âNo,â he said, softly, looking at the other man with all the regret in those expressive blue eyes of his, âto be a monster.â Aiden could only imagine what his brother had gone through after he survived that attackâ it might very well have been worse that he survived, cursed as they were now. To think back on how difficult it had been for himself after he got attacked and turned, having literally nobody else there to help him get through that first transformation or properly teach him ways of control⌠To this day, Aiden struggled with it, the transformation wasnât any less painful or dreaded, and the younger man thought himself nothing less than a Monster everyone else should keep a wide berth of. He attacked his own family, for Christâs sake. It was amazing he had managed to go the last fifteen years without hurting anyone else that way. But, to know all this, meant Booker had been sentence to the very same fateâ heâd been alone, without anyone to help him cope through any of it. If Aiden had known, if he had stayed.. They would have been in the same boat, sure, but at least it would have been together.
The younger dropped his gaze, looking away in shame. Aiden asked himself that question all the timeâ why hadnât he told any of them? Why didnât he ask for help? If he had just changed one thing, one minor decision⌠âI didnât know how to explain it,â he confessed, feeling as if that wasnât enough of a reason but it WAS the reason, âbecause I healed so quickly.. and just..â That was it, that was the entire reason. It had scared him, the entire attack and the fact the wound from it had healed over within days, the scars of it the only thing he could have pointed to for proof. They wouldnât have believed him, probably. âIâd never mean that,â he told Booker sincerely, earnestly, the promise of it in his voice, before Aiden tacked on in a rare, former glimpse of himself that hadnât peaked through in who knew how long now, âeven though you guys were a pain in the ass.â It was to ease the moment, pepper it with some of that classic humor the Gatlin men used on everything whenever something got too heavy.
There wasnât much choice but to look Booker in the eye as the man grabbed his face, forcing their gazes to lock, and the honesty to come. Aiden didnât need to hear any of thisâ he already knew what it would have been like, because he had gone through it too. Only difference between them is he woke up with blood on his hands and no chance to fully process anything that happened before the neighbors set the town after him, calling for his death. He had run, out of fear, out of grief. But there were times Aiden wished he hadnât, and had let them enact the revenge his own family would never get the chance to. To this day, the man still didnât fully recall the events of his first transformation; his mind, perhaps, had intentionally blocked it out and they were blank spaces of something happening. They came alive in his nightmares, though. Those blank spaces filled in with gory detail and was the reason he tried to numb it out through liquor on the daily. There was never any certainty if those nightmares were actual memories or just his brain painting the worse possible scenario imaginable.
He didnât blame Booker for being unable to go back in the home. Aiden probably would have had it demolished, trying to erase the horrors of what it got stained with. And he didnât blame the man for hating him for so long, either. Did he still? He should, yes, but god, the amount of hope there that he wouldnâtâ didnât. Itâd been a long time since he felt hope for anything but it was there, fresh, threatening to suffocate him with how much he wanted Bookerâs forgiveness. As Booker brought up their parents, it only made the younger manâs eyes water all over again. Jason had tried to tell him before that surely, his family would have understood and forgiven everythingâ that his parents had loved him, no matter what. It always went in one ear and out the other because Jason hadnât known his family, couldnât know anything of what theyâd think or say of it. Booker, though⌠It meant everything coming from Booker.
Like some balm slowly being rubbed in to ease all the aches and pains.
After a long time spent suffering.
Booker said they wouldnât hate him, none of them.
He was his big brother, what he says, goes.
Wiping at more tears, Aiden gave a shaky breath and an even more tremulous nod of the headâ not quite able to formulate words right then, but he wanted Booker to know he had heard him. And he was listening. He took several deep breaths, trying to calm himself down to be of any use here. Heâd dreamed so long of all the things he would say to his family if he got a chance to see them again, and now he was clamming up and sobbing like a bitch. âNo, thatâll never happen, not again,â Aiden finally got out, fiercely insisting this as he grabbed his brotherâs shoulders. Swearing that he wasnât going to let the other out of his sight again. Never would have let it happen in the first place, if heâd known any one of them had life still inside. Aiden would have carried them on his back if necessary.
đđđ  đđ˘đđ  đđđđđđđđ despite hard features.  âdo you think that?â booker wondered, not oblivious to the notion.  âthat iâm a monster because iâm a werewolf?â if heâs a monster for anything, let it be the fact that up until this moment they were rooted in, booker  had all but given up. his fingers were white knuckled but barely hanging on to anything he could find.  âor because you made me one? because iâll remind you that if you hadnât turned me, i wouldnât be here to kick your ass.â the last bit sounds far more lighter than booker had realized his voice could be. itâs easier than saying heâd be dead had he not had a way to latch onto life whether he wanted to or not.
booker pushed him, a nudge of the sorts in response to his brotherâs own humor but his hands still found a way to grasp him to keep him from going too far.  âhad to be.â he laughed lightly. it didnât hurt so bad that time. it eased, surprisingly.
the truth hurt to say out loud especially after all this time but as booker held his brother, and forced him to hear what he had to say, it felt like waves of relief he didnât know was possible. mom and dad would never hate him. james? might of been irritated all to hell but booker knew if heâd been here, james would be the first to hit them and tell them to stop being so dramatic. james in his own little way would tell them to get the hell over it; theyâre family no matter what. maybe theyâd throw each other around, break some stuff, but at the end of it theyâd be holding beers and telling each other to shut the fuck up. Â
ânever again,â booker promised him before pulling him into another big hug.  âcanât get rid of me kid. canât get off this island anyway.â
