[ Bossie broke like this, Carver realizes suddenly. When Turner died. He held it together long enough to carry Turner's body back, carried their brother more than ten miles with all his armor and gear, and with a knife wound stuck through his back, and he barely felt it until the moment he showed up at the gate and begged them to do something. Turner might've been alive for some of it, Carver doesn't know, but he wasn't for long. Not with his skull broken open, not with glass shoved into his eye. Carver felt the broken bones when he took their brother and cleaned him up before Shaw and Pope saw. It wasn't an easy death.
But at least Turner went down fighting. At least he died in battle. And Bossie -
Bossie died in the fire, held down under Pope's boot. Not because he turned his back on Turner - not Bossie, not like that, not like that - but maybe because he wept, because he couldn't take it stoically when they laid Turner out and told him it was too late. And you cannot break, you cannot be weak. You'll slow the group down.
And through it all, Larus holds him. Doesn't yell or hit him for weeping, just holds him. Presses close and touches his forehead flush to Carver's. He even breathes, maybe out of reflex or something more purposeful, Carver really doesn't know, but it's something to mirror. And so he does.
Piece by piece, his own breathing evens out. Okay.
Okay. ]
I'm not weak.
[ It comes out rough, hoarse. He keeps his eyes closed. ]
[ This isn't a good outcome, not when Carver starts talking about tests. Larus wishes he understood more of that kind of thinking, why it's just something that happens, and even when his breathing slows, all he does is continue to hold onto him. Maybe he squeezes him almost too tight until he draws back to look at him. Carver's face is damp, Larus' free hand brushing over his cheeks and wiping away the tears so he can tilt his head up.
He wants Carver to see him, even if he doesn't open his eyes. ]
You don't have to be strong with me, Brandon. [ That's not what this is about. ] No one has to be after what's happened to you.
[ Nothing that mattered, anyway. The worst he got was beaten, and even that barely counted. What are a few cracked ribs, on balance? He's seen people have their skulls bashed into bloody pulp, dug bone chips out of his hair, seen the aftermath of explosions. Smelled napalm. He knows what it means when people are burned, when they stick to the ground and make that awful wheezing sound before they die. He knows what it feels like to starve, to know you're dehydrated and it's only going to get worse.
This was nothing. It was just a bad moment and it could have gotten worse. They were lucky. They can't forget that.
But Larus is just there, his voice calm, touching him, pressing close, and it -
God, he's so tired.
Carver twitches again, reaching up so he can cup his hand to the back of Larus's neck. Holding steady to him. ]
[ Larus wants to press the issue, thinks this is something Carver should talk about for the sake of getting it off his chest, but maybe it's meant for another time, biting down on his tongue to keep himself quiet. Instead, he presses a kiss to the corner of Carver's mouth and shifts just a little, letting his thumb trace over the ridge of his brow in an attempt to smooth it out. ]
So be with me. [ He brushes at Carver's dark hair. ] Do you want to sleep?
[ Not only can he feel it, there's just something about the way Carver behaves that says he must be exhausted. If there had been no one to trust in that place, he doubts Carver had slept much or maybe not at all. And because he wants to, he kisses him again in an effort to encourage him to tell him what else he needs.
If it's within Larus' power to do so, he'll give it to him. ]
[ It’s gentle, again. Whatever tension might have been there earlier is gone, smoothed away, and Carver opens his eyes a crack just to watch Larus. To see how his hair falls in this light, how his eyes are so goddamn calm now. In the old days, back when they first met, tbis would be the part where they’d either fuck, or Carver would try to kill him again. Swing it vicious because that’s what he knew, what was expected, maybe the only way it could have gone back home.
But maybe that’s not true, or at least not completely. Leah had Dixon for a while, and no matter how that ended, she loved that motherfucker and Carver respects his sister too much to try and claim that wasn’t real. They found each other on the road and they held to it for years. It worked until it didn’t anymore, and that was real. And this is real too, isn’t it?
Carver exhales slowly, running his fingers through Larus’s hair. Rubbing at his head just to do it, just because he can. Because he wants to.
God, he’s so tired. ]
You’re the only one I can sleep next to. I don’t know if I told you that.
[ Larus only settles into this moment, pushing all other intrusive thoughts away as he feels Carver's fingers in his hair, and... he's missed this. He always misses this. It's still as terrifying as it had been the first time he'd realized it, tipping into the touch and breathing out all the stress of the last several days. There's so much that they have yet to discuss, and yet, Larus doesn't feel the need right now.
He's tired too. It just sits differently with him. ]
I figured it out a while ago, [ he says, voice low and gentle. ] But I don't mind when you tell me things.
[ In truth, he prefers it. Larus has never liked guessing games. ]
Let me help you get comfortable. You can talk to me until you fall asleep.
[ It’s dangerous to talk like this, to let his guard down. But maybe they’re past that now. Maybe this is just what they do when they stop colliding with each other and just are.
Carver closes his eyes again, nudging his head against Larus’s. Wanting him close, and then having him close. ]
Leah would’ve liked you, [ he says, very softly. ] She’d give me shit but she’d like you.
[ He ends up on his side so he can drag Carver into him, and they rest like that, foreheads together and one of his knees between Carver's thighs. Things are slowed down to a crawl when they're like this, listening to the hum of Carver's voice and wondering at what he says. Would any of that have been true? He doesn't know. ]
Maybe I'll see her one day. [ Because there's always a chance. ] And you can tell her how we met.
[ It's almost an amusing thought, though he can't help thinking he isn't so sure how easily she'd accept the fact he's a vampire. ]
[ He can't feel the throb from the bite anymore. It doesn't hurt. It doesn't ache, or pulse. It just is. Carver puts his arm around Larus, trails his fingers along Larus's spine. Slow, and steady.
But he huffs a little at that, too tired for laughter. ]
Unusual, [ he says after a moment, resting against Carver and focused on how his fingers move. ] I don't get close enough to anyone to ever meet their family, but if she came here, I would try.
[ To not be unpleasant or standoffish like he could be. Larus wouldn't intentionally impress her either, but it is what it is. He doesn't know if it would ever come to that anyway. ]
[ But this place just made things complicated, didn't it? Carver keeps his eyes closed, trailing his fingers along Larus's spine. Idle touches, slow and steady. ]
I know you would. She doesn't stand for bullshit, but she puts up with me. So, I think she'd like you.
[ He isn't sure why he'd thought doing something like this would have been a good idea, but he sinks into it, holding Carver close. ]
She's your sister. [ Like that explains everything. ] I think – Sofie would like you too. [ There's a quiet exhale, an attempt at pulling himself together after saying her name. ] My parents wouldn't, but I would like you even more because of it.
[ He'd never fit into that world carved out by his family's money, and right here, like this, he feels more at home than he ever has. ]
Yeah, [ Carver agrees softly. ] She’s my sister.
[ Not biologically, but certainly by blood at this point. They’ve fought wars together, they held the line, saw God in the brutality. And Matthew—
He was Leah’s kid, but Carver loved him, helped raise him, and that mattered. They did they together, him and Leah and all the others. They were family in all the ways that could matter. And if she came here, he thinks she and Larus would understand each other.
He sighs, and keeps running his fingers along the lines of Larus’s back. ]
[ It's treading a line he isn't entirely comfortable discussing, but if anyone would understand, it's Carver. Maybe. The way they'd grown up had been different, though not so different as to make them incompatible. Larus would have found that interesting if he'd thought about it long enough, and yet, all he does is press a kiss to the side of Carver's head as he thinks about them. His parents. ]
There's nothing to talk about, [ he says eventually, picturing them as he'd left them that day before he'd died. ] My father wanted me to be like him once my mother realized she couldn't bend me to be her perfect child. She had Sofie for that. [ His beautiful sister, naive in the ways he had been when he'd trusted Sun. ] I never wanted any of that, but maybe I'm more like them than I thought.
[ A monster, something uncaring at the best of times and cruel at the worst. That's the kind of man his father had been, especially after brokering a deal with The Factory. It's a sobering thought, squeezing his eyes shut in an effort to ignore it. ]
[ Carver sits with that for a moment, shifting so he can press a little closer to Larus. These moments always hit him hard. The quiet intimacy, the part where they don’t hurt each other even though they could. ]
I don’t know if I’m like my father, [ he says finally. ] Never knew him. And I didn’t know my mom that well but I think I’m like her.
[ Same iron determination, same viciousness. He didn’t know her but she made him. He supposes most people know their parents, but he never really did. ]
But I don’t think that’s who you are. Not with me, anyway.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cw: abuse, cult shit, gore
But at least Turner went down fighting. At least he died in battle. And Bossie -
Bossie died in the fire, held down under Pope's boot. Not because he turned his back on Turner - not Bossie, not like that, not like that - but maybe because he wept, because he couldn't take it stoically when they laid Turner out and told him it was too late. And you cannot break, you cannot be weak. You'll slow the group down.
And through it all, Larus holds him. Doesn't yell or hit him for weeping, just holds him. Presses close and touches his forehead flush to Carver's. He even breathes, maybe out of reflex or something more purposeful, Carver really doesn't know, but it's something to mirror. And so he does.
Piece by piece, his own breathing evens out. Okay.
Okay. ]
I'm not weak.
[ It comes out rough, hoarse. He keeps his eyes closed. ]
I passed the test.
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He wants Carver to see him, even if he doesn't open his eyes. ]
You don't have to be strong with me, Brandon. [ That's not what this is about. ] No one has to be after what's happened to you.
[ Larus leans so their noses touch. ]
Do you understand?
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[ Nothing that mattered, anyway. The worst he got was beaten, and even that barely counted. What are a few cracked ribs, on balance? He's seen people have their skulls bashed into bloody pulp, dug bone chips out of his hair, seen the aftermath of explosions. Smelled napalm. He knows what it means when people are burned, when they stick to the ground and make that awful wheezing sound before they die. He knows what it feels like to starve, to know you're dehydrated and it's only going to get worse.
This was nothing. It was just a bad moment and it could have gotten worse. They were lucky. They can't forget that.
But Larus is just there, his voice calm, touching him, pressing close, and it -
God, he's so tired.
Carver twitches again, reaching up so he can cup his hand to the back of Larus's neck. Holding steady to him. ]
I just want to be with you right now.
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So be with me. [ He brushes at Carver's dark hair. ] Do you want to sleep?
[ Not only can he feel it, there's just something about the way Carver behaves that says he must be exhausted. If there had been no one to trust in that place, he doubts Carver had slept much or maybe not at all. And because he wants to, he kisses him again in an effort to encourage him to tell him what else he needs.
If it's within Larus' power to do so, he'll give it to him. ]
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[ It’s gentle, again. Whatever tension might have been there earlier is gone, smoothed away, and Carver opens his eyes a crack just to watch Larus. To see how his hair falls in this light, how his eyes are so goddamn calm now. In the old days, back when they first met, tbis would be the part where they’d either fuck, or Carver would try to kill him again. Swing it vicious because that’s what he knew, what was expected, maybe the only way it could have gone back home.
But maybe that’s not true, or at least not completely. Leah had Dixon for a while, and no matter how that ended, she loved that motherfucker and Carver respects his sister too much to try and claim that wasn’t real. They found each other on the road and they held to it for years. It worked until it didn’t anymore, and that was real. And this is real too, isn’t it?
Carver exhales slowly, running his fingers through Larus’s hair. Rubbing at his head just to do it, just because he can. Because he wants to.
God, he’s so tired. ]
You’re the only one I can sleep next to. I don’t know if I told you that.
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He's tired too. It just sits differently with him. ]
I figured it out a while ago, [ he says, voice low and gentle. ] But I don't mind when you tell me things.
[ In truth, he prefers it. Larus has never liked guessing games. ]
Let me help you get comfortable. You can talk to me until you fall asleep.
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Carver closes his eyes again, nudging his head against Larus’s. Wanting him close, and then having him close. ]
Leah would’ve liked you, [ he says, very softly. ] She’d give me shit but she’d like you.
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Maybe I'll see her one day. [ Because there's always a chance. ] And you can tell her how we met.
[ It's almost an amusing thought, though he can't help thinking he isn't so sure how easily she'd accept the fact he's a vampire. ]
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But he huffs a little at that, too tired for laughter. ]
Makes for a funny story, huh?
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[ To not be unpleasant or standoffish like he could be. Larus wouldn't intentionally impress her either, but it is what it is. He doesn't know if it would ever come to that anyway. ]
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[ But this place just made things complicated, didn't it? Carver keeps his eyes closed, trailing his fingers along Larus's spine. Idle touches, slow and steady. ]
I know you would. She doesn't stand for bullshit, but she puts up with me. So, I think she'd like you.
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She's your sister. [ Like that explains everything. ] I think – Sofie would like you too. [ There's a quiet exhale, an attempt at pulling himself together after saying her name. ] My parents wouldn't, but I would like you even more because of it.
[ He'd never fit into that world carved out by his family's money, and right here, like this, he feels more at home than he ever has. ]
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[ Not biologically, but certainly by blood at this point. They’ve fought wars together, they held the line, saw God in the brutality. And Matthew—
He was Leah’s kid, but Carver loved him, helped raise him, and that mattered. They did they together, him and Leah and all the others. They were family in all the ways that could matter. And if she came here, he thinks she and Larus would understand each other.
He sighs, and keeps running his fingers along the lines of Larus’s back. ]
You don’t talk about your parents much.
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There's nothing to talk about, [ he says eventually, picturing them as he'd left them that day before he'd died. ] My father wanted me to be like him once my mother realized she couldn't bend me to be her perfect child. She had Sofie for that. [ His beautiful sister, naive in the ways he had been when he'd trusted Sun. ] I never wanted any of that, but maybe I'm more like them than I thought.
[ A monster, something uncaring at the best of times and cruel at the worst. That's the kind of man his father had been, especially after brokering a deal with The Factory. It's a sobering thought, squeezing his eyes shut in an effort to ignore it. ]
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I don’t know if I’m like my father, [ he says finally. ] Never knew him. And I didn’t know my mom that well but I think I’m like her.
[ Same iron determination, same viciousness. He didn’t know her but she made him. He supposes most people know their parents, but he never really did. ]
But I don’t think that’s who you are. Not with me, anyway.