Itās a strange realization that for once she doesnāt know what to expect from her brother. She knows him better than anyone, but this time sheās left still and uncertain, an uncomfortable amount of guilt churning in her stomach, even with more logical thoughts swearing there isnāt much she has to be guilty for. She shouldāve contacted him sooner. She shouldāve fought harder. Maybe if she had than it wouldāve left her alone sooner, instead of rendering her nothing but a vessel for some cosmic chess game.
She canāt look at him anymore, gaze dropping to the ground instead of the face of her brother. Zeke Bishop, a man sheād placed on a pedestal, gazing up at him with the kind of hero worship that was supposed to be reserved for angels. And maybe thatās why she was chosen, some petty vengeance for the blasphemies of a family constantly plagued by demons.
It shouldnāt startle her when his hands settle on her shoulders, but it does, a sharp intake of breath before heās pulling her into a hug. A thing she returns only weakly at first, arms wrapping around his midsection as his chin settles against the top of her head.
āDonāt,ā she tells him quietly.Ā āPlease. Donāt apologize.āĀ And maybe it shouldnāt surprise her, because after the words leave his lips itās exactly the kind of thing she shouldāve expected from him. Taking that blame on himself, even if there isnāt any to pass around. What could either of them have done? Against an angel? Against the divine? Even now she struggles with the thoughts whenever they filter past that wall sheās built up around the memory, something awful and poisonous in the realization that sheād probably done more good as a puppet than she has in all her years as a hunter.Ā Ā
Itās then she finally settles into the hug, pressing her face harder against his chest and letting older memories filter in. Of being a child, small and scared, and finding nowhere else as safe or as in her brotherās arms, that quiet strength surrounding her.
He canāt help but be sorry. Itās in his nature to feel as though he should be the one to carry the burdens that their life had thrown at them, thankful she was too small to remember their father and how heād changed so suddenly, thankful that the gun that had killed their mother had been in his hands. He was the one that was supposed to go through the motions of being a Bishop first, not Zoe and thereās a curse upon his breath as he continues to stare down the sky, as though it would make a difference.Ā
And he knows that perhaps thereād been nothing he could do, for how does one bargain with an angel? If demons didnāt care what their host thought, what made something of the Divine any different? It leads to questions about those within the group who had such gifts and how much they truly were in control, and why Zoe didnāt have that option either.
Zeke keeps it to himself for now, though.
Perhaps itās a conversation to have with someone else. Someone who wasnāt so close.
āHow long?ā the hunter then asks, his voice so gentle it he hardly sounds like himself.Ā āWas it the full two years? Or longer?āĀ
Because if it wasnāt, it begs the question to why she didnāt call. Why she didnāt try to find him, too. Of course, perhaps thereād been fears or something alike to it, but a part of him couldnāt entirely understand, couldnāt begin to process it.Ā
Heād of been there.
She had to know that.
