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The moment the nurse comes to the waiting room to inform Ash that Griffin has woken up from the procedure, he doesn’t hesitate for even a moment. He takes off at a sprint, tearing through the hospital hallway, his arms pumping faster and faster at his sides. Using the research they’d gathered at the National Mental Health Institute, Ash had been able to find a doctor in the city who felt comfortable treating Griff for the effects of Banana Fish. They’d given him a variety of psychiatric and neurological medications in precise doses on a strict schedule, and, according to the nurse, he’d recovered most of his memory and the entirety of his cognitive functioning. Not that Ash had stayed to listen to much of her explanation. As soon as he heard the words “Griffin” and “awake,” he’d started running.
Ash throws open the door to the hospital room and bursts inside, and then simply freezes, completely and totally, standing at the foot of Griffin’s bed. He looks well--his expression is bright and alert, his face is clean shaven, and the deep, sunken bags beneath his eyes have faded almost entirely--so Ash doesn’t know why his heart suddenly clenches in his chest in terror.
Griffin blinks once, then twice, and then recognition dawns in his eyes and he breaks into an impossibly wide grin.
“Aslan?” he asks, his voice trembling just a little.
For a long moment, Ash is quiet. There’s so much he wants to say, and the pressure of it swells so large in his insides that it blocks his windpipe entirely, keeping anything from coming out.
“Hi,” he manages at last, hoarse and unsteady.
And just like that, Griffin starts crying. That’s always been Griff, Ash thinks--he wears his heart on his sleeve, for better or for worse. He’s the exact same as Ash remembers him.
But Ash isn’t. The realization plunges hard and cold and sudden into his stomach. Griffin doesn’t know anything about who Ash has become these past thirteen years. He doesn’t know what Ash has done, or what’s been done to him. That child that no doubt lives in Griff’s memory, with the wide, green eyes and toothy smile, has been dead for over a decade. And he’s never coming back.
“It’s been so long,” Griffin says. His voice is soft and hesitant, but he’s still smiling. “I missed you so much, Aslan. God, I.. I wasn’t sure if I was ever going to be able to see you again. And now look at you--you went and grew up on me.”
Exactly. Ash grew up, in all the worst ways. And Griff doesn’t know about any of it. Ash wants to be sick.
“Can I give you a hug?” Griffin asks, endearingly shy. “I think I owe you about a decade worth of hugs.”
Ash outright flinches. Griffin has always been affectionate--kissing Ash’s forehead, scooping him up into his arms, rubbing his back when he cried--but Ash was different then. Griff wouldn’t want to touch Ash now, not if he knew what Ash has become, and Ash doesn’t want to trick him like that.
“I don’t think you really want to do that,” Ash mumbles.
Griffin’s smile falls, replaced by something guilty and wounded.
“That’s okay,” he says gently. “I understand if you’re angry at me. You have every right to be. I mean, I left you alone for so long. So you don’t have to be happy to see me right away. But I’ll make it up to you, Aslan. I mean it. Everything I missed. I’ll make it up to you.”
Goddamnit, Ash is doing this all wrong. The reunion was supposed to be bright and joyful and relieved, full of laughter and embraces. It’s not supposed to go like this.
“No, no, Griff, that’s not it,” Ash says, the nausea still churning hard in his stomach. “I’m not angry at you. Shit, it’s just like you, isn’t it? You always take responsibility, even when something isn't your fault.”
Griffin smiles, far gentler and kinder than Ash has ever deserved.
“But I did miss a lot,” he says softly. “There’s no denying that. So why don’t you sit down and fill me in on some of it? I have about a decade to catch up on.”
Ash clenches his jaw and tightens his fists at his sides, but he does come to sit down at the chair at Griffin’s bedside eventually. In truth, he doesn’t want to catch Griff up on anything. Where would he even begin? The murder? The prostitution? There isn’t a single thing that’s happened since Griffin’s deployment that Ash could expect him to be proud of.
Ash can’t even bring himself to meet Griff’s eyes, staring instead at his fists clenched tight in his lap. The shame is so overwhelming he wants to be sick.
“I can tell something’s bothering you,” Griffin says. “Do you want to tell me about it?”
For a long moment, Ash is quiet. He supposes it was only a matter of time before Griffin found out who he’s become. What he’s become. He might as well get it over with. Let Griff know, let him be repulsed, and let him hate Ash for it. It’s inevitable.
“A little after you left…”
Ash trails off, his throat tightening so abruptly that he can’t speak. He tries again.
“A little after you left, I…”
And then Ash is crying, hands still clenched in his lap so hard his knuckles have gone white and body shaking. He can’t. He doesn’t want Griffin to hate him. He couldn’t bear that, not from his brother. Now, more than even, Ash wishes he could go back in time and change everything. He wishes he could become anything besides what he is now. He wishes he could become someone Griff could still love.
Griffin reaches out a careful, tentative hand and places it on Ash’s knee, and Ash recoils, completely and totally, leaping up out of his chair and backing himself against the wall of the hospital room, his chest heaving up and down with ragged breaths. Realization dawns in Griffin’s eyes.
“You don’t like me touching you,” he says softly. “That’s okay--I promise. I won’t do it if it makes you uncomfortable.”
“No!” Ash says, too loud and too sudden in the quiet hospital room.
“No?”
Ash pauses to collect himself for a moment.
“It’s not that I don’t want you to touch me. It’s that you don’t want to. Or you wouldn’t, if you knew.”
“If I knew what?”
For a moment, Ash feels like he might be sick, but he clenches his jaw hard and breathes in slowly, trying to stave off the nausea. He hasn’t stopped crying, the tears still running heavy down his face.
“I… I was a whore, Griff. For years. I’m not the sweet, innocent kid you remember. I hardly even remember that kid anymore. Too much has happened. I’m not the same person you knew back then.”
For several long moments, Griffin is still and silent. This is it then--the moment he turns Ash away, tells him he can’t bear to be in the same room as him any longer and he wants him to go. Ash still has Eiji, at least, but he can’t fill the void Griff will leave. Not entirely. Ash only has one brother, after all.
“Years?” Griff says suddenly, something dark and furious in his tone.
Ash blinks.
“What?”
“You said ‘years.’ You’re nineteen. So this happened while you were underage. At least some of it, anyway.”
Ash’s brow furrows. He isn’t following Griffin’s logic.
“Yeah? I guess I was seven when everything began. Or eleven, depending on how you look at it.”
Griffin is perfectly still for a moment, and then he makes a noise halfway between a gasp and a sob, and buries his face in his hands.
“Griff?” Ash tries.
Griffin takes several seconds to collect himself before he finally lifts his head. When he does, his eyes are swimming with tears.
“Aslan, I’m so sorry,” he says, sounding far more heartbroken than Ash can ever recall. “I can’t even tell you how sorry I am. How awful I feel for leaving you alone. I should’ve been there to protect you.”
“I… what?”
“The whole reason I enlisted was to try to give you a better life. But I don’t know what the hell I was thinking. I should’ve been here with you. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to help.”
Ash’s brow furrows deeper. This isn’t making any sense.
“You’re not disappointed?”
“Disappointed?” Griffin repeats, bewildered. “No, Aslan, how could you even think that? You were a kid and people exploited you. I’m angry at them, and I’m so sorry that I wasn’t there for you, and I’m heartbroken that you had to go through that, but I’m not disappointed in you. Not in the slightest.”
“Oh.”
“And you thought I wouldn’t want to hug you if I knew? You thought, what? That I’d think you were too dirty or damaged to touch?”
Ash can’t help it--he got a hold of himself for a bit, but he just starts crying again as he nods. Damn Griffin for always being able to read Ash like a book.
“No, Aslan, listen to me. I just want to hug you more for knowing that. I want to hug you to make up for all the times you were hurt and I wasn’t able to.”
Ash nods again. And then takes a careful step towards Griffin’s bed. And then another. And another. And then he simply can’t hold back any longer and all but throws himself into Griffin’s arms.
The angle is awkward, given how Ash is leaning down onto Griffin’s bed and Griffin has to reach his arms up to embrace him, but that doesn’t matter to Ash. All that matters is that his brother, practically returned from the dead, is holding him for the first time in over a decade. All that matters is that Griffin isn’t disappointed in him. Or ashamed of him, or disgusted by him. That he forgives Ash, completely and totally, for everything that’s happened. That Griffin’s holding Ash so hard his arms tremble, and that Ash is trembling too, with silent sobs, but in relief this time, not heartbreak.
Ash expects Griffin to pull back after a few moments, but he doesn’t. Instead, he scoots over in the hospital bed, and coaxes Ash to come lie at his side, resting his head on Griffin’s shoulder with Griffin’s arm still wrapped around him.
Ash should feel ridiculous. The great Ash Lynx, known throughout the city for his nerves of steel and deadly aim, is curled up in his brother’s embrace like a child who needs comfort after a nightmare. But Ash doesn’t feel stupid. No, he feels… light, he supposes. Like invisible weights have lifted from his limbs and his gut. Like he’s been carrying something so heavy for so long, and has just now been able to put it down. Like he can breathe again, for perhaps the first time in twelve years.
“I’m not sure I want to know the answer to this,” Griffin says, after several long moments, “but what did Dad do about all of this? Didn’t he step in and try to put a stop to everything?”
Ash hesitates for a moment, worrying the thin hospital blanket in his fingers.
“He, uh, encouraged it, more than anything, I guess. When he found out what was happening with my baseball coach, he sort of… told me I should ask him for money? You know, in exchange.”
Immediately, Griffin sits up in bed, careful not to jostle Ash too much as he lets go of him, throws back the blanket, and reaches for the wheelchair beside his bed.
“What are you doing?” Ash asks.
Griffin maneuvers the wheelchair closer to the bed, his hands trembling so badly it takes him several tries.
“I’m going to Cape Cod to fucking kill him ,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “Right now.”
Ash stops Griffin with a hand on his arm.
“Why don’t you wait until you’ve recovered a little more? You just woke up from a major medical procedure. You need rest.”
“Nope, don’t care. I’m going to kill him.”
“Griff, please,” Ash says, surprising himself with his urgency. “Right now, I just want you to stay with me.”
That’s enough to get Griffin to stop, blinking as if waking from a daze.
“Sorry,” he says softly. “You’re right. That son of a bitch matters a lot less than making sure you’re okay right now.”
Ash can’t help it--he laughs. It’s a choked, unsteady sound, but there’s an undeniable lightness to it.
“What? What’s so funny?”
“It’s just, there’s a lot more I haven’t told you about. I sort of ended up a gang boss, and took down the head of the Corsican mafia, and uncovered this whole government brainwashing conspiracy, and exposed a child sex trafficking ring among a bunch of high profile senators and military officials. It’s just funny, for you to still act like I’m a kid, you know?”
For a moment, Griffin’s quiet, looking at Ash with a puzzled, bemused expression. But then he smiles, so softly and so fondly.
“It doesn’t matter how much of a badass you’ve become these past few years. You’ll always be my little brother, Aslan. Nothing is going to change that.”
Ash grins.
“You know, I bet your ‘little brother’ could finally kick your ass. You might’ve been able to win all of our fights when I was a kid, but the smart money is on me now.”
Griffin gasps, mock scandalized.
“Aslan Callenreese, are you threatening to beat up your disabled veteran brother? Really, I should call a nurse in here to remove you from the room.”
Ash grabs a pillow from the bed and whacks Griffin in the side of the head with it, laughing too hard to manage a good hit. So much has changed since Griffin was deployed, in so many ways. And yet, play wrestling with him in the cramped hospital bed, it hardly feels like they’ve been apart a day. For just a moment, it’s like Ash is a kid again. Like he’s just as free and innocent as he had been when Griff had left.