30 Days - Denial

[felicitygs]

 “Lucas?”

 

He draws his attention away from weave and tangled thread, from edges that are tearing and fraying, from trying to focus on the detail he has so long ignored so as not to go mad, and looks at Terrence.

 

“Is everything alright, brother?” Terrence asks, still in the doorway. It is odd, seeing his bear of a brother looking worried, almost small with how his shoulders are drawn in and biting his lip. “Am I interrupting something?”

 

How odd, Lucas thinks, that they all have been treading as if on glass around him lately. He wonders what caused the change–

 

(no, stop, do not hurt them, what do you want, tell me)

 

–but there has been nothing of late to warrant such concern. Nothing at all.

 

“No,” Lucas says. “No, nothing important. I was only checking how the Weave has been holding. What is it?”

 

Terrence sighs and comes in, sitting down by Lucas on the bed. Still worried, Lucas notes analytically, and tries to figure out from that how best to act. Probably some detail Terrence has caught on, it is not unusual for his brother to worry so about the small things.

 

“We are worried about you, since the Deeps.”

 

“You’ve been worried about me,” Lucas corrects.

 

His brother’s face flickers with a dozen emotions that Lucas cannot follow, all too fast, too small, and it makes the Weave around his brother ripple as if a soft sigh has brushed against it.

 

“I have, but I am not the only one. Anthony does as well, you know. And Natal–”

 

“Do not talk to me of her,” Lucas snarls, slamming into Terrence and pinning him down. Terrence holds his hands out, and other than the slight widen of his eyes he does not do anything else. Only waits. Lucas draws in a breath–

 

(not his fault, not not no, she knew, if she had simply stuck to the plan, he had tried, he could have gotten them out again, she did not trust him, just like everyone else, of course, no matter what pretty words)

 

–then another, leaning back and letting go of Terrence’s throat.

 

“She would worry too,” Terrence says softly.

 

“She would pretend.” Lucas draws into himself.

 

“No,” Terrence says. “What, do you think this your fault? That she did not listen to spite you?”

 

Lucas grits his teeth and tries to calm how he shakes. It doesn’t matter what Natalya would think or why she did what she did, they have what they need.

 

Terrence doesn’t say anything else, and Lucas hopes he has done and said what he needs to to settle his brother’s worry and be left alone already.

 

Except, it seems, not, no, only the opposite reaction: Terrence draws close again and wraps his arms around him, as if Lucas were still a boy, still only seven and crying over how the Weave cuts his hands and the other children calling him thread-cutter where Terrence cannot hear.

 

“I know,” Terrence says, “you have never lost anyone before. It is very hard, isn’t it?” There is grief in Terrence’s voice, and Lucas thinks it must be for more than just Natalya; it has the ache of something old, something worried over and turned constantly, and he has heard it before.

 

For him, Lucas realizes with dull shock.

 

“I am fine,” Lucas tells Terrence, because he does not know any other word for what he is, for the feeling that is twisting around his heart, that feels like he has shoved his hands as deeply into the Weave as he can and been cut to quick for his trouble. Frightened, perhaps, because it reminds him of fleeing danger, but there is more to it to that, parts and details he has never needed to know before and so does not have name for.

 

“It is called grief,” Terrence says, as if he can sense Lucas’ confusion. Perhaps Terrence can. He has always understood Lucas as few others do.

 

“Grief,” Lucas echoes. “What is there to grieve for?” His voice grows angry, brittle, and he pushes away from Terrence’s embrace. “Nothing, it is her own fault, if she had simply stuck to the plan, she’d still be here! It’s her own fault, it is, she did not trust me, just like the rest of you, not trust that I could see what needed to be done and do it!”

 

“We do trust you,” Terrence says. Lucas stops, staring at him. “We do. But some of us love you, as well, and would not see you hurt more than you must be. She did this for you, Lucas.”

 

“She did not!” he shrieks, tackling Terrence again, tearing and clawing at him to get him to be silent, because if she did then Clint is right, this is Lucas’ fault, and he cannot cannot cannot hold lives in his hands he cares for, cannot have single threads that matter more than the whole cloth.

 

Terrence is larger than him and has always fought more, and despite how Lucas fights and spits and struggles, eventually Terrence has him pinned in his arms, holding him and rocking him, murmuring quietly in his ear.

 

“I didn’t mean for this,” Lucas sobs, curling into Terrence’s arms. “I did not, please, I did not, I cannot, let me go home, I do not want this, I cannot do this, please, please, I am sorry.”

 

“It is okay, Lucas,” his brother says, rocking him against his chest. “It will be okay. You did nothing wrong. It is no one’s fault what has happened.”