Archive of Our Own ^beta

Daniel doesn't remember what the policeman looked like. He knows what the policeman looked like--he's seen the papers, watched the news, the secret Sean hid so carefully popping up everywhere once he knew where to look--but he doesn't remember actually seeing him, even though he must have.

No matter how hard he tries, the memories of the day Dad died vanish into the gaping maw of screeching tires, slamming door, a voice barking step away as Brett heaves on the ground. After that is darkness and noise until he wakes up in that forest, pillowed under Sean's arm, Sean's heart humming painfully loud right next to his ear.

The policeman's name was Kindred Matthews, and he had a sister, and he shot their dad, and Daniel smashed his head open against the concrete. Sean insists, over and over again, that it was an accident, Daniel didn't mean it, it wasn't his fault .

"I promised I'd never lie to you again," his fingers comb through Daniel's hair, soft and painfully tender. "You didn't mean to hurt him, enano."

Sean's not lying, but he's wrong. It's funny, realizing that Sean can be wrong about things, really wrong, not just wrong about little stuff like who deserves the last Chock-o-Crisp or Minecraft being better than skateboarding.

He's wrong, because Daniel's felt the power, now, the way it bubbles and dribbles through him, spilling out in a rush. It's like Little Red Riding Hood, but he's got a wolf inside him instead of the other way around, scratching and clawing at his insides, sharp-toothed, hungry.

The wolf wanted the man in the gas station to let go of his arm, and the man let go. The wolf wanted to destroy the TV for saying those terrible, terrible things, and the TV was destroyed. The wolf wanted his big brother to be scared, and his big brother was. The wolf wanted to rattle the world at its foundations, rock it to the bone, make it all stop, and--

and--

The TV says the policeman died instantly, and part of Daniel feels disappointed about that. Then he hates himself for feeling disappointed, because it's awful, awful, to want someone else to suffer, even if that someone else did a terrible thing. Even if that someone else was going to do other, equally terrible things.

After all, the policeman would have shot Sean. Daniel knows that, he knows what policemen can do to boys his age, he's heard the stories, the warnings Dad used to give them. He didn't really understand it until he realized what happened to Dad, because on TV the policemen were always the heroes, the ones swooping in to save the day.

The policeman had shot Dad, because he thought Dad was dangerous. He would have shot Sean, because he thought Sean was dangerous, too. And even if he hadn't shot Daniel after, there would have been no living after that, not really.

Daniel thinks of himself watching Dad fall, thinks of the gun, thinks of how desperate he would have been to make it stop, stop, please stop. So the power must have come to save him, lashing out like a big heavy hand come to wipe the policeman away.

He killed the policeman. Maybe part of him wanted to kill the policeman, to avenge their dad, to save Sean. Maybe it was just like a rock, floating in the air--all down to wanting something so very badly the world stopped making sense for it.

Is it bad, to kill someone for someone you love? He thinks of The Princess Bride, salty-buttery popcorn, his father and brother tucked on either side of him as swords clanged on screen. Inigo Montoya had killed the man who killed his father, and Wesley had killed Vizzini, to save Buttercup. They were heroes.

But killing is bad, Daniel knows that. He misses Dad so much he can hardly breathe sometimes, and he knows that the policeman's sister must miss him, too. In real life, killing is bad, even if it was an accident. He shouldn't do it again, it's wrong.

And yet. And yet he thinks about it, sometimes. He thinks of the man who locked Sean up, left him bruised and limping and hollow-eyed. He thinks of the strangers Sean vanishes with, coming back with a clump of filthy dollar bills in his white-knuckled grip. He thinks of the other policemen hunting them, he thinks of the reporters calling them monsters, he thinks of fucking Brett in the hospital where everyone feels sorry for him, he thinks--

Those are bad, awful thoughts he's thinking. Daniel burrows his face in Mushroom's fur or presses his face to Sean's side, breathing just a bit too hard, trying to push the thoughts out before they got stuck in him for good. Shaking until Sean notices, and Sean is so good at noticing things now, so much more attentive than he was before, so tender it makes Daniel want to scream.

"It's okay, cub," Sean always whispers, weaving his fingers through Daniel's hair. "You're safe." He'll take Daniel in his arms and tell the wolf story and Daniel wants to be a pup again, small and toothless in his brother's arms, but he can't.

He killed someone for his brother. They don't talk about it, but he knows it. Sean's hurt people for Daniel, punched Brett, kicked that old man, but Daniel's killed someone for Sean. Could he do it again? Will he have to? Does he want to?

Is that what the power's for? Because he doesn't know what the power's for, if it even has a purpose at all. Sean says it doesn't, it's just a trick of fate, and maybe he's right, but maybe he's not. Maybe he's supposed to do good with it, save people, be a hero.

But heroes don't run from the cops, or kill them. Heroes sacrifice themselves and the people they love to do the right thing. And Daniel doesn't want to sacrifice Sean, or Mushroom, or anything, ever again, not after how much it hurt to lose Dad. Does that mean he's not a hero? And if he isn't, what is he?

"You're not a monster," Sean told him, like it's that simple. True, Daniel doesn't feel like a monster--he doesn't really know what a monster feels like. Maybe monsters feel like they want to rip apart the people who hurt them and their brothers, maybe monsters want to sink their teeth into their brothers and never let go. Daniel doesn't want that.

Maybe monsters only stop being monsters if you scrape all the monstrous stuff out of them, leave them clean and hollow and distant as the Jesus painting on Dad's wall. Daniel doesn't want that, either.

He can't stop thinking about it, even at night, tucked up in Sean's arms with Mushroom snoring between them. The fire is dying low and the wind is howling outside and when Daniel blinks he sees pictures of the policeman, he sees his father's smile, he sees--he doesn't know what he sees. It's too scary for words.

Good thing his big brother is here, looking after him. Sean, so close and soft and gentle Daniel wants to crawl into him and never come out. Be the wolf in his brother's belly, all bared teeth and bristling fur, ready to ward off any monster who tries to peel away Sean's pelt.

I'd kill for you, he mouths against Sean's sleeve, lips moving slowly, gingerly, questioningly. The word tastes like strange dark things and he licks their lips, trying to swallow them back up.

He can't, of course. There's a dead man outside their house and blood cooling on Dad's chest and a whole country coming to eat them both alive. They're coming for Sean because they think he did what Daniel did, they think he killed the man Daniel killed. They're coming to take him away somewhere and hurt him forever, unless someone stops them, and Sean can't stop them.

And Daniel...maybe Daniel can't stop them either. And maybe he can and that's the wicked, most terrible thing of them all. Makes him squeeze his eyes shut and press closer to his brother, breathing him, poor Mushroom squeaking with how close Daniel's pushing towards Sean Sean Sean.

He barely knows how to live without Dad, he doesn't know how to survive without his brother. He doesn't want to learn how.

I'd kill for you, he mouths again, and he's not sure of it, not by a long shot. But he thinks he could be, if Sean led the way, showed Daniel like he showed him with a sneaker in that awful man's stomach. If Sean was there, believing in him, needing him as badly as Daniel needs him, as badly as a princess needs a hero to save her.

He reaches up, gently weaving his fingers through his brother's hair. "It's okay," he whispers, quiet as the wind in the trees outside. "You're safe."

Sean stirs slightly, but doesn't wake. Daniel lets his eyes slip shut, dreaming of dead policemen and dead fathers and brothers always at his side, dreaming of running through the night with his fangs bared.

In his dreams, he’s brave enough to know exactly what he’s doing, to do it without hesitation. In his dreams, he sets them both free.