Annabelle Blishwick (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
forkedroad) wrote2017-01-27 05:01 pm
forkedroad) wrote2017-01-27 05:01 pm
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.
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.
typo central
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.
Re: typo central
"Please don't cry. He knew already."
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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."
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"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.
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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."
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"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."
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"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."
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"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.