzle pieces, no longer needing assistance. For once, her mind doesn’t drift to how to challenge their son further. Instead, her eyes wander to a familiar frame.

To a familiar smile.

“Do you know who this is?” she asks, reaching for the picture.

Their son is smart – perhaps exceptionally so – and his growing vocabulary lends well to learning names. Amidst the numbers and letters and colours, he’s started identifying the people that he loves in the photos hung around their home.

He looks up when Carina places the frame in front of him, looking carefully at the curly hair and light eyes he shares with his namesake. “Yeah,” he murmurs, offering up his little palm, “Hold me hand.”

Instinctively, Carina reaches out to fill the request, ready to slip her fingers into his own. But their son pulls away.

“No,” their Andrea says, shaking his head, “He do.”

“Oh,” Carina breathes, swallowing around the lump forming in her throat. “He can’t, piccolino,” she whispers, looking down at the smiling image of her younger brother. She touches the cleft in his chin, feels the tears welling in her eyes.

“When me scared,” Andrea declares, crawling into her lap. He taps the photo, too, looking up at his mother expectantly. “He hold me hand.”  

~

            The dream is different that night. She doesn’t wake with a gasp, covered in sweat. She doesn’t hear her own screams or feel the blood.

Instead, she sees her brother.

Holding hands with her son.