cribellate | Declan Lynch | The Raven Cycle

[ Matthew wants to believe him. The parts of Matthew that aren't yet dissolving want to believe him. Declan's holding him so carefully, making promises, but his little brother is being invaded, overpowered and torn apart, and little brother starts to cry.

Everything that makes him Matthew, his affection and trust and joy, the light that Ronan dreamed into him--it's all being attacked, twisted bit by bit into something vile. He still squirms weakly, but each breath is a gurgle in his throat and his round blue eyes are growing dull. ]

Ronan-- [ He whimpers the name of his other brother now, tears streaking his face. Somehow Matthew knows, whether it's that impossible connection between a dreamer and his creation or the voice of the demon in his head, like an unearthly swarm, reveling in its power and freedom to unmake them all at once.

Somehow he knows that Ronan is dying, too. ]

No, no no no, Matthew, don't leave me, don't-

[He was there, three days after their father died, in the supermarket with their mother, he was there when suddenly she reached out her hand to grab a shelf and he knew.

He caught her just before she hit the ground.

He was alone when she fell asleep, her fingers curled into the collar of his shirt for just a moment, he was alone when he lost his mother, too. He was alone when he carried her to the car and took her home, and then he was alone in a different way.]

Please, please please-

[He didn't beg then, Declan didn't beg like this, ever, but he begs now.]

Remember, Matthew, fight it, don't go, it's a one-two punch, it's a knockout, come on, you know how to fight, please-

God damn it, Ronan answer your phone-

[ Matthew hates it, he hates seeing either of his brothers upset, and when Declan begs him like this in a way that he's never seen before in his life it wrenches at every piece of him that's still intact and he tries, he tries--oh god, please, make it stop, he doesn't want to leave Declan either.

But it's getting worse. His fingers reach up to pull at his own hair, his ears, a pathetic attempt to silence the buzzing, only to come away smeared in more black.

It gets worse, when he stops crying, and then even more so, when his spine arches and his head lolls backward and he looks at Declan and for a heartstoppingly terrible moment doesn't know him.

But it doesn't get any worse than that.

Miles away, another boy falls to the ground, a king in his sacrifice. In the kitchen, Matthew slumps abruptly against Declan, going still except for the wild, exaggerated heaving of his chest, like a person who's been held underwater and then clawed their way back to air.

His eyes roll closed, the only sound in his ears is that of his own blood rushing through his head. ]

One-- [ He's exhausted, his voice slurring with fatigue, but he has to say it for Declan. ] Two punch.

[Declan lets out a cry, and then he really is crying, and laughing a little, that kind of crying that comes with an intense burst of emotion, more demonstrative than he's been in ages. He huffs his breaths and his laughs and his sobs.]

Jesus Mary, thank God-

[He pushes Matthew's hair away from his face, presses a real, honest to god kiss at his hairline, like their mother used to do.]

Are you all right?

What happened, Matthew, are you all right?

[ Matthew laughs weakly too, when Declan does, and after Declan kisses him, buries his face in the elder Lynch's shirt. He's too tired to open his eyes, but not too tired to cling to his brother, to reciprocate the affection, to press himself closer in a way that's asking for reassurance at the same time as offering it.

He's still here.

Words feel clumsy in his mouth but he makes an effort to answer, explaining what he can, slowly, to Declan's shoulder. ]

Don't know. It kept saying-- [ No, leaving that untouched for now. ] S'gone now, but--

Something made it stop.

[ Something-- Matthew doesn't understand, it's too complicated and he's still coming back together. But he doesn't think he fought it off all by himself, the way he was freed so completely and all at once. Something saved him. ]

Okay, okay-

[He'll call Ronan again in a little while. He'll call Ronan again when he knows this passed, he thinks, Ronan must be okay now too, right?

He really wishes he had real liquor in the house. That he was old enough to buy it.

He lifts Matthew up a bit.]

Come on.

Are you okay to stand?

[ Matthew attempts to straighten up when Declan lifts him, helpfully pulling his feet back underneath of himself to support some part of his own weight, though he mostly relies on his brother. ]

Yeah. I think.

[ Once upright, gingerly avoiding the pieces of broken ceramic on the floor and holding on to Declan with one arm, he uses the other to wipe his mouth; his face twists when he sees the black stain it leaves on his sleeve. ]

Gross.

[ A little shudder goes through him and he says it again-- ]

Gross.

[Declan watches this, impassively, his emotions under control for this moment.]

Go take a shower. I'll clean here.

[God, he needs just a moment to himself.]

[ Matthew nods; he doesn't so much desire to be alone right now but he does want this stuff off of himself, and to do whatever Declan thinks is best. The memory of his brother holding him and begging him not to leave clings to his mind, and Matthew instinctively wants to make things easy right now, to do whatever little thing he can to that end.

Everything else--even as much as there is--he sets aside, for now at least, as simply as a dream thing can.

Carefully, he lets go of Declan and heads for the hallway, still a bit shaky on his legs but not dangerously so. ]

[Declan rolls up his sleeves and starts cleaning - at least whatever this is cleans up easy-

-he's about three quarters of the way through it before he realizes he's crying again, that the terror he thought was gone is back and seizing in the base of his stomach. This is such bullshit. This is his father's fucking gift to him, he thinks; cleaning up when his little brothers almost die, being responsible for their secrets and their horrors, always being held hostage by his own fear that one day he'll wake up and he'll be alone.

He scrubs through it and finishes, wedging himself between the island and the counter, feet flat against the floor, his knees up. He's not allowed to be this. He's not allowed to be the one who falls apart. He doesn't have that luxury.

He holds his arms on his knees and hangs his head and doesn't notice that the shower isn't running anymore, that it hasn't been running for a while.]

[ He won't relive what happened in there on the kitchen floor, at least not from start to finish; once was enough, and he doesn't have the capacity to go through it again. But the event brushes his mind over and over, in bits and pieces as he scrubs his face and hair, and struggles mightily not to let himself doze off under the heated spray of Declan's expensive shower head.

Ronan... Ronan's fine; he's convinced. Whatever ended the attack on both of them had done a very complete, unquestionable job. Matthew does not fear a repeated experience either. It's over, over, over.

But Declan... When was the last time he'd seen Declan cry? Ever?

And then there's that other thing, but--

When he's finished he uses a towel to clear the steam from the mirror, watching his own face come into view. The reflection looks like him again, not the unsettling, black-mouthed, horror movie version of himself. He pushes the wet, straggly curls back from his forehead with both hands and leans closer, looking harder.

Maybe the thing that was bent on unmaking him, unmaking his brother, maybe it made a mistake.

Maybe he isn't really one of Ronan's dreams.

He brushes his teeth, twice, puts on fresh clothes, tosses the towel back over the rack to dry, and wonders, would Declan know? Would Declan know if he's real?

Eventually he pads back down the hallway, towards the kitchen, looking for his brother--and finds him likes this. ]

Declan?

[ His voice is soft, a little worried. Before Declan can get up, Matthew moves over and drops to his knees in front of him, putting his hands out and placing them on his brother's arms. He's real enough to do that much, at least. ]

Declan-- I'm fine, see?

[Shit-

He rubs his face, and considers lying - that stuff was corrosive, that's all, it's not you- but then he doesn't. He sits up a bit and reaches for Matthew and puts his arms around him, pressing his mouth just against the side of Matthew's wet curls.

God, he thinks.

God please never let anything like that happen again.]

[ Matthew leans in to the hug without a word, slipping his arms around Declan as well and holding on to the back of his shirt. He doesn't know what to say, so he doesn't say anything at first, but he needs this, too.

He closes his eyes, and after a few moments-- ]

Tell me a story?

[He goes quiet and shifts, so Matthew is between his legs. They're too old to be so close; but this is like when they were little. They used to sit like this back then, too.]

Once, there was a beautiful queen, all alone in a glen. She was beloved by everyone who met her, but her father was a terror, a giant who could jump from Ireland to Scotland in one bound.

[This is one of their father's stories, kind of. This is something Niall told Declan on a dark night drive, and Declan didn't tell him to stop.]

And then there came a man - clever and cunning. He heard about the queen but he knew that her father could gut him and eat him for dinner. So he used a secret magic his father taught him, and caught her in a web in a dream.

[ Matthew hasn't outgrown the closeness, and maybe he never will. Ronan dreamed him to be affectionate, unchanging, and that's what he is.

He settles in and listens quietly, picturing the characters in his mind as Declan tells him about them. Aurora is the queen, of course. The man with the secret magic is Niall--though Ronan is easier for Matthew to remember, so maybe he's actually Ronan. Matthew's imagination being a rather limited thing, the giant in his mind looks like no one, unworthy of note except for the white, tinted sunglasses. ]

In a dream, [ he echoes when the story comes to that part, opening his eyes again. He holds Declan just a bit more tightly. ]

What happened next?

He caught her, and snatched her up out of his dream and into the world, and she married him because he was so charming and so handsome, and he gave her three sons.

[He presses his face into Matthew's hair.]

But the giant followed them. And he told the oldest son, you have to protect them, and so he did.

And they moved to D.C. because it would be safer, [ Matthew improvises, a childlike interruption, his tone of voice betraying the smile that pulls at the corners of his mouth. He does particularly like stories about three brothers. And, unlike Declan perhaps, Matthew has no concerns about the oldest son's ability to do the job.

He doesn't think about the unfairness of it. Just about his brothers, who are always looking out for him. Always keeping him safe, being there--even tonight. Matthew doesn't know what it is to be alone, and that's because of Ronan, because of Declan. ]

Hey--

[ He shifts slightly, though his face remains hidden against his brother's shoulder. It takes him a moment to get his words in order. ]

Declan... Do you think it'd matter if one of the brothers had come from somewhere else?

[There's quiet. It's a long, measured quiet, and Declan pulls Matthew up, like they're still small, like sitting on Declan's lap isn't strange at all.]

One day, the oldest two brothers fought. This wasn't unusual, because the oldest brother didn't want to play, and the younger did. So the younger went to the land of the Queen and used the same magic to net a littler brother. One made of light, the queen's first and last son.

And he came back with him, but everyone loved him, and no one thought it was strange that he was still their father's son and their mother's son, even though he wasn't born just like the rest of them.

[Declan goes quiet. So quiet.]

Matthew, please don't be angry.

[ Matthew curls against him and listens to the rest of the story, which of course isn't a story at all anymore. At one point, at the exact moment when understanding drapes itself over him, he gives a shuddering sigh. It's true, then, it's true and his brother already knew about him.

He lifts his head, finally, meeting Declan's eyes again. ]

I'm not angry.

[ He's utterly sincere, reaching up to touch Declan's hair in the same way that Declan has often done for him in the past, to reassure Matthew. ]

You mean it-- That nobody thought it was strange? Mom-- And you?

God-

Dad was so happy. He was so proud.

[He remembers that. He was four, and he realized he would never be that. He would never be able to pull anything out of dreams. Ronan used to wake up with the most beautiful toys, cars that made noise and stuffed bears that walked and roared, and airplanes that flew on their own, but Matthew was the first person, Matthew was proof.

Declan realized how completely and totally normal he was.]

And mom loved you so much. No one ever thought you were strange, no one ever thought that about you.

[Declan is such a good liar, because while all of that is true, he manages to excise the bitterness that he was no one's favorite. That he was not fanciful or wondrous enough for their family. Not a dreamer or a dream. Just Declan. The conflict of being unmoored and unhomed at age 4 doesn't inch into his voice.

This is about Matthew.]

We loved you. All right? Always.

[ Matthew relaxes, utterly and completely. Declan's words unwind every concern that had wanted to knot inside him, smooth away every little niggling doubt. ]

Then I don't really care about it, [ he announces contentedly, unafraid of what he is, at ease with his own origin as simply as that. ]

I thought-- If you didn't know, I mean, I thought maybe-- it'd be weird. I don't know.

[ He shakes his head, and smiles at Declan like he realizes now it was foolish to be worried. To even consider that after everything, Declan might reject him because Matthew had come from one of Ronan's dreams.

It seems stupid now.

Declan may have been unmoored and unhomed, but because of him, Matthew never has been, even at the worst times. Declan has been his home, is his home now. ]

I love you, too.

It's not weird.

You're not weird.

[He smooths his hair down, nudges him up.]

I'm going to try and call Ronan again. You're all right? You feel fine?

[ Matthew obediently climbs out of Declan's lap and gets to his feet, much more steady on them than he was before his shower. He's all back together again, himself in every way and maybe a little more, now that he knows what that is. ]

Yeah, I'm fine. I promise.

[ And, just in case Declan is still worrying-- ]

I don't think anything else is going to happen.

Okay-

[He reaches for his phone, dials. Ronan doesn't pick up. He sighs and tosses it.]

If he calls you, let me know.

[And a pause.]

Do you want to go out? Let's go out.

I'll get my phone, [ Matthew offers, in simultaneous response to both the instruction and the question. Before he does that, he reaches up to touch his own hair, to see if it's dry enough to go out. Close enough. ]

Where do you want to go?

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