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Sean can’t help but dwell in his thoughts as he sits back in the passenger seat of Daniel’s car hours after his final exit from prison, leaving it behind forever. He had just spent the better part of the day with Lyla, Karen, and Daniel, and now he was going back to Daniel’s place. Daniel’s house. Daniel’s home.
How is it I’m going to my brother’s house in his car?
It’s like his brain can’t fathom that Daniel is now a full-grown adult in his mid-twenties, no longer the little boy who cried out to him when they were separated at the border fifteen years ago.
How? How is it possible?
Somehow, somehow, fifteen years had been both eternity and the blink of an eye. Days had dragged on forever, but the years just flew by like nothing.
At least I’m not there any more. And I’m never going back.
Fifteen long years of mouldy walls, dripping ceilings, and tiny windows that barely let in any light all year, were finally over. Now he would be in a place with dry ceilings, healthy walls, and windows that let in all the light year-round.
Daniel’s house. His house. Well, his and Chris’s house really. And this is his car. His and Chris’s car. Shit.
His thoughts can’t wrap around the fifteen long years any more than he could wrap his arms around the giant redwoods back in California all those years ago. His brain cannot fathom the fifteen empty years, bereft of watching his little brother grow from a boy to a full grown young man.
Fuck.
And even when Daniel pulls into his driveway, turning the ignition with his powers (just because he can), it all feels like a weird, vivid dream. Sean isn’t even sure if his senses are real or lying. Is he really feeling the firm seat under him and at his back? Can he really feel the blustering gusts of wind through the open windows? Can he still hear the way the windows wind up and the way the car’s engine quietly stops its purring as everything is turned off?
“Sean?”
Daniel is looking at him, concerned. Sean pulls a vague smile.
“I’m—sorry. I’m still getting used to all this. You know. Freedom.”
Daniel places a hand on Sean’s shoulder, and Sean still expects a ten-year-old’s small hand, instead of twenty-five-year-old Daniel’s full adult one.
“Do you need a moment alone, or…?”
“No, no, it’s fine. I just need a minute.”
“Hey, take your time, Sean, it’s fine.” Daniel leans forward, hands curling around his steering wheel. He sighs and bows his forehead to the wheel with a little sigh. “Aw, great, I parked a little weird, good job, Daniel.”
Sean thinks Daniel parked in his driveway just fine, but he has one eye, so maybe he has no fucking idea what parking straight looks like now. He’s been in prison for fifteen years, so probably everything has changed about driving—hell, there seemed to be way more electric cars—including Daniel’s—on the road now.
“Yeah, needs some straightening out,” Daniel confirms more to himself than to Sean. “I swear, it wasn’t on purpose. Anyway, watch this.”
After a quick glance in the rear-view mirror to make sure no one was looking, Daniel holds out his hands, nothing happening at first. But after a few seconds, the car smoothly goes back into reverse, Daniel still checking to see no one was coming up behind the vehicle. He stops a little too suddenly, Sean jolting forward so that the seatbelt nicks the side of his neck.
“Oops, sorry Sean, that was not part of the plan.” Daniel rests his hands on the steering wheel again. “What d’ya think?”
“You don’t need the gas at all?” Sean asks, amazed.
“Nah, but I only do it as a last resort—like showing off to my favourite brother.”
“Daniel, I’m your only brother.”
“You know what I mean—anyway, let’s get this bad boy back in the driveway.”
Again, Daniel starts to raise his hands, but then there’s the sound of loud chatter from a group of teenagers passing behind, and the hands quickly grip the steering wheel and turn the ignition, gently moving forward until he’s just a couple metres away from the closed garage door.
“There. Welcome home, Sean.”
Sean opens his mouth to remark on this, but Daniel interrupts him.
“No, this is your home too, for however long you want, okay? There’s a guest room I set up for you all ready to go, and it’s like next door to my room, so there’s no fuss moving in.”
Damn. Daniel really has grown up. When did he even turn twenty-five? Wasn’t he a kid like yesterday? And now…
“You didn’t have to…”
“No, but I did it anyway, because you deserve a home to come to after…”
“After fifteen years in prison?”
“And everything that happened before then—shit. We both deserve all the good things after all this. Come on, let’s get inside.”
Sean steps out of the car, Daniel leading the way to the front door, and has that eerie feeling of being in a strangely vivid dream again, even though he knows all of this is real. He’s awake, and yet the sun’s warmth doesn’t feel real, and the cobbles under his shoes feel like they shouldn’t be this round or smooth, and there’s a tug at his heart when he sees a wooden “Beaver Creek” sign above the front door. It really adds a piece of vintage charm to the front door of Daniel’s house, which isn’t the fanciest on the market, but it isn’t run-down and neglected. It’s a modest one-storey home with a trim garden Stephen would be proud of, and a flight of stairs with a metal railing. A willow tree stands directly behind the garage, branches waving in the firm breeze.
It’s strange how all this feels so alien to him, even though Sean has known houses from run-down abandoned cabins all the way on up to cosy homes that had the nostalgia of childhood.
It’s like…another world.
He can’t help but stare at the rusty red painted stones making up the pathway to the front doorsteps, or at the bright flowers in the large terracotta pot plants lining the path. He swears he can smell every single flower in the garden, and it is an aroma both familiar and alien to him. Just to smell the real world again is overwhelming after the stagnant, mouldy smell of the prison cell.
I haven’t smelled a single flower since…oh fuck. Fifteen years.
He’s sure he smells grease and oil from the garage, or was it just the grief-tinged remembrance of his father’s work as a mechanic? He imagines, clear as day, the grease-smudged rags dumped around the garage, the disarray of wrenches and other tools spread about the place, and his father under the hood, fixing another customer’s engine, singing absent-mindedly to himself in Spanish.
I still miss you, dad.
“You coming, Sean?”
Daniel’s voice jerks Sean back to reality, blinking as he sees that his younger brother has already reached the door, his key already in hand as he looks back at him.
Sean nods reassure him, and walks briskly to join Daniel. “Yeah…just adjusting. Always adjusting.”
Daniel looks away quickly enough that Sean cannot catch his expression, fumbling with the key before he finally jams it in the lock, turning it with a distinct little click that makes Sean flinch. Somehow it has amplified ten-fold into the click of heavy locks and the clang of cell doors, followed by the heavy clip-clopping of guards’ shoes.
Dude…calm down. You’re here. You’re at Daniel’s house. You’re no longer…there.
Sean climbs up the steps, gripping on to the rail, hanging back as Daniel opens the door, a myriad of smells swamping him all at once. There’s a smell of stale coffee, of freshly baked goodies, of more flowers, and of…home, he supposes, trying to think of that element that just made someone’s home smell like theirs.
But Sean is surprised by the relative stillness of the house. From how much he knew of Daniel’s fondness for dogs, he’d expected the sound of a dog running to greet him, but all he hears are the faint chirps of what sounds like birds somewhere deeper inside the house.
“Welcome home, Sean,” Daniel says with a grin as he steps into his house, gesturing at Sean to follow. “It’s not extravagant but still…”
After fifteen years in a prison cell, anything would be extravagant, even a cave hidden deep in a forest, a skipping stone’s throw away from a babbling river.
“Hey, still better than what I had for the last fifteen years.”
“Oh…yeah.” Daniel looks supremely awkward, shuffling his feet on the carpet. “That’s true. Sorry Sean. Really, come on inside.”
Sean hesitates—isn’t it Daniel’s home…oh right. It’s his home too now. He knows Daniel wouldn’t lie, that he truly, sincerely means it when he says it’s Sean’s home too, but…it still feels like he’s intruding nevertheless.
“Really, Sean, it’s fine.”
Sean nods and steps inside into the hallway where there is a rack of coats and hats in one corner, and a box with umbrellas and other bits-and-bobs sitting next to it. The hallway has a deep red carpet, and sunlight streams through a couple windows on one wall.
“I’m surprised you don’t have any dogs coming to give us a big ol’ welcome, Daniel.”
Daniel locks the front door, turning to face Sean as he answers. “Yeah, well, my old dog died a few years ago, and just don’t feel like getting another for a while. Y’know.”
A pang of sadness crosses Sean’s heart, remembering the puppy Daniel had taken from that gas station.
“I don’t blame you. I’m sorry I never got to meet your dog.”
“Yeah same,” Daniel joins Sean, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, tugging him toward a large group of photos, mostly of landscapes. He points at a photo of a black Labrador dog lolling on the beach, the ocean rolling in the distance. “There ya go, there’s my long lost Olive.”
Sean can’t help a broad smile at the name. “You like your food-themed names for dogs, huh?”
“Nothing wrong with that, is there?”
“Course not! I think she looks gorgeous. Really suits her name, actually.” The chirping restarts again from somewhere, and Sean tilts his head toward the noise. “I guess you got birds instead, then?”
“A couple parakeets, actually,” Daniel confirms, “They’re out in the living room. I let them have a fly around when I’m out for a few hours. Stretch their wings as it were.”
“Named after food too? I’m amazed you haven’t named one choc-o-crisp yet,” Sean teases good-naturedly.
“Actually, I hate chocolate now.”
Sean looks at him in surprise, sees he’s totally serious. “Really?”
“Yeah, all kinds. White chocolate, milk, dark, I don’t like it anymore. Even choc-o-crisps.”
“Wow…”
A few seconds pass where they just continue looking at each other, until Daniel bursts out into laughter, shoulders shaking with his humour. He recovers himself after several seconds, leaving behind the same grin Daniel has always had.
“Damn, Sean, I had you there hadn’t I?”
Daniel’s laughter is still infectious even fifteen years later, and Sean can’t help a little chuckle.
“You got me alright.”
“Yeah, some of that is partially true—I’m not as keen anymore on choc-o-crisps, but I do like some milk chocolate. Can’t understand why people are obsessed with salted caramel though. Chris swears he’s gonna convert me yet, but I’ve yet to give in.”
“I don’t understand it either,” Sean says, “So you’re not alone.”
“I’ll make sure to let Chris know. Together, we shall overcome the Cult of the Salted Caramel. Okay, time to show you more things, come on!”
It is charming how much Daniel is practically falling over his own feet to show Sean around the hallway, pointing out everything from coat hangers with thick bright coats to framed photos of friends and family hanging on the walls. Something aches deep in Sean at seeing how excited Daniel is to show him around, like he’d been waiting years for this. Sean wouldn’t be surprised if Daniel had daydreamed about showing Sean around his new home from the first day of moving in. Now that dream was coming true.
“Check this out, Sean!” Daniel tugs on Sean’s arm—he still tugs on his arm the same way he did at nine--and points out a patch on the breast pocket of a bright orange jacket. It is a round patch with a pair of running grey wolves, one smaller than the other.
“Chris made that patch for me,” Daniel explains, the grin never fading from his face one bit, “Isn’t it awesome?”
“Super awesome,” Sean concedes, “How is Chris doing?”
“He’s awesome—already has his own business in graphic design. Inspired by your drawing of course.”
“Really? I didn’t think my drawing was—”
“Shut up. Your drawings are fucking good.” Daniel laughs at Sean’s shocked look. “I’m twenty-five, Sean. I think I’m allowed to say fuck now.”
Sean returns the good humour. “Alright, alright. Permission to swear.”
“Chris totally wants to drop by sometime, by the way. Wants to see you again.”
Sean passes a hand over his beard. “Will he even recognise me?”
“Course he will! Can’t wait to see you look like a bearded pirate—his words, not mine.”
“Until I get a new glass eye, Daniel.”
“He better hurry up here before you do, then, Sean. Hey, come look at these photos.”
Daniel leads Sean over to a collection of framed photos, most of them with Daniel in them too. Sean doesn’t recognise most of the people, but he spots a few familiar faces, especially from Away. There’s a beautiful group photo of all the people he remembers from Away, with Daniel front and centre; Joan looks much paler and older than Sean remembers, Karen is holding on to her, Stanley and Arthur are behind Daniel, each with a hand on the latter’s shoulders, and of course David is there too, his arms folded. There are a couple new faces in that photo too, two women standing next to David, holding hands. The shorter brunette woman has a face full of freckles, and blue eyes that remind Sean of the bright sky over Arizona; her partner has long blonde hair pulled up into a messy bun on top of her head, stray tendrils of hair framing her face.
Have I seen them before? They look familiar...and cool.
“Hey, who’re they?”
“Oh, them? They’re Max and Chloe. They’re married.”
Yeah, I remember Daniel talking about Max.
“Didn’t you tell me something about Max and powers?”
Daniel’s face sobers. “She doesn’t like to talk about her time rewind powers much. A lot of trauma. But she is cool, as is her wife, Chloe—who, by the way, would have probably loved Finn and Cassidy and all.”
Sean is surprised to hear Daniel mention Cassidy at all. “Hey, I thought you hated Cassidy?”
Daniel folds his arms, staring at the photo with a thoughtful expression. “Hate’s a strong word, isn’t it? I guess I grew out of it.” He turns his head to look at Sean with a small grin. “She’s still weird though. And I refuse to take it back.”
“Hey, fair enough.”
“Anyway, I still have to show you your room, come on!”
Daniel grabs Sean’s wrist, tugging him to a closed door, which he quickly opens wide, the door bumping off the wall behind it. Daniel strides into the room, gesturing at Sean to follow him inside, which the latter does, staring around at the room, well-lit by a window letting copious amounts of sunlight stream in, warming up the interior. The wallpaper is a deep blue, the colour of the sky at twilight, when the brightest planets start winking into the night. The floor is a soft cream shaggy carpet, one he is sure would feel amazing under his bare feet once he takes his shoes off for the day. A bookcase with a few books stands pressed up against another wall, next to the wardrobe—one of its doors is slightly ajar, the key still in the lock.
But none of this is as attention-grabbing as the sight of an achingly familiar bag resting on top of the double bed like it had always been there. The little drawing of Mushroom is faded away, but there are still white, faint hints of the sketch it had once been. The feather from the bird in the cookie box is gone, but the fishhook is still there, as is the quartz stone Daniel had summoned that day in the canyon.
“Hell yes I kept that bag—I knew you’d want it back some day.”
“You had it this whole time for fifteen years?”
“I didn’t use it, don’t worry.” Daniel turns to look at him, eyes travelling up to the top of Sean’s head. He raises himself on his toes, back as straight as can be. “Not when I’m still shorter than you, Sean. Not fair.”
A ghost of a smile from Sean, raising his hand to ruffle Daniel’s hair. “Once an enano, always an enano, Daniel.”
“Whatever, Sean.” Daniel looks like he’s trying to appear offended, but doesn’t quite succeed. “Anyway, look inside the bag. You might find some surprises in there.”
“Oh? What kinds of surprises?”
“It’s not a surprise if I tell you, is it?”
Sean makes his way to the bed, eye never leaving the bag for a second, his hand reaching out to touch the fabric with a fingertip. A fingertip—just one—is all it takes for a jumble of images and memories to burst bright and cacophonic, like a supernova disturbing the fabric of space, waves of gravity rolling and rolling across the vast universe.
He cranes his neck as he stares up at towering Redwoods, he smells stale ashes and beer, tastes wild coffee and—
Cold snow burns under his fingers as he stumbles on an empty stomach toward Beaver Creek, wishing they had more cans of any food, hell even that stupid canned ravioli—
He stumbles back against a whirlwind of angry, grieving power swirling in a hotel room as his brother demands to know why he lied—
And the Grand Canyon looms, layers and layers of eons glowing deep red in a desert sun’s dawn—
The straps chafe harshly against sunburnt, stinging skin as he drags his cramping, painful feet through an endless Nevada desert—
The border. The border where he—where he surrendered—
“Sean? Sean!”
He gasps, jumps as Daniel’s worried voice pierces through this cacophony of memories cascading through his senses. He realises he’s leaning his whole hand on the bag, his knees feel like they’re sagging under him, and his other hand comes up to cover his eyes, trying to even his breathing. Daniel’s hands hold onto his shoulders, firm, strong, steadying him even now.
“Hey, sit down if you need to. Here.”
But Sean shakes his head, dropping his hand back at his side, his other hand still on the bag.
“Seriously, I’m fine.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure. I just…need a minute.”
“If it’s too much for you right now, it’s okay. I can show you the rest of the house.”
Sean’s heart still pounds against his ribs, his head feels a little light, and when he touches his forehead, there’s a dampness there. Maybe Daniel’s right. Maybe he needs a few minutes away from this backpack of memories both bittersweet and far too vivid for him right now.
He tries to remind himself he’s at his brother’s home. No, at home. At home.
It still feels like Daniel’s house, and how could it ever be his home too?
“C’mon Sean,” Daniel is urging him toward the door, tugging him away from the bag, away from the tangled complexities of his past. “We can come back here later, right?”
Sean swallows hard, his throat dry as sandpaper. “Yes, Daniel. Thanks.”
He allows Daniel to lead him back to the door, closing it behind them with his powers as they enter the hallway again. Despite the distance and the closed door, tendrils of memories wrap around Sean’s brain, sneaking under the cracks in the door and the keyhole to hold him captive.
Redwood forests and abandoned cabins and windswept deserts and burning churches and wooden bears and old motel rooms and—
Stop. Just stop. Just try to be in the present.
He nods and makes all the right noises as Daniel proudly shows off the kitchen, opening the cupboard and fridge and freezer to show Sean where all the food is.
“It’s all yours as much as it’s mine, okay? You won’t be hungry ever again.”
Again, Sean makes the right “hum” of yes-I-heard-you, and follows Daniel back out into the dining area where, indeed, a large cage housing two parakeets stands against a wall. A large indoors plant with broad green leaves sits next to it in its bright yellow pot, a cheery dash of colour against the otherwise plain off-white walls. A round dining table is in the middle of the room, with three chairs arranged around it.
“Usually Chris is here,” Daniel is saying now, “But he’s had to leave for a few weeks for his research.”
That’s right—Daniel had mentioned Chris moving in once the former had found a place to call their own. It’s the thought of Chris and Daniel sharing this small space together that finally, finally gives him the moment of calm he desperately needs to quell his thoughts and his racing heart. He hasn’t seen Chris since 2016 so instead he sees a little boy dressed as a superhero with a blue painted mask around his eyes and a red cape tied around his shoulders. He sees someone who needed Daniel as much as Daniel had needed him. He sees someone who needed more love than his father could give him. He sees someone who was a lonely kid, yet surrounded by a team of heroes loyal to Captain Spirit.
Sean realises he’s smiling again, even if it’s a small one—but he feels it touch the corners of his eyes nevertheless.
“I told you you two would always be friends, didn’t I?”
“Well, yeah, more than friends by now, you know.”
“I hope I can meet Chris again sometime.”
“Hell yeah,” Daniel grins, “I’ll make sure of that, I promise. He’s so gutted that he can’t be here for a while. But you’ll see him again, no doubt.”
“You said he’s away for a few weeks.”
“Don’t worry, he’ll be back in no time. Video calls exist for a reason—we’re totally gonna video call him soon.”
It’s such a little thing, a video call, Sean thinks, and yet it is this that raises his spirits a little more from before.
“And what about Sarah-Lee?”
“Ooh, she’s totally gonna be mad that I didn’t call her soon as I brought you back here,” Daniel remarks. “Yeah, we’re gonna video call her too. She’s a doctor now, did you know?”
Sean nods a little, trying to recall Daniel telling him about her studies.
“So…she’s graduated, then?”
“Last year. She looked amazing too. I’ll show you the photos later. Okay, tour’s not over yet.”
So Daniel leads him from the dining room to the small lounge area that nevertheless manages to hold a sofa, a couple armchairs, a beanbag, a coffee table, a television set, and a gaming set. A laptop sits closed on the coffee table, the standby light flashing, the battery charger still plugged into the wall. A small bookcase with haphazardly dumped books is squeezed in between two armchairs, a convenient reach for a little evening read when rain poured outside. Sean makes a beeline for the bookcase, perusing the books Daniel and Chris own. There were some on graphic design for the web, some science fiction books, a few old-timey tomes on trains (he wouldn’t be surprised if they had once been Stephen’s), drawing instruction books—including one on drawing comics—, recipe books, a large book on dinosaurs, a book titled Aerial Geology, and a gorgeous-looking book on Iceland. He picks up the Iceland book, admiring the stunning view of an aurora over a dark landscape.
“Take a look through if you want—it’s a beautiful book.”
Sean flips through the pages, unable to take his eyes off the gorgeous photos, and somewhere inside him, he senses his travel bug waking up from a fifteen-year hibernation. He can absolutely imagine himself going to Iceland and camping out under thousands of stars shimmering in the ribbons of the aurora.
“Hey, you know what I love most about bookcases?” Daniel asks out of the blue.
“What?” Sean responds without looking up.
“You can tell a lot about a person from the books they have.”
“Sure, but what about two or more people living in the same house?”
“Then it’s like a game—guess who actually likes what. For example,” Daniel takes down the graphic design book. “Who do you think reads this more?”
Sean looks up, glances over at the book in Daniel’s hands. “Uh…Chris?”
“Trick question! It’s both of us.”
“Oh…well, I was never good at guessing.”
“Really? Chris says you’re really good.” Daniel returns the book and picks up one on drawing animals. “This one?”
“You?”
Daniel grins. “That was quick. Though Chris likes to dip into this one every now and then.” He replaces said book on the shelf, and taps the Iceland book. “What about this one?”
Sean carefully closes the book, holding it in his hands like it’s a fragile vase. “Uh…let’s see. I want to say…Chris?”
“Yes! I’m happy to be a homebody—don’t have the travel bug like you do.”
“Would you travel with Chris though?”
Daniel nods enthusiastically. “Oh, definitely—I mean, I don’t mind travelling, but as long as it’s with someone else. I like company.”
“Spoken like a true extrovert.”
“Nothing wrong with being an introvert either, Sean.”
Sean carefully shelves the book and points to the one on aerial geology. “What about this one? Chris as well?”
“Pretty much, but I like looking through it too. Utah keeps stealing all the cool geology, according to Chris. Baja California is in Mexico, and it’s apparently heading northward.”
“Really?”
“Yeah—it’s all thanks to faults, as usual.” Daniel pauses, grins wryly. “And yeah, I totally memorised that Baja California fact just to tell you.”
Sean laughs a little. “Hey, I learned something new, nothing wrong with that.”
Daniel points out more books on the shelves, letting Sean guess who was more into certain books—sometimes Chris, sometimes Daniel, sometimes both equally. When they are done with the books, Daniel points out the latest gaming set, complete with headphones and microphone carefully tucked away to avoid being knocked about.
“Chris and I love to stream games online—really fun, especially when the people in the chat get hyped up too.”
“Sounds fun.”
“Totally.”
Daniel continues showing him around the room, pointing out the birdhouse in the tree outside a window, and how Chris loves to point out exactly what kinds of birds are stopping by to have a little snack. They usually leave seeds and nuts out there, as well as other more bird-friendly food that isn’t white bread—apparently that’s not great for birds’ stomachs.
The lounge done, Daniel gestures to Sean to follow him.
“I’ll show you where the bathroom is.”
The bathroom turns out to be a modest-sized room with sky-blue walls and ceiling, and a tiled black and white floor. The shower is full of soaps and shampoos and conditioners—Sean wonders just how many two people need—and there is no bath in sight, but Daniel doesn’t care. Showers get you just as clean anyway, and you’re probably not sitting in your own filth unlike in a bath. There is a white porcelain sink with a large medicine cabinet—complete with mirror—above it.
They know how to make a place nice. No doubt Claire taught Daniel how to keep a tidy and clean house.
Sean stops in front of the mirror, studying how his face appears now, especially at 32 and after fifteen years in prison. He didn’t expect to look like a fresh-faced sixteen-year-old anymore, but the sight of what he looks like now still startles him a little. There is a bag under his remaining eye, the scar from where Nicholas had pistol-whipped him stands out on his cheekbone, the eyepatch still looks the same, and the buzzcut brings back too many memories of waking up in a strange hospital from a weeks-long coma to discovering one of his eyeballs was missing.
“Wow, we look so much alike,” Daniel comments, joining him at the mirror, tilting his head this way and that. “Think my cheekbones are more…cheekbone-y.”
“Really?” Sean scrutinises Daniel’s reflection in the mirror. “Actually, you might be right. You look a lot like our mother. But you have a lot of our father as well.”
Daniel runs a hand over his own beard. “Damn it. Is this the best I can do with a beard?”
Sean pats his shoulder. “You tried your best. It’s okay to have a beard that’s less handsome than your older brother’s.”
Daniel shoves him on the arm. “Shut up.” But he laughs anyway along with Sean. “You know, I still have time. I might just get that beard yet.”
“We’ll see.”
Folding his arms, Daniel returns his gaze back to the mirror, staying quiet for a moment as he clearly considers another thought. “So, are you gonna get a glass eye or…?”
“Do I look like I have money to get one?” Sean sighs. “I would but…”
“Dude, if you need money, Chris and I are more than happy to help, okay?”
“It’s fine—I can cope.”
“Really, Sean, I swear, we’ll make it work.”
“But—”
“Dude, you did more than enough for me. So let me help you for once, okay?” Daniel’s voice isn’t sharp, but there is a firmness to it that gives Sean pause. It’s Daniel being insistent, wanting his way, but not in a spoiled-brat way. Instead, it’s the firm words of an adult, someone who has already seen some life experience and has a stable life.
You’ve really grown, haven’t you, Daniel.
And so Sean relents, knowing Daniel means every word, and there’s this part of him that knows that he needs to let his brother take care of him for once. He’d spent most of his life looking out for Daniel—even when he was a spoiled brat of a kid—and now that Daniel was a grown man, the tables could be turned the other way.
“You’re right, Daniel. I trust you.” Sean means it, and Daniel’s face lights up in such a way that he can see that little kid again, eager to show his brother his newest invention, be it zombie blood or a spacecraft made from toilet rolls and paint.
“Anyway, we don’t need to be in here anymore, right?” Daniel makes his way back to the door, Sean following him through, closing the door behind them. “So that’s the whole house, really. I’d prefer to keep my room private, but it’s over there.” He points in the direction of his bedroom, door firmly shut. “That said, if you need to chat at three in the morning, don’t be afraid to knock, okay?”
Sean nods. “Okay.”
Not sure if I’ll ever be ready to talk…but I’ll try.
At least now he knows he’s in a place with someone he trusts, not that he’d ever have a reason to distrust Daniel, now that he is a grown man of twenty-five, with a partner, a house, and his life all but sorted.
I wish I could say the same. Will my life ever be stable? Probably never.
That was okay by Sean. He was long used to instability, be it home or daily life, and it was his normal now. How could it be any different? Why would it be any different?
Yet, there is this sense of something that Sean feels here, something that he had not felt in fifteen years, and he can’t put his finger on what it is.
It’s a feeling that reminds him achingly of Beaver Creek and model trains and a treehouse in the snow and a snowman with one eye and decorated Christmas trees and festive markets and yo-yos stolen from the donations box so his brother could have a little holiday cheer.
And it bothers him he does not know what this feeling is, and whether it even has a name.
Maybe it’ll come to him soon—but for now, he basks in the warmth of a roof over his head and the thought of a soft bed that he can call his own and sleep without fear of never waking up again.
Turns out that after fifteen years of cold, hard floors and stiff mattresses, the mattress on the bed feels too soft and springy and comfortable. It doesn’t feel right to him—it doesn’t matter on which side he tries to sleep, Sean just can’t shake the feeling that a bed shouldn’t feel this soft, this comfortable, this warm. He drifts in and out of light slumber, the glowing numbers on the digital clock next to him creeping through each hour of night. The more the hours drag on, the more frustrated Sean is at not getting sleep.
I’m not there anymore. I’m in a comfortable bed with actual blankets and actual pillows and actual mattress—so why the fuck can’t I sleep?
It’s like lying on a cloud, a cloud that won’t support him, sinking and sinking through the sky with him inside. A few times, Sean has the horrible sensation of falling and he wakes up with a whole-body jerk, heart hammering, sure he had been falling to his death.
Ugh. Fuck this! He thinks at past one in the morning, giving up on sleep all together.
He kicks the blanket off his bed, sitting up, his feet planted firmly on firm ground. He drops his head in his hands with a groan, rubbing his right eye, feeling around for his eyepatch on the dresser, and when he feels the familiar string, grabs it and quickly pulls it over his empty eye socket. Daniel was probably fast asleep, unlike him, but still—better to have the eyepatch on just in case. No need to alarm him this early in the morning; he full remembers the first time Daniel had seen him without the eyepatch back in Nevada. He had forgotten to close the bathroom door back at the motel when using the eye medicine kit, and of course that meant Daniel inevitably caught a glimpse of his missing eye in the mirror. Daniel had been in hysterics for a long while after that, and it had taken a long time for him to calm down. To this day, Sean still feels bad about that.
Of course, Daniel is an adult now, and he probably wouldn’t freak too much if Sean walked around without the eyepatch, but still. Better have it on than off.
Maybe a night time stroll through the house will help…
When Sean finds himself at the doorway to the dining room, he decides he may as well have a little sit down here, and hope that a little sitting time with his thoughts will help him finally get more than an hour or two of sleep tonight.
If not…fuck. I’m just gonna give up on sleep.
He flicks on the living room lights, squinting and blinking against the sudden brightness against the dark house. His toes curl on shaggy carpet, he lets his hand rest against the light switch, feeling the wallpaper against his fingertips. It’s so strange, all so strange still, but…there was that feeling again, a warm one, a secure one like he was being held in someone’s arms, comforting him. He knows he’s felt it before, and he knows that he should know what it is, and it disturbs him he doesn’t know.
He shuffles his feet over the turquoise carpet, feeling his toes sinking into ticklish warmth, toward the table, now with a new tablecloth on it. All the chairs have been carefully tucked under the table, and over there in the corner, the two parakeets have startled awake, blinking and ruffling their feathers. They stare at him as if to demand why the hell he’d woken them up at this time of night.
“Sorry guys,” he apologises to the birds, “Couldn’t sleep.”
One bird ruffles its feathers again, sticks its head under its wing, while its companion decides to have a snack from the food container, completely ignoring Sean.
Sean pulls out a chair quietly, so he doesn’t accidentally wake up Daniel, if he’s still asleep—was he still a light sleeper? Or could he now sleep through the night without waking up about two or three times in the small hours?
He sits down on a chair, resting his hands on the tabletop as he stares at the closed curtains, lost in his own head.
I know I’ve felt this before. But what is it? Where did I feel this…secure before?
His gaze wanders to the ceiling as a new, soft pitter-pattering sound begins on the roof above them. It makes him think of drawing, staring out of his old bedroom window, looking for inspiration in the street he’d once called home. It makes him think of warm blankets and watching his brother and father play a game together on the couch.
Rain. Damn. I’ve always loved the sound of rain.
He thinks of rain on tents dwarfed by enormous redwood trees, and he thinks of rain on cardboard-covered windows and wooden verandas in the middle of nowhere on a winter’s night. He thinks of rainstorms in a desert, and of drizzle on an old, frayed hoodie, leaving little blots of water on its cloth.
I could listen to it all day.
It’s odd that even the rain delivers something soothing to his heart, making the room around him feel even cosier, though nothing in it had changed.
If only I had a sketchbook and a pen right now.
The rain seems to be enough to cover any sounds of Daniel’s approach, as only when Sean hears his name in a soft voice, does he then realise he’s not alone. Sean turns around in his seat to see Daniel framed by the doorway, concerned eyes locking onto Sean.
“Are you okay?” Daniel asks, brow furrowed with consternation. “Couldn’t you sleep?”
Sean sighs, rubs his eye with a finger. “Nah.”
“You didn’t have nightmares, did you?”
“Nah, don’t worry. I never seem to dream these days.”
“Do you want me to leave you alone, or…?”
Sean shrugs, gestures to an empty seat. “I don’t mind, Daniel. I could use the company.”
Daniel nods, straightens up again, and makes his way to the table, pulling out a chair to sit down next to Sean, hands also clasped on the tabletop. Both brothers sit like that in silence, only the rain and the sleepy chirp of the now satiated parakeet hopping back onto its usual perch, tucking its head under its wing like its companion, interrupting the silent atmosphere.
Daniel looks up at the ceiling. “It’s pretty, isn’t it? The sound of the rain.”
Sean makes the smallest of nods, the slightest twitch of a smile. “Definitely. Kinda wish I had a sketchbook right now.”
“Oh shit,” Daniel whispers under his breath, dropping his head down, a hand coming up in a facepalm. “I completely forgot to give yours back.” He looks back up again at Sean. “Should I—”
“Nah don’t worry about it. It’ll rain again in the future, don’t worry.”
“Okay.” There’s another moment of silence, and Daniel looks over at Sean, concern still in his eyes. “You look like something’s bothering you. Do you—want to talk or…?”
Sean sits back in the chair, looking again at the parakeets, both now fast asleep, beaks tucked into their feathers.
“It’s probably…not going to make sense, but…”
Daniel unclasps his hands, raises one up to hold Sean’s shoulder. “I can try, right? You can talk to me anytime.”
Sean struggles to form a coherent starting sentence in his head, reforming and deconstructing and reforming again the words he wants to say. He wants Daniel to understand, but there’s always going to be that fifteen-year thick wall between them. Daniel would never get it, but Sean can’t fault him for at least trying anyway. How could he be annoyed at Daniel for that?
“Well…” Sean sighs through his nose, frowns as he drums his fingers on the table. “I’m not sure how to put it, to be honest.”
“Don’t worry, Sean, we’ve got all night.”
“It’s going to sound…weird.”
Daniel shrugs. “So? It’s okay.”
“Okay, so…you ever know the feeling of being somewhere, and it doesn’t feel like you’re in danger?”
“Um…yeah?”
“You know, like you’re somewhere where you can feel…secure? Like you’re with people you trust.”
Daniel smiles a little at that—it’s almost like he’s a little surprised, but Sean has always trusted Daniel. Always. Now was no different.
“So like—whenever I was at our grandparents’?” Daniel asks.
“Yeah, like that. Or at Away.”
Daniel nods, looks down at his hands.
“Or…” Sean recalls the comfort of what used to be home. “You know, when we still had dad around.”
A little sigh from Daniel as he sits back in the chair, looking over at Sean.
“Is it the same way you felt at that farm in California?”
Sean takes a second to consider—had he felt this at Humboldt too? It was rough living, but he’d had a sort of family who was there for him, who took care of both of them, who gave him a place to be himself.
“You didn’t feel safe there?”
“Huh?” Daniel looks confused, before it clicks. “Oh, at the farm? Uh…sometimes.”
Wonderful. More guilt to add to Sean’s conscience.
“Fuck. I’m—I’m sorry, Daniel. I—”
“It’s okay—it’s in the past now.”
“You sure?”
“Positive, Sean. Promise.”
“Like I was saying—it’s the same feeling I’m getting here. I know it’s the same as when we were at Away or at our grandparents’, or even back when dad was still alive.”
There’s a long silence, during which they both don’t speak; finally, Daniel reaches over to put an arm around Sean’s shoulders.
“I think I get it.”
“Get what, Daniel?”
“What you’re feeling—like you’re safe and secure in a place you can call home. Is it that kind of feel?”
“Yeah…” Sean’s relieved Daniel finally seems to have pinpointed it, and to his surprise he chokes up. He takes a deep breath to steady himself. “Yeah, it’s that.” He opens his hands, turns them so his palms face ceilingward. He opens and closes his fingers a few times, still processing, always processing this newfound freedom.
“Or…or like when we were in the car on the way to that motel with Brody?” Daniel asks.
Sean casts his mind back across a decade and a half until he returns again to spattering rain on a car roof drowned out by upbeat music on Brody’s music player. He can almost hear the faint little yaps coming from under a blanket wrapped over a puppy. He finds himself smiling, nodding in confirmation.
“That too.”
Daniel lets go of Sean’s shoulder, rests his hand back on the table, lowering his head, not speaking for a long time. When he finally raises his head slowly to look back up at Sean, his eyes look a little brighter than usual.
“Damn, Sean. It’s been a long fucking time.”
“Yeah…I think I almost forgot over the last fifteen years.” A deep sigh, Sean rubs vigorously at his eye. “It became too easy to forget what safety and comfort and security felt like.”
Daniel quickly reaches for a tissue box, making a show of having to blow his nose, but Sean knows better—he’s trying to hide his tears. He watches as Daniel wads the tissue up into a tight ball, using his powers to toss it into a rubbish bin nearby. Daniel clasps his hands on the table again, looking over at Sean—his eyes definitely look red-rimmed, and Sean’s pretty sure it isn’t from tiredness. At least not wholly.
“I’m—I’m glad you feel safe here, Sean.”
“Course I do—you’re my brother.”
“No, really, I mean it. This is your home too, okay? You’re always welcome here, Sean, and—and you’ll always be safe here. And I’m not even talking about my powers.”
“I know.”
“If you want to raid my fridge and cupboard for munchies at three in the morning, be my guest. Literally. This is your place too.”
“I’m—I’m not even paying rent or anything. I’m just…here.”
“Don’t you dare. I’m not going to let you feel guilty about any of that, Sean. I don’t care about any of that—I just care that you’re here, and not…you know.” Daniel’s hand comes up to grasp Sean’s shoulder again, squeezing it tight. “I’m just happy that you’re here.” He tries to give Sean a smile, but it wobbles. “It never was the same not having my annoying older brother around.”
Sean’s laugh is more a rasp than a proper one. “You’d know.”
Daniel gives Sean a playful shove on the shoulder. “Whatever, Sean.”
Glancing up at the clock on the wall, Sean sees that it is just after quarter past one in the morning.
“Are you okay, Daniel? You’re up early too.”
“Huh?” Daniel’s eyes follows Sean’s gaze to the clock. “Oh…yeah. I was just going to the bathroom, but noticed the light on in here, so just had to check you were okay.”
Sean offers the smallest of nods, a little smile. “Thanks, Daniel.”
“So you going to go back to sleep soon, or keep my birds company a while longer?’
Sean considers this for a moment, staring at the birds sleeping in their cage in the corner.
“Nah, think I’ll stay up a little while longer. You don’t have to stay up to keep me company.”
Daniel nods, pushes back his chair. “Gotcha. Hope you’re comfortable in the guest room?”
“Well…I’ve honestly been so used to sleeping on a hard surface that sleeping on the floor actually feels more comfortable than being on a mattress.”
“You’re sleeping on the floor?” Daniel looks both horrified and disturbed.
“No, no, no, don’t worry,” Sean assures hastily, “I just gotta get used to a soft bed again, you know? So sorry, no extra mattress for you.”
“Ah, damn.” Daniel tries and fails to look disappointed. “Well, I’ll live, I guess.”
“But really, thanks for coming to check on me.”
“Hey, any time you need to talk, just…come and talk. And when I say any time, I mean any time.” Daniel stands up, clasps Sean’s shoulder with a hand, giving it a little reassuring thump or two. “See you…later in the morning, I guess, for breakfast, then? Buttermilk waffles—if you still like those?”
The memory of buttermilk waffles at their grandparents’ house wafts back to Sean, and his stomach rumbles.
“Ooh, definitely missed those, thanks, Daniel.”
“Don’t get your hopes up too high—mine are nowhere near as good as our grandmother’s.”
“I’m sure they’ll still be amazing, Daniel. See you at breakfast, then.”
Daniel bends to give Sean a tight hug, Sean returning the favour, patting him on the back before they let go of the embrace.
“Night, Daniel,” Sean says as Daniel retreats to the door, pausing and turning to give a quick response in similar fashion before exiting, leaving him alone.
But not lonely—no, Brody was more than right when he’d explained it was different from being alone. Even despite Daniel’s obvious willingness to welcome him back to some semblance of home and whatever life he’ll have now, Sean still feels rather alone with the memories of the last fifteen years. Daniel could never understand anything of what he had gone through in prison—but at least he was—and always would be—there for Sean.
And as long as he had his brother, his mother, Lyla, and others close to him who’d listen without judging, without interruption, without having his feelings invalidated, Sean would never be truly lonely.
Alone, yes. Alone with the experiences he’d had that even his closest family could never understand.
But not lonely.
As long as he had everyone who cared around him, he would never be truly lonely.
And for that, Sean was grateful.