❨ closed for @beauhargreeves ❩
Silence comforted him in the night. As Lucy excused herself after hours of helping him to track down their siblings, as their mother mourned alone in the static of her room — Cain sat in the foyer, on a chair built from memories. Ghosts roamed the halls, but he didn’t address them. They didn’t speak to him.
He watched the door with clenched fists, one leg shaking nervously. The scars on his back stung against the velvet of his shirt; the result of taking to the sky with his metal wings in a brash attempt of processing his grief. Even miles above that mansion, where the clouds became little more than mist, he did not find peace.
Perhaps it was impossible, or maybe he was just searching in the wrong place. He kept his eyes focused on the clock on the wall, on the endless dance of its hands. Cain never thought to look within himself for the answers. Soon, his family would arrive — and he wouldn’t be on his own, with only ashes and regrets and strangers to keep him company. He latched onto that hope.
Then, moonlight; and in walked his only brother, dyed silver and taller than he remembered him being. He sat up, coming to life as the stone of his features gave life to pleasant surprise. “Beau?” he asked, hesitantly, as if he was unsure. It had been years since they had last spoken. Who they used to be were now shadows in the background, a broken bird and a puppet left abandoned.
“Hey, Zombro.” He smirked at the nickname and stifled a weak laugh, amused by how familiar it felt. It was like time stopped in that moment, retraced its steps. And maybe they were those same boys again, before everything fell apart and before tragedy made its home in their bones. He ignored the ache as he hugged Beau, blocking out the memory of bleeding out on a table and the miracle that couldn’t be performed.
“It’s, uh— it’s nice to see you.”
