for @cavennmalore I was your secret Santa!
It started with a broken vase.
It started with a locked door.
It started with a loveless match.
It started with a cruel, cunning woman.
It started with an arrogant, gullible man.
It started with a secret organization.
It started with two, really.
Keefe should know better by now. It’s been two months since moving to Splendor Plains. It was so easy to fall for things like Elwin’s gentle hair ruffles and friendly shoulder pats. It was different than Candleshade. Different than his father.
He had done different before, had survived different before. But different didn’t mean safer, didn’t mean it couldn’t be ripped away. It just meant a new battlefield, a new threat to avoid.
Elwin was not Cassius. That had been obvious since Keefe had gotten into his first fight. A butterblast and bruise cream had replaced the usual harsh words of disappointment. It had felt weird at first, but the infirmary o had become a welcome reprieve.
So he may have instigated a few fights. Or many. Who could blame him? The look on his father’s face was worth the one on Elwin’s. Sympathy replaced that of harsh criticism. Elwin had once told him that Keefe could come around whenever he wanted, not just when he was injured. He had shrugged it off. No one had ever wanted him around before. Elwin was just doing his job, it meant nothing that part of it meant being nice to him.
It wasn’t like Keefe shouldn’t be grateful. He had a good family. Really. His parents weren’t nice by any means. But nice parents didn’t matter. They made sure that he was raised properly, not letting even a hair be out of place. Their names didn’t end up caught up in gossip. That was better than that Wylie kid.
He had parents, and he shouldn’t complain about them. Their punishments were more than fair. The harshest ones were being locked in his room for the night, always being let out for school the next morning. He would miss a single meal, which wouldn’t kill him. The comments made about expecting better were more than well deserved. The long gone infractions being used against him years later was par for the course. It was all normal parent stuff.
Never mind he didn’t remember the last time his dad had touched him, other than to keep him in check. Never mind that his mom would apologize for him, explaining how it was always Keefe’s fault Cassius had gotten mad for a spilled glass. He was fine, his family was fine. Everything was fine.
The Vackers were more than fine. It ached to see Alden hug his children. To see him give out love like it kept him alive. Della had fussed over Keefe, as if he belonged with them. They worried about him, and agreed with him whenever he complained to Fotz about his parents. The gentle encouragements to stay for dinner had almost seemed real.
Not that any of it was actually. Their friendship was fabricated. The Vacker family was built on lies and secrets. His own family was a plot for him mom’s schemes. Any love they may have had an act for her genetic experiments.
Elwin was different. He never judged, even when he rightfully should’ve. His touch was gentle, even when Keefe flinched away from it.
It wasn’t like his parents never touched him, or were abusive. Keefe still remembered him mom’s cold grip, digging into his shoulder when he said something stupid. Or the way his father pulled at him harshly whenever he dragged his feet.
But Elwin wasn’t like that. Everything from his smiles to his house were warm. It made Keefe want to relax, even when it made him mess up.
He should’ve been more careful. He was stupid for forgetting. One of the few things Elwin actually cared about, and Keefe had managed to break it.
It wasn’t fancy by any means. The vase was misshapen and garishly colored. His parents would’ve been disgusted by it. And yet Elwin loved it. Not unlike him.
It had been made by one of his former apprentices, back when they had been a level two. Elwin had told Keefe how similar they were to him. A tendency to get in trouble, and a habit of hiding out in the infirmary. It was clear how fond Elwin was of the memory, from the way he had smiled.
It had made Keefe proud then, to have made Elwin smile like that, even when he hadn’t actually done anything. He had never made his parents smile like that.
Of course he had to mess it up. What else could he expect?
Keefe had been going to his room after school. His bag had swung in just the right way, leaving it shattered in a million pieces. It had happened in an instant and he barely had time to process what was happening before it was over.
The floor rose to meet him.
Broken clay dug into his palms.
Blood puddled on the cold floor.
He desperately grabbed at the pieces.
He only succeeded in smearing them with blood.
Elwin had been so kind, so forgiving. When he had screwed up on a test, there was no yelling. When he had forgotten to clean his room. Whenever he ran off on Black Swan business. His first concern had always been Keefe’s wellbeing.
This would be the end of late night hot chocolate and talking through his deepest fears. No more resentment Elwin buried deep inside of him, completely hidden.
There were hands grabbing his shoulder.
There was a violent flinch.
There were frantic apologies.
There was calm nonsense words.
There was a firm grip on his wrist.
There was measured breathing.
There was his slowing heartbeat.
Elwin sat next to him, holding his hand. He kept exaggerating his breaths, letting Keefe follow. It took several minutes, in which Keefe refused to make eye contact. He kept his gaze firmly on the ground. On the shattered vase.
He still didn’t process anything Elwin said. Eventually, he was guided into standing up. Led away from his mess and to his bedroom. Elwin left only to get a bottle of some goo.
Blearily, the sensation of cold rubbing brought him out of his mind. Elwin had been applying a salve to his hands and arms. The coolness soothed the sting of the cuts.
Elwin was reassuring him. Telling him that everything was okay, that he wasn’t in trouble.
If only.
But Elwin didn’t lash out. Didn’t take advantage of Keefe’s trust. He swept up the remains of the disaster.
Keefe had started crying somewhere along the way. Salty tears giving way to quiet, hiccuping sobs. Instead of scolding him, Elwin held him. Let him bury his face in a soft shirt.
They both went to bed early, exhausted from the day’s events. Keefe stared at the stars on his ceiling, restless.
By all means, Elwin had every right to react worse than Cassius ever would. Keefe was not his son. He had no obligation. Keefe’s bed and home were an act of kindness. A pity for an unlovable child.
And yet Elwin loved him anyways.
