Chapter Text
Ronan pulled the hospital blinds open.
Searing, white light shot through the dark room and Declan coughed in surprise, slapping a hand over his eye. He groaned, “I’ve only the one eye, Ronan. Be gentle with it.”
Ronan ignored him, reaching up to unlatch the window. The safety lock didn’t allow it to open more than two inches, but the fresh air snaked in anyway, cold and sharp. He pulled the blinds open the rest of the way. Blue filled every spare inch of the square windows, apart from a little border of treetops at the bottom of the window. Henrietta was built flat and low—barely anything in town was bigger than two stories.
Declan let light through his fingers, still squinting.
“You’re going back tomorrow,” Ronan said, “Matthew’s moved your things into a ground-floor dorm. It used to be the teacher’s, but they relocated them. It’s a lot bigger.”
Declan hummed and leaned back into his pillows.
“Where’s your car?” Ronan asked, “I can bring it round.”
“It’s in storage,” Declan said, laying on hand on top of the other over his bottom ribs, “You know—I left it to Adam, in my will?”
Ronan stared at him, “You updated your will?”
Declan didn’t answer that. A deep sigh pulled out of him, and he sunk deeper into the mattress, “Come sit by me, Ronan. I don’t like looking into the sunlight.”
Guilty, Ronan lowered the blinds a little, until the light stopped shining directly on Declan’s face. Declan relaxed a little. His younger brother sat next to him, drawing close.
“There’s… some stuff I didn’t tell you,” Declan said, “about our family.”
Ronan swallowed thickly, “About dad?”
“Well, yes,” Declan said, “but it’s Matthew I wanted to talk to you about.”
Ronan frowned, “Matthew? What’s Matthew done?”
“He’s not Niall’s biological son,” Declan said. His eye drifted shut. “He’s a dream creature.”
Ronan took a moment to absorb that. It was easier than it might otherwise have been—after Aurora, it was easier to see dream creatures as living and truly animated. It sat oddly in his mind, “But he didn’t fade away, after dad’s death. Did Niall figure out something for him?”
“He’s not Dad’s. He’s yours,” Declan said, and his voice was low and rasping, “I was there. It was winter solstice’s night, and you always dreamed like you were possessed. Every night, I had to wake you up before you brought out something, so it wouldn’t hurt you. That night I didn’t, and what you brought out was Matthew.”
Ronan sat back. Matthew was his dream creature, as much as Chainsaw was. He rubbed his face. “Oh… wow.”
Declan didn’t respond. He adjusted his covers. Across his left wrist, the surgical scar was a thick white band as thick as a cable, marred by regular-spaced suture marks. The hand had grown stronger, but still shivered every time he tried to move something heavy.
“Will you tell me the rest of the secrets?” Ronan murmured.
Declan opened his eye a slit, “When I’m better, maybe.”
Ronan liked that. It was two promises rolled into one: I might tell you how it really was, and, I am getting better. He didn’t quite smile, but his expression eased and he un-balled his fists.
“I’m looking forward to getting out of here,” Declan’s eye closed again, “I’m quite an expensive patient, with all these sudden emergency surgeries. Three million isn’t as large as it sounds when you’re as sick as I am.”
“You can use all of it,” Ronan said, “I don’t care.”
“I know you don’t,” Declan rasped, “That’s why I have to care about it.”
Ronan watched his older brother, as his body relaxed. Outside, birds called to one another in squalling shrieks. Cars navigated the maze-like parking lot down below them, honking at the absent-minded pedestrians. Clouds shifted far above them, pulling apart like white cotton candy.
Through the thin hospital walls, Ronan heard the sharp cry of laughter from the next room. Declan, partly because he was always half-sedated, partly because he was always so tired, slept lifelessly. His body sunk like dead weight into the mattress, his skin pale and clammy, his single eye unmoving under its eyelid.
A pinch of panic sparked in Ronan’s heart and he leaned forward, shaking Declan’s shoulder.
“For fucks sake!” Declan croaked, eye snapping open, every remaining facial muscle used to frown, “Quit doing that all the time! I’m not about to drop dead.”
Ronan smiled slyly at him, “Just checkin’.”
*
The new dorm was utterly spotless. Declan felt guilty for the long streaks of dirt his two narrow wheelchair wheels were leaving on the polished wood flooring. Even with the relocation, the ramps were still fairly steep for him, and his arms ached.
“Declan!” Matthew bounced into view, utterly elated, like he hadn’t seen Declan only ten minutes ago when Ronan had dropped him off, “The pie will be another thirty minutes. I hope you’re really hungry, I went a bit overboard.”
Declan wasn’t hungry at all, but he smiled anyway, “Ravenous.”
*
Declan blinked his eye open, and for a moment wasn’t sure what woke him. The room was dark and warm, like the movie theatre on a summer’s day. With effort, he pushed himself up with his elbows—only to freeze.
Blue eyes watched him in the darkness, hawk-like. Matthew sat in the bed opposite him, leaning like a resting lion on his elbows.
“What are you doing?” Declan asked, unnerved.
Matthew smiled at him, the picture of innocence.
Declan gave him a flat look, “Stop being so creepy and go to sleep.”
“Aww,” Matthew rested his chin on his hands, “but I like looking at you?”
Declan threw a pillow at him. The throw was weak, and the pillow flopped to the floor in the valley between their beds, but Matthew snagged it up and rested his chin on it. Blue eyes stayed fixed on him. Declan sighed and rolled over.
*
Adam breathed through his thick scarf and watched bronze-coloured puppies bobble and tussle with each other. He wondered what it would be like to have that much energy. The puppies overflowed with it, even when they weren’t jumping around, they shook their little tails, yapping and bouncing on the spot. Their mother slept underneath the carnage. Often, her glossy sides were used as launching points.
The dog breeder leaned on the dark railing, “I think this litter would all be good as a companion animal. They may seem energetic now, but they’ll calm down a little as they grow. Though Setters are usually not picked for more sedentary lifestyles—are you sure you wouldn’t want a Basset Hound? They may be easier to train.”
“I think he’s got his heart set on an Irish setter,” Adam buttoned another tassel on his coat. He wished he’d made Ronan bring a coat with him, he could see goose-bumps all over his boyfriend’s pale arms. Ronan was occupied on the other side of the small paddock, poking his fingers into animal cages and grinning meanly when they tried to bite him.
“Well, if he gets it professionally trained there should be no issue,” the breeder said. She wore a thick, scratchy looking woollen coat, “Have you decided which animal you want?”
Adam shrugged, “It’s not really my decision.”
“Ah,” the breeder straightened up to address Ronan, “Sir—?”
“I’ve decided,” Ronan announced, looking up from the animal cages.
Adam padded towards him, followed by the breeder.
“This one,” Ronan jabbed a thumb towards one of the dogs in the smaller cages.
Adam shot him an exasperated look, but Ronan skilfully avoided meeting his eye.
“Are you sure?” the breeder frowned, “These animals aren’t actually for sale.”
“I don’t think your brother will find it as funny as you do,” Adam muttered to Ronan, who was still avoiding his gaze.
“I’ll pay extra,” Ronan promised.
*
“Oh, you brought Adam,” Matthew beamed at the two of them.
“Is that alright?” Adam asked, unwinding the scarf from his neck as he stepped into the dorm room. Ronan pushed past the two of them regardless, the pink dog carrier under one arm.
“It’s fine,” Matthew closed the door after them, “I made too much again.”
“Can we take leftovers?” Adam asked, brightly, “I really liked the tomato Ragu that—”
“Stop chatting like old ladies and come into the living room,” Ronan called behind him.
Adam raised his eyebrows but followed the Lynch brothers into the living room. It was a dark room decked out in luscious dark blues and blacks. A fire crackled in the hearth, making the room stiflingly warm. Declan looked half-asleep on the couch, his eye half-lidded behind his glinting glasses.
“Heyy, Dec-lan,” Ronan crooned, kneeling at the side of the couch. He set the dog carrier down next to him.
Declan rubbed his face and pushed his glasses onto his forehead, “You always sound so suspicious when you say my name like that.”
“More suspicious than he sounds the rest of the time?” Adam asked, genuinely curious. Declan grinned at him, tiredly.
Ronan ignored both of them and pulled the crate around, so the mesh-entrance faced Declan. The sound of claws scraping on the plastic reached Declan’s ears. He perked up. Ronan unlatched all but the last fastening.
“It’s not a cat, is it?” Declan asked, leaning forward.
“Better,” Ronan patted the roof of the crate, “Her name is Morrigan.”
The last latch was released, and a puppy bounded out, fur shining like fresh polished copper. For a moment, she was so fast and bouncing, that Declan couldn’t quite make her out in the gloom. Then he frowned, drawing himself up. He cast Ronan a disappointed look.
“Are you serious, Ronan?” Declan croaked.
“Why?” Ronan asked, utterly innocent, “What’s wrong with her?” He set the empty carrier on the couch.
Morrigan bounced around eagerly, her tail wagging as fast as the beat of insect wings. She had a bright, charming black eye that was slightly downturned at the corner, as if she was contemplatively melancholy. She sniffed the corners of the sofa fervently.
“The animal’s a cripple, Ronan,” Declan said, flatly.
“Declan!” Matthew gasped and dropped to his knees, slapping his hands around Morrigan’s precious little ears. Morrigan twisted her head to lick his fingers. “Language!”
“It’s a dog,” Declan glared at him, “it’s not going to be offended.”
“I don’t see the issue with having a handy-capable dog,” Ronan said, “I think you should be more open minded. I’m disappointed in you.”
“I actually hate you,” Declan gritted out.
Morrigan ducked out from under Matthew’s hands and ran her silky side against Declan’s stumps where they hung over the side of the bed. She was missing her right back leg, and on her small, cute little face, her left eye was missing in such a way that it made her look like she was permanently winking. She put her front paws on the corner of the bed, surprisingly stable on only one back leg. The little dog looked up at Declan with an expression of pure, animal adoration.
Declan’s heart twanged, just a little. Sparing Ronan a venomous glare, he caught Morrigan by the collar and pulled her into his lap. The dog put her paws on Declan’s collar bone and licked his ears.
“And they say his heart grew three sizes that day…” Ronan smirked.
“I’m going to throw something at you,” Declan pulled Morrigan’s nose away from his mouth to avoid a slobbery kiss.
“Sure, Dec,” Ronan rocked back on his heels, “you look really intimidating with that cute puppy licking your face.”
“I liked it better when we all hated each other,” Declan said, darkly. Matthew laughed.
*
Morrigan needed walking, so Matthew joined track again and took her with him. When she got tired, Matthew put her in a little baby carrier he’d bought from amazon, and her silky little head rested on his shoulder as he ran.
“Ronan shouldn’t have told the school she’s a therapy dog,” Declan said, when he saw Matthew come into the living room, “It’s dishonest. Besides, who would believe it? She’s a puppy, she’s not even house-trained yet.”
Matthew made a non-committal hum. He pulled the Velcro straps and loosened it enough to scoop Morrigan out from where she rested, sleepy and warm, against his chest. He laid the little red-brown puppy on Declan’s lap. Declan ran his fingers over the curve of her tiny skull. She sighed in her sleep, happy.
*
“Come on,” Ronan wrapped his arms around Declan, under his armpits, “Be brave. I won’t drop you.”
“Thanks,” Declan said, flatly, “It didn’t actually occur to me that you might until you said that.”
Still, Declan shifted his hands forward. His legs shook. His eye screwed shut with effort, but he managed, finally, shakily, to push himself onto his prosthetics. They were small and black and hard against his thick scar tissue. Ronan had dreamed them up to be impossibly stable, and they resembled nothing so much as the strong back paws of a black wolf. Declan’s full weight hit them in one shuddering moment, and they didn’t so much as wobble.
“Easy, easy,” Ronan said, “Just take it real—”
“Shut up,” Declan hissed through his teeth. His back spasmed with pain.
With Ronan’s strong arms around him, Declan’s legs still shook. They were doing a strange waltz, Declan grabbing fistfuls of Ronan’s shirt as his knees quaked. Lurching forward, Declan took two steps in quick succession, Ronan slipping backwards to accommodate him.
In that moment, pain vicious and spiteful through Declan’s spine, he hated Ronan with startling intensity. Ronan moved so easy, as if he were made of liquid, pouring himself into each step. He was like a shark slipping through a dark ocean. Even with Declan’s full weight on him, he didn’t even falter.
“Just a few more steps,” Ronan muttered in Declan’s scalp. If Declan could get enough air into his closing throat, he would have told Ronan to fuck off.
Somehow, Declan fell forward enough to complete another step. But now his legs were too far apart to pull his back leg with him. Dark mineral squeaked on the hard floors where he tried to wiggle his prosthetic forward. His shoulder shook. Pain ripped through his spine
and
suddenly Declan was on the floor. He blinked blearily up at Ronan, who was crouching above him, supporting Declan’s upper body with a hand around Declan’s biceps to stop his head from hitting the floor. Weakness dragged at Declan’s mind. His legs were spread-eagled out below him, his black prosthetics pointing in opposite directions.
“You passed out,” Ronan said, tonelessly.
Declan’s arms were really starting to hurt where Ronan held him tightly, “Gathered that.”
“Fuck,” Ronan gritted his teeth, “You can’t even walk.”
Irritation snapped like boiling oil in Declan’s chest, “Put me down.”
Slowly, Ronan lowered Declan to the floor. His head made light contact with the hard floor and he relaxed. Chill spread through his shoulders. Declan relaxed, just a little. A wave of fatigue crashed over him.
“I pushed you too hard,” Ronan said, leaving the apology off. He rubbed his knuckles.
Declan reached out a hand and beckoned to Morrigan, who was sitting obediently on her paw-patterned matt. She bounded towards him and began to lick every part of him she could reach. As he was lying on the floor, this ended up being a lot of territory. When she planted her small paws onto his cheek to lick his nose, Declan shook her off.
“Declan—” Ronan paused. He worked his jaw, “I still can’t believe that Dad would…”
“I don’t care,” Declan scowled at him, “I’m not fucking defending myself to you. You don’t have to believe—”
“That’s not what I meant!” Ronan snapped. He shifted away slightly, as if he thought Declan might smack him. Declan definitely felt like smacking him.
Morrigan had been startled by the raised voice and her tail had stopped wagging, hanging still like a paused metronome. Declan put his fingers in front of her nose and, delighted, Morrigan began to lick them, her tail starting to wag again.
“I just meant that…” Ronan said, “I can’t—I don’t see why he wouldn’t fix you. I mean, you’re… why wouldn’t he…”
“Oof!” Declan said, as Morrigan bounced onto his fragile stomach. She didn’t see the problem, wagging her tail steadily. She pushed her nose into Declan’s neck. Declan scratched her little soft chin.
Ronan sat down properly. The floors squeaked against his red All-Stars. He un-did the straps around Declan’s black prosthetics and slipped them off, leaving his bruises stumps on the cool wooden floor.
Finally, Declan said, “I don’t think it’s that simple, actually.”
“How do you figure?” Ronan asked.
“Well, is what you gave me like those,” Declan gestured at the prosthetics, “or is it more like Chainsaw? Did it just reverse my tumours, or is it actively working against them, preventing new ones from forming? Is it dead or is it alive?”
Ronan stared down at him, his eyes wide and dark. He looked a little frightened, “I don’t know.”
“Me either,” Declan said. Morrigan took him speaking as an opening to give him a slobbery kiss on the mouth. Declan spluttered and spat out fur, while Morrigan licked the wrist which was pushing her away.
“Shit…” Ronan rubbed his eyes, “So if I die, you and Matthew will both be…”
“Yeah, well,” Declan sat up and Morrigan slid into his lap, “now you know how I feel.”
*
Naomi looked up from her knuckles when the dinner arrived. She was acting surprisingly shy, her smiles always half-hidden behind her blunt fingers whenever Declan said something that amused her. She was dressed apologetically, in an old-fashioned smock-style dress which reached past her knees and wrists, patterned with small sunflowers.
“We shouldn’t really be doing this,” She said, for what must have been the tenth time, as a steaming plate of glistening steaks were placed before her by the smartly dressed waited.
A creamy risotto was placed in front of Declan and he tilted his head, repeating what he always reminded her, “You could have said no.”
Naomi considered that. Like all the previous times she’d considered it, she didn’t seem to reach a conclusion, only mentally pushed it away. “How is physical therapy going?”
“You should know,” Declan shrugged one shoulder. The waiters glided away. Warm light fell on them from the low lamps which hung over their booth.
“Pretend that I don’t,” Naomi smiled at him. She had a small, rosebud mouth, glossed the colour of a cherry-flavoured lollypop.
“Good,” Declan said, “I have a long way to go, and it’s rough going, but I’ve regained a lot of weight and my stamina is returning. Now that I’ve finished healing fully, I can start working on rebuilding my muscle strength. I’ve already begun small amounts of weight training.”
“That sounds promising,” Naomi’s knife squeaked as she cut into her meat, “any signs of relapse?”
Declan smiled. Naomi was very good at sounding deeply interested in learning things she already knew. She would have made a good politician.
“None,” Declan said, “I’m getting regular testing, but there’s not a whiff of relapse.”
“Schoolwork going well?” Naomi asked.
Declan saved himself from having to answer right away, by putting a forkful of risotto into his mouth. He chewed delicately and swallowed before answering, “As can be expected. I’ll need to stay in Henrietta another year to repeat the work I missed, but it’s not like I don’t have a good excuse for it all.”
Naomi smiled, “It’ll make a good entrance essay, if you have to write one.”
“You’re not wrong,” Declan took a sip of his wine, “I can only hope they'd accept me.”
Naomi’s eyes fixed on something behind Declan, and her smile became very fixed and false. Declan blinked at her. The mood was very tense, suddenly. Declan couldn’t turn around well in his wheelchair, but he tried to peer around the back of the high booth seating.
“Is that—” A familiar, overly loud voice called from behind Declan.
Declan quickly turned back around and pressed both hands over his face.
Matthew Lynch bounded to their table. He was dressed completely wrong for the establishment, in a ratty shirt and beaten up sneakers. He pressed both hands to the table, leaning over Declan. He fixed Naomi with a wild, excited look.
“It is!” Matthew barked, happily, “Wow, you look way cuter out of your uniform.”
Naomi was bright pink. Her earrings glinted as she glanced between Declan and Matthew.
“Matthew,” Declan said, removing his hands from his face, “is there a reason—”
“Mr. Lynch, it’s not…” Naomi interrupted, waving her hands. She seemed to run out of words, deeply embarrassed.
“Matthew!” Ronan called from across the restaurant. He was cutting through the crowd like a knife, towering over the old ladies and stooped waiters who were standing in his way.
Naomi looked vaguely ill when she saw Ronan. She slipped out from the booth, snapping her purse shut with trembling hands.
“Naomi,” Declan’s voice lost its venom, “Please excuse my brothers.”
“No,” Naomi shook her head, “My fault. This was a bad idea, I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry!” Matthew called after her, but the woman didn’t look back, the thin fabric of her sunflower dress rippling as she left the restaurant.
Ronan materialised above Declan’s shoulder, “Damn, was that your nurse, Dec? The one from your ward?”
Declan glared at him.
Ronan slid into the seat opposite him, which Naomi had just vacated, and rested his feet on the footwell on Declan’s wheelchair. He looked down at the stake.
“I can’t believe it,” Matthew sat next to Declan, “I can’t believe you are really picking up nurses when you’re sick.”
“Shut up,” Declan grumbled.
“Seriously!” Matthew exclaimed, a hand over his heart, “Practically on your deathbed! Please don’t use your powers for evil.”
There was a squeak of a knife on enamel.
“Oh my—Ronan!” Declan snapped, and when he said Ronan it sounded like you better not be doing what I think you’re doing, “Are you serious?!”
“What?” Ronan asked, a chunk of the steak halfway to his mouth.
*
A knocking roused him from a doze and Declan rubbed his eyes. He stretched and cracked his knuckles. Sleeping in his chair always left his back sore and slightly twisted, but he didn’t yet have the strength to do much about it.
“Huh,” Adam said, when Declan opened the dormitory door in his wheelchair, “Now I’m thinking—do you ever run over Morrigan in that thing?”
“Well… she’s very forgiving,” Declan said, measuredly.
Adam laughed. The star of the conversation bounced towards him and collided with his legs at high speed. Adam lifted the wriggling puppy into his arms, “How cruel you are, Declan.”
“I don’t have a choice,” Declan said, stiffly. He leaned forward to look past Adam, “Where’s Ronan?”
“Not here,” Adam took the car keys out from his coat pocket, “He sent me to take you to therapy. I’ve still got the BMW, though. It’s the only one of our cars that’s got a back big enough for your wheels. Do you need me to push you?”
“I’ll be fine,” Declan wheeled himself out of the front door and locked it behind him. Morrigan wriggled in Adam’s arms enough that he set her down and she bounced around his wheels. Apparently, she had not been run over enough to know how to avoid the tread of the wheels, and Declan pushed her away as best he could.
Adam had laid out six or seven mats which covered the gravel path to the back of the BMW which he had parked neatly at the end of the last one, the boot already open. The back seats were missing. The stupid lowrider modifications Ronan had bought last season to piss Declan off actually had a practical use, as Adam lifted Declan out of his chair and set him onto the floor of the boot.
“Sorry this is a little undignified,” Adam said, strapping the wheelchair onto the floor. He picked Declan back up and carried him around to the front of the car.
“It’s alright,” Declan said, and allowed himself to be manhandled. Adam was surprisingly strong, and Declan supposed all that mechanic work must have given him a bit of muscle, “Is Ronan not coming, then?”
“Oh, he is,” Adam set him down in the passenger seat, “He’s actually just re-sitting his English exam right now. I’ll pick him up later.”
Declan stared at him. For a moment, he was completely speechless. Adam picked back up the mats and slotted them into the back of the Beemer before closing the boot. He scooped up Morrigan and dropped her into Declan’s lap.
“I didn’t know about an English exam,” Declan frowned at him.
Adam put a finger to his lips, “That’s ’cause he doesn’t want you to know. Can you keep a secret with me?”
“Ah,” Declan said, “What’s one more?”
“Exactly,” Adam said, and shut the car door.
*
The party was, ultimately, too much for him.
It was fun, and lively, and energetic, and a year earlier, Declan might have thrived in that kind of environment. He still enjoyed it. Ronan’s friends were refreshingly un-Ronan-like that he found he actually rather liked them. Blue had the forethought to bring him an arrangement of brightly coloured eyepatches which she had embroidered with various patterns. None of which he would ever wear, but the gesture was still very touching.
The food was good. The conversation was dynamic, and he found he never needed to carry it or even think of topics. Ronan was a different animal when he was with them. Not the surly, angry creature Declan had been trying fruitlessly to tame for months, or even the cautious rough stray he’d become in the weeks following Declan’s recovery. Ronan around his friends was… almost happy. There was such a spark of amusement in his eyes when Richard Gansey flubbed up a punchline to a joke, or when Adam and Noah had an arm-wrestling contest that went awry when Noah’s arm became incorporeal. Seeing it soothed a part of Declan he didn’t even know existed, it put a balm on a little raw part in him.
Matthew did card tricks, which he had a devastating talent for. His only flaw was that he often got carried away, swinging his arms so widely the cards hidden in his long sleeves were visible for a moment. Occasionally he did tricks which required him to toss huge amounts of cards around Monmouth Manufacturing, tricks he had not counted on how difficult it would be to tidy up from.
Eventually, Declan wheeled himself a little further from the main crowd and leaned his head against his in-built headrest. Gansey had put the heating on as the day had dwindled into afternoon, and the warmth made Declan’s thoughts slow and contented. He closed his eyes.
Noah took several loaves of bread out of the oven. They were browned to perfection, the egg whites he’d applied gave them a gleam. Delicious, fresh-bread aroma filled the room. Blue was showing Adam something on a games console she’d stolen from Gansey, their heads were bent together conspiratorially.
“Hey, Declan,” Matthew rounded on his eldest brother, “pick a card!”
Declan didn’t move, his eye firmly shut. Morrigan pushed past Matthew’s legs and launched herself into her master’s lap, curling up like a cat on top of his hands. Declan didn’t stir. Ronan broke off conversation with Gansey and watched.
Matthew put a hand under Declan’s nose, not close enough to touch, but close enough to feel breath ghost over his fingers. He relaxed.
“Sleeping,” Matthew announced, quietly.
Ronan gave him a thumbs-up and returned to Gansey’s conversation.
.
.
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end