Kaz’s words lash out, like a thorny whip meant to tear into their skin and make them bleed. Except… they already have been bleeding. For years ever since he had narrowly avoided death, only to wake up and discover his brother gone without a trace. He had tried searching for him, desperately reaching out for the one that had always been there, only for nothing to respond no matter how he called and screamed. Eventually someone had answered their calls but it hadn’t been Kazimir that came but rather someone else entirely — grisha that belonged to a palace in a far off country.
At first he hadn’t been very cooperative, Cassius had kicked and yelled, lashing out at the people trying to help him with everything that he had. He hadn’t wanted to leave, because what if his brother happened to come back for him and he missed him? He never would have been able to forgive himself if that happened, but the grisha trying to haul him off had told him that they were simply trying to help him, that there was no one coming back for him, and something in Cas broke.
They hadn’t fought back after that, not outright anyway. A bitterness had blossomed forth after that — at the brother that abandoned them and towards the people that took them away too. It had taken root in his heart, made him distant and quiet as he was thrust into an unfamiliar world with unfamiliar people and a language he barely understood a word of. He ached for home but he had just been a boy, how could he have possibly found a way back with no money and countless dangers such as The Fold and slavers between him and there?
Still, he had tried, running from the Little Palace several times seeking a way back home so that he could search for all that he had lost. One time he had been caught by witch-hunters and in the struggle one of them had cut him across the throat with their weapon. He’d have bled out if not for the timely arrival of the grisha that come to collect them and the healer amongst them, but still they were left with a shiny scar across their throat.
He had fought, had seen war, and the horrors of the fold more than he cared to recall. Their experiences weren’t the same as Kaz’s and perhaps their twin is right in that regard — that they aren’t the same. Not anymore, maybe they never had been, really, truly.
But that didn’t mean he hadn’t done things, that he hadn’t suffered too.
In moments Cas is on their feet too, staring their brother directly in the eye, their chin held high despite the viciousness that Kaz is burning them with. Mutedly he realizes how tight his hands are clenched too, his palms stinging from where his nails dig into the skin. “No, I can’t imagine the things that you have done, but neither can you. You have no idea what I’ve been through, what I’ve endured after you left me. Yet here you are acting as if only you have suffered— well guess what? You aren’t.”
A pause, silence stretching between them as something worn and bitter settles upon their face. “Maybe you’re right, maybe I am a fool for thinking perhaps we could find some common ground again. So why are you still here Kazimir?”
why was he here? –––– he didn’t know. part of him still longs for the moment of reunion he’d been longing for; the moment where they fling into one another’s arms, cry for the loss they’d suffered, & come together again stronger, closer than they’d been before [ . . . ] he’d known better, yet hope was a monster of its own, digging its claws in his chest & latching itself to his heart, festering there until it was all kaz could think of. it was a foolis thought, a dream that belonged to the naive boy he’d once been, the boy who fell for jakob hertzoon’s tricks, who believed that life would be better in ketterdam, the boy he’d promised himself he would never be again. stupid. kaz brekker was not someone meant for things like hope. kaz brekker was meant for death & destruction, for cruelty & coldness & whatever other monstrous thing the barrel demanded as a sacrifice to survive. like calls to like : there would be nothing but misery.
he feels the hot rush of shame color his cheeks, embarrassment flooding him at cassius’ words. why was he here? he hadn’t wanted a fight ––– he’d come here with the intentions of reuniting with his brother, finally filling the part of him that had gone missing the day his siblings had died. so what had happened? why does anger flood through him, clouding whatever feelings of joy he’d felt ‘pon seeing his brother again? was kaz truly so cruel as to push away the first good thing that had come into his life in months? was he so beyond repair he’d ruined his chances of rebuilding their relationship before it even had a chance to begin again? he watches his brother, his chin raised in defiance as he spits words every bit as vile as kaz was, & feels the unmistakable feeling of recognition. for the first time in their lives, kaz sees himself in cassius : a boy still, wracked with emotions he didn’t yet have names for, feelings he couldn’t control, nowhere to call home. like calls to like.
❝ left you? ❞ anger is my friend. she is a better lover than despair. it rises again, a welcomed respite from the feelings of sorrow & confusion. anger at cas, at this place, at jordie & pekka rollins & every other bastard responsible for making kaz what he was today [ . . . ] the kind of monster who spat cruelties at his brother, the only family he’d known, yet who feels tears prick in his eyes when cas speaks against him. ❝ i didn’t leave you, cassius ––– i saved myself. i did what i had to do. ❞
he doesn’t mention that he’d thought cassius was dead. he doesn’t mention the cold, clammy feeling of cas’s hand in his own, their fingers limp, his pulse weak. he doesn’t mention how he’d struggled for hours to push away the bodies that lay atop each of them, how he’d barely had the strength in his struggle with his sickness to save himself [ . . . ] how he had forced himself to try to save cas too, pushing & pulling at the corpses around them until he’d pulled cas from the pile, only to realize that kaz wouldn’t have the strength to carry both of them to shore. he doesn’t mentioned that he’d prayed for hours while clutching to cas’s hands, begging the saints for someone to save them, only to be met with the sounds of the gulls mimicking his cries. ❝ i’ll go if that’s what you want. ––– clearly i’m not welcomed here. ❞ yet [ . . . ] he doesn’t turn to leave. a silent plea : ask me to stay.