forkedroad | AU: 1 BROTHER

AU: 1 BROTHER

Since meeting and traveling with the Tanners, Annabelle had seen a lot. A lot of death, destruction, and chaos; all the darkness that she'd always felt magnetized towards, even coveted, had stared her in the eyes several times in their journeys. It humbled her, and finally, had even scared her a little. She didn't let as much on, very often—the two boys had seen her rattled a couple of times, but she always recovered with stoic grace into her eventually typically impish facade.

A year or so into being with them, she pondered loss, having learned why they were alone. She wondered about her own family, and her own heart—if she would feel that sort of grief.

She decided if she lost either of the Tanners, she would.

But it was grief uncompared to Lauren's—she'd never heard such soul shaking wails of despair in her life, and sitting awake in the corner of his room, she can still hear it. Though Lauren has stopped crying, she can't shake the image of his face in the fresh of it. And it hurts her, too—she loved Susan as well. She cried and screamed as well. But quickly, perhaps too quickly, she's gone and steeled herself; she had to be strong for the remaining brother.

She doesn't sleep, and she's not sure if Lauren does, either. But late in the night, she slips out, whispering she would be back—just in case he's awake. She returns hours later, when the sun is up. She feels cold, and wonders if he does as well. The lack of sleep and the despair has left a chilliness in her bones, but the cold morning air hadn't helped.

Quietly, she moves carefully to the bed. They're staying in an inn—the owners have been kind about the cost of their stay, because tragedy is starkly clear when it strikes. She moves the sheets and comforter back, wordlessly moving beneath them. She settles on her side, laying beside Lauren to look at him.

She has no words, and she's not sure if it's okay to touch him. She seems stoic, because she's shocked—but she feels her grief would be imposing.

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He has no idea how much time has passed when she's returned. If he's slept at all in her absence he isn't aware of it. He feels like he's been awoke all night, and the dark bags under his eyes are testament of this. He fell asleep, he knows he did once. He had a dream, Susan was there and yelling at him for something or other. He doesn't remember, just the feeling of loss he'd felt all over again when he'd awoken once more. His eyes are red and he looks an utter wreck. His clothes are a dirty mess, likely parts of them are stained with blood from where he'd help his brother's body close.

The night is dark and the hours long. He still can't quite believe this is his reality. When Anna returns to the bed he doesn't move away, like he normally would to give her space. Instead he shifts closer, taking her hand in his own. She's cold and it shocks him at first. His own body was warm, if only because of the covers he'd surrounded himself in. He may not know how long she was gone, but he knows when she left it was dark and that now it is growing light.

"Don't go." It's a request, more than a command, but there's some touch of desperation to it. He didn't want to be alone right now.

Indeed, she's surprised when he takes her hand. Her eyebrows slant backwards, forehead wrinkling with sympathy, and she nods, her eyes wide and glassy as she blinks a few times in rapid succession. She reciprocates his touch but closing her hand over the back of his, over his knuckles. Her hands are especially cold; her fingernails are dirty beneath with soil, though her hands themselves are very clean.

"I won't," she answers quietly, barely above a whisper. Normally, if something bad happened, Annabelle might offer to get some tea or food—though she's hardly the hospitable sort. But she doesn't want those things; she can't imagine stomaching anything, and she's sure Lauren can't either. And he's so much more sensitive than she is.

"Have you slept?"

Edited 2017-01-27 22:50 (UTC)

He isn't looking at her hands and doesn't notice the soil. He feels her hand fold around his and the sensation is a welcome distraction from his own thoughts. She's right, he doesn't even want to think about food, or any of the other things he really needs to do. He needs to clean up, he needs to pay for their stay, he needs to do something with Susan's... His own eyes start to water.

He shakes his head.

"Haven't." he responds, his voice rough. He sniffs back the tears before looking away from her and down at the space between them. He closes his eyes and his eyelashes grow wet with unshed tears. "Can't."

She nods, tossing in a little sound of affirmation when she realizes he doesn't see it.

"I thought so," she says softly, gently petting over his knuckles with her thumb. That's when she realizes—the coppery scent in the air. His clothes. Her expression suddenly tenses, bowing under the weight of sudden anguish. There's some of it, dried, smeared across his cheek. She hasn't looked at him closely since the early evening of the previous day, when he was torn alive and fresh with the agony and loss.

"Lauren," she manages, almost pleadingly, her voice pinching in what must be a suppressed whimper. "Lauren, you've got to clean up." Her voice is shaky whispers, now. A clumsy, shaky hand comes forward, her thumb brushing that streak of what is some of Susan's remains away in dry flakes. Annabelle already had.

He shakes his head no again. He doesn't know why, but the thought of doing something so normal makes him feel sick. He knows why she says it, but he can't bare to admit it. The thought of washing it away, as though cleaning himself of it all, it's totally unthinkable. He sobs, moving into the touch of her hand on his face.

"I can't." His voice cracks. He knows he can, but he doesn't want to. He doesn't want any of this. "I can't."

She obviously knows that Lauren has to—that it would be good for him. But she believes him, too; such in way that her heart aches, which is so frustrating and confusing, because she's never felt this way over another person's pain before. It must be because they are grieving the same person, she thinks. She bites her lip, wetting them both as she tries to think, blinking away tears as she wrinkles her brow pensively.

She understands, then, that ultimately, she is being selfish. To be strong for Lauren right now means to endure the scent of death—for now.

"Okay," she concedes, her tone then becoming reassuring. She can feel the hot wet of his tears on her palm, and her voice cracks. "Okay. Not now, it's okay."

She moves closer, remembering the first time that Lauren had seen her cry—one of the only times—when she'd witnessed an unexpected, horrible murder with the two brothers. She moves her arms around him, giving some awkward hesitation beforehand. The blood is dry, she tells herself. Lauren had held her, restraining her with gentleness as she screamed, and stroked her hair as she heaved with panicked sobs.

She encourages him closer, not currently having the strength to completely move him, and places a kiss on him—above his brow, against his bangs, clung together with sweat and bloody mud.

Edited 2017-01-28 00:46 (UTC)

He moves closer, just a bit. Normally it would be Susan between them. He's never really slept next to her before, too shy and embarrassed about feeling her body against his. It's hard to care about that now, but he's still Lauren. He's still uncomfortable in situations like this, situations that some might perceive as intimate. Still, he want's to be close to someone. Normally it would be Susan sleeping by his side. Annabelle isn't Susan, but she's the closest thing he has to family right now. More tears fall down his cheek at the thoughts. He wants to turn off his brain, everything he does every thought he has is about Susan and it's agonizing how much every thought hurts.

"You're cold." He comments lamely as he feels her limbs press against him under the covers. His voice is waterlogged and his nose is stuffy.

Sometimes, Annabelle would give him full body hugs, usually briefly, under the blankets to unnerve him—Susan used to laugh. She's never embraced someone sincerely; her heart has never been in her touch. Not with Lauren, anyway. She'd felt things with Susan, cradling him and petting his wild hair out of his face with her bony fingers. For the first time, she feels like she needs this.

She wants to counter by saying that all the fire has left her, but she realizes it wouldn't be helpful. She sniffles a little.

"Well, you're soggy," she retorts quietly, meaning it with humor, but unable to smile. She hooks her legs with his, and she gets goosebumps from the temperature contact. "—and so warm. Almost hot."

Moments ago, Susan was so cold. Enough to make her fingers numb. Her fingers pull the fabric of his shirt, tensing with agony.

He means to laugh, but it comes out as a sob. His tears fall faster as he lets her entangle their limbs. He hides his face in her pillow, unable to stop the tears from coming again. He doesn't even care that her cold skin sends shivers across his skin at the contact.

"I was supposed to protect him." he forces out, his words wavering as his voice cuts out on him.

"You did," she insists urgently, moving a hand to stroke the side of his jaw as he tucks away. She releases him to prop herself up by her elbow, leaning over him as she rests against his shoulder. She pushes the shaggy veil of his hair from his face, a couple of tears falling down her face as well. It's hard to keep it back, especially seeing him cry again.

"You did what you could... The world is chaotic, powerful, and unfair." Her voice breaks with a little sob, and she rests against his side and arm, almost laying on him. She presses her face into his arm to take the tears, and lifts her face again to look at him as she stroke his faces. She doesn't want to say that they're too young, and too weak to be invincible.

That can change, she thinks.

"I'm so sorry, Lauren."

Edited 2017-01-28 02:20 (UTC)

He just wants to stop, the sounds and sights of this world, he wants them to fade away. He wants to fade away. He can't though, not with Anna shifting and crying and moving his hair. She was hurting too, he knew it. He wanted to help her, but he didn't know how. He couldn't even help himself. He looks to her, his eyes shining with tears, his face red from crying. His expression breaks when she apologizes again, and he moves to hold her close. His shoulders shake as he wraps her in his arms and holds her close.

He knows she doesn't blame him for this, but he can't think like she does. He's not alone, but it feels like he is. As a child he'd somehow convinced himself that Nana and Father were there watching him, even if he couldn't see or speak to them at all. The thought comforted him, and he'd wanted to make them proud. He doesn't feel that way now. It was like they'd left him all over again, but now it was even worse because they'd taken Susan as well.

He should never have thought he could be the right kind of family for Susan. He'd tried so hard, done everything he could to do right by him, but in the end it had all been meaningless. He should have known better than to think he could succeed here when he'd failed so much everywhere else. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair. All he'd ever wanted was to do this one thing right. Why was he such a failure?

Annabelle doesn't resist when Lauren moves to hold her again, and she reciprocates the hold; this time, it's tight and desperate, her finger tips snaring the fabric of his shirt again as she clings, choking out another cry. She tries to suppress it, but annoyingly, she can't—especially feeling Lauren tremble with his quiet crying, seeing his red eyes, Susan's blood.

But...the contact makes it hurt a little less, or maybe that isn't accurate. It makes it more bearable. She sniffles loudly, hugging him tight.

She thinks that how Lauren felt about Susan is how the hermit must have felt about her. She feels guilty, now, scorning his care; misunderstanding his love. She tucks her face against his neck, staining the neck of his dirty shirt with her tears.

"You're a good man, Lauren," she whispers unsteadily, and strokes the back of his head. "You've a good heart."

He nearly winces at the words. Here he was, full grown and yet still acting like a child. There's no reason for him to be the adult now that Susan is gone. And yet he resents himself for falling apart like this. It's not who he is supposed to be, even if he can afford to be someone else now. He doesn't want things to be different, he wants them to go back to how they used to be. But they can't. Just like before.

His hold on her weakens, and he shifts his nose brushing against her hair as she hides against him. He wondered how Anna could think such things, that he had a good heart. He didn't think his heart too extraordinary, especially wounded as it was, but clearly she appreciated it and that had to mean something, even if it wasn't something he could understand.

"...I miss him."

"I do too." She tries to stiffen her lip, sniffling, and tries to just focus on the warmth of his closeness.

She pauses, breathing out a quivering sigh.

"I've never loved anyone like I've loved the both of you. I've never felt this."

She's never said anything like it; even when she told her family she loved them, it was obligatory and reactionary, parroting back at them like a trained pet. She brings in a hand to wipe her eyes. Loving people this way is freshly frightening.

She considers, suddenly, she never told Susan that she loved him—it hits her, and her chin dimples, thick, fresh tears falling anew.

"I never told him I loved him...!"

That...

really made her feel like a terrible person.

Edited 2017-01-28 05:54 (UTC)

His hands shift as he moves to hold her close again. He's never heard her say it, but he hardly needed. He knew she loved them already. You didn't travel with someone for as long as they had without growing close. That she'd never felt that way before, well, it's startling. It's sad, he realizes, and he holds her tighter, letting her cry on him as much as she wants. He kisses her forehead.

"Please don't cry. He knew already."

She feels bad—it's a tragedy far worse for Lauren. She feels selfish additionally for his comfort, not understanding that the mutuality in the situation was more healing than not. She wants to tap back into her stoicism; into her actions. She can't just lay here and cry. But as usual, her pragmatic mind is at odds with her heart. It's just something she really isn't used to.

She takes some scattered breaths, repeating Lauren's words in her head, and she nods, sniffling. Another little sob breaks through, but she seems to be wrestling reigns on her composure. She's able to believe Lauren; he knew Susan so well, of course.

But Annabelle still wants to tell Susan. She wants to pet his hair, kiss his warm face and tell him so, especially if it weirded him out.

"Okay," she manages, nodding again with a curt sniff. She wipes one of her eyes, then throws her arms back around Lauren in full. "Thank you. You're right." She squeezes him, then sounds a little exasperated. "The grief is confusing my logic."

Edited (mixed up brothers somehow oops) 2017-01-28 15:03 (UTC)

He nearly laughs, but instead his face crumples as he fights back tears once more. He holds Anna tighter as punishment for saying something so positively dumb.

"There is no logic to something like this." he murmurs, voice breaking as he tries not to cry. There really wasn't, if there was any logic in the world at all Susan would be hear with him. He would be warm between them, laughing or talking about something. He was the better of the two of them, so why did he go while Lauren was left behind.

What Lauren says makes sense, but Annabelle furrows her eyebrows anyway, taking in a shuddering breath as she tries to keep steely. She wants to explain that it's just that she's never lost someone, before—but she doesn't want to remind Lauren that this isn't his first time losing what was his everything.

She buries her face into his neck as he squeezes her, sniffling.

She's quiet, her cold hands relaxing finally against his back. It's a little broader than when they'd first met. She flattens her palm against his shoulder blade, rubbing him softly.

"If you want to sleep...or when you want to, Lauren, I... have something."

He shakes his head no. He's assuming she means magic, but of course elves were immune to spells of enchanted sleep, one of the only things he'd inherited from his mother besides her speech and ears. "Last I slept Susan was there. In my dream. When I woke it was like realizing the truth all over again."

Edited 2017-01-30 03:34 (UTC)

She's frustrated. She wants to help, but she can't; she's at the beginning of a journey learning that there's nothing one can do with grief but survive it. There is no handling it. There is only enduring it. And fussing Lauren, trying to do what she can for him because he suffers more than her, is a distraction for her own grief anyway. Not knowing how what to do, so clever, quick thinking and book learned, is unfamiliar and irritating.

"Right. Of course."

But she has to stop pushing him—to bathe, to sleep.

She nods, closing her eyes, eyelashes wet, cool from the morning air. She continues to pet his back, listening to and relishing in his heartbeat. She can feel it.

"Sorry."

Edited 2017-01-30 03:44 (UTC)

Lauren shivers as she presses closer, her body finally beginning to warm up as they're heat collected beneath them underneath the blankets. Her hands are on his back and he realizes he can feel her chest pressed up against his. It's strange, it doesn't make him feel uncomfortable now as it normally would, instead it's a distraction from his weary minds incessant thoughts. It's physical, something that ties him here to the real world instead of to the world of his fears and despair.

"You don't have to apologize." he murmurs, his voice nothing more than a whisper. It least he had Anna now. He would never have been able to do this alone. "Thank you."

She feels a little bad for how he shivers, knowing she's responsible—but she feels herself warming up as well, so it's okay.

"You don't have to thank me," she counters, shifting to get a little more comfortable. She's exhausted; her eyes hurt. But her mind is a numb, loud buzz. She can't rest. Absent-mindedly, she combs her fingers upwards, through Lauren's dirty hair to rub his scalp a little. She remembers as a child, her mother used to do this sort of thing for her when she was stressed about her studies; it had always done well to calm her.

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AU: 1 BROTHER

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SORRY FOR ALL THE EDITS #rpingwithjaz

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typo central

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