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Scott laid awake in his bed, his eyes bloodshot with dried old tears. He had already thrown up twice and he felt like if he did again that his stomach itself was going to come hurling out of his mouth. This was the kind of pain no supernatural ability could heal.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw it.
He saw her mouth moving delicately, spilling her final words to him. He felt her body going cold and limp in his arms and the desperation to save what he could not. He heard her heartbeat slow to a halt and the feeling of absolute helplessness and agony stabbed at him, like it was he himself that had been on the receiving end of the Oni's katana.
And so he kept his eyes open for what must have been hours now, not wanting to go to sleep but finding it harder and harder not to give in to his emotional and physical exhaustion.
Perhaps, then, it was a tactic to help him stay awake and avoid the inevitable nightmares when he found himself knocking lightly at Isaac's door across the hall. He had almost turned away back to his room, figuring the boy must have been asleep by now, when the door opened up and Isaac stood slumped in the doorway.
All it took was a short glance for Scott to realize that Isaac was more or less grieving in the same way. Isaac sank back into the shadows of his room and onto the edge of his bed, elbows planted in his thighs and hands rubbing his eyes. He'd since changed out of the torn up, blood-stained shirt into a clean white one.
Scott followed and sat beside him. He tried to speak but his throat was so dry that it came out cracked and rough, more like gravel than coherent words. He cleared it and tried again:
“I'm sorry.”
“For what?”
“...”
Isaac's breath was shaky in the silence, his voice equally so when he mumbled, “It wasn't your fault.”
“I mean... I know you heard...” the words hung heavy in the air for a moment, “I... I just don't know what else to say,” Scott admitted, his voice barely a decibel over a whisper.
“Scott,” he cleared his throat, “stop. There's nothing to apologize for.”
The crickets and other buzzing bugs outside were almost absurdly loud. The stillness between them was unsettling.
“Ah—are you holding up okay?” Scott forced out.
“No.”
“Can't sleep?”
“Don't want to.” He let that simmer for a bit before dropping to a mumble, “...Afraid to.”
“Me too.” Isaac caught Scott nodding gently in response in his peripheral vision, and he spotted a tear rolling down his cheek. Scott caught it with his sleeve and wiped it away.
Isaac jumped when he felt Scott's hand resting on the shoulder opposite him, but his warmth put him at ease. And then suddenly, like he'd lost his footing, he found himself succumbing to his emotions. Like Scott had pushed him into the deep end of the pool. He didn't want to break down in front of Scott—or anyone for that matter—but he felt it rising within him like mercury and suddenly he was drowning and gasping for air. He pulled Scott into a rough embrace, clutching at the back of his shirt and crumbling into his arms in a mess of muffled sobs.
Scott held him, supporting his beta as best he could, but he soon realized that he, too, needed someone to hold him up. He needed Isaac just as much as he needed him right now, and perhaps that's why he really left his bed to cross the hall.
Perhaps that's why he gave in and settled his face into Isaac's shoulder and let it all go.
–
Morning came soon enough. Melissa checked on the boys when they weren't down for breakfast and found them sleeping in Isaac's bed—Scott on his back and Isaac on his stomach beside him, his arm draped over Scott's chest.
Breakfast could wait.