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There were always conditions to love.
Lying on the cold mud, with the rain seeping into his clothing, the ebbing of cold soaking through his skin into his very soul, Kaeya truly felt a fool. To think, for one moment, he had allowed himself to forget. Or rather, to think for one moment, he had allowed himself to believe.
The Ragnvindr’s had offered love and acceptance. They had preached the morals of the city of freedom, acting as the perfect citizens. And then, when the time came, they had proved to Kaeya that, truly, they were no better than his blood family. Perhaps, with their lies and deception, they had shown themselves to be even worse. At least his birth father had never fooled Kaeya into a false sense of security, with constant reassurances that his sole purpose was to exist as the saviour of their people. His single use to be an act of vengeance of a cursed people.
A harsh cough tore through his bloodied throat, scraping and dragging its way out from his broken chest. It was a reminder. A reminder that, if he were to remain in this clearing, the wrath of the anemo archon swarming around him, he would most certainly die.
In the recess of his mind, Kaeya let himself consider what would happen if he simply remained.
It would be ironic in a sad sort of sense. Leaving the Ragnvindr family, just as he had entered. On a cold, stormy night, abandoned by his father, completely and utterly alone. A deserving fate for a traitor such as him. Perhaps it would act as a sick sort of revenge against Diluc. Let him live with the knowledge that his final actions against his baby brother had been to destroy their relationship. That he would never remove the stain from his hands. That he would never know the peace of being forgiven for his actions. That he would feel the guilt of not being able to share his love, one final time.
Diluc held no love for him though. Kaeya was not fool enough to believe otherwise. How long had it been since Kaeya had been cursed with a vision? How long since Diluc had abandoned him, unable to fight against the will of the Archons? And still Diluc did not return. He expected him to die. Whether by the elements or the blood loss, Diluc expected, perhaps even hoped, that he would die. And it would be so easy. So easy to do as Diluc had intended. Only, Kaeya was petty. He was petty, and vicious, and he was a survivor. He had clawed his way out of the abyss, refused to succumb to the curse of the archons, spent eleven years of his life with a dying nations hopes and dreams resting upon his shoulders, and still he found himself kicking and screaming to keep on living.
With his sole motivation of spite, Kaeya dug burnt, blistered hands into the cold earth, ignoring the way his torn nails ripped themselves apart as they caught on stray rocks embedded in the ground. Even with his body screaming in pain, the burns on his chest shrieking at him to stop, he dragged himself up onto weak knees, planted shaky feet on the ground, and with only a dull blade as support, he began to stumble in the direction of Mondstadt. He would not die today. Not here, not today, and most certainly not by Diluc’s hand.
Very few people chose to visit Jean outside of working hours.
It was something of an unspoken rule among the people of Mondstadt. From Monday to Sunday, between the hours of 7AM – 8PM, any citizen of Mondstadt could make a request to Jean, no matter how big or small the issue was. They were free to knock on her door, or to come up to her on the street, and she’d be perfectly willing to help. Any later or earlier, and they’d find themselves faced with a very angry, very protective Lisa.
Jean didn’t know the specifics of what it was exactly that Lisa had threatened people with (plausible deniability). To be truthful, she didn’t even know if Lisa threatened people. What she did know, was that, when she had offhandedly mentioned about a strange man by the name of Albert pestering her about Barbara, the man had seemingly vanished for the period of a week, and when he had returned, he had refused to step even a foot within the boundaries of the cathedral. So of course, to hear the ratatatat of knuckles against wood outside her front door, Jean had been concerned, and perhaps a bit afraid, with the feeling of anxiety nestling its way into her chest. To open the door and find herself face to face with Kaeya, shirt torn, stained with blood, and slumped against her wall, almost sent Jean reeling backwards, vomit rising from her stomach.
“Hi.” His voice was torn ragged, hoarse, barely above a whisper. A weak attempt at a smile flickered across his features, though it came across as more of a grimace, pulling at a particularly nasty gash on his cheek till it opened, leaking a trickle of blood. “Can I come in?”
“Oh Kaeya.” She whispered, broken from her stupor as she lunged forward, wrapping his arm around her shoulder to support some of his weight. A mistake on her part, as the small movement sent him recoiling backwards with a sharp gasp. The colour seemed to fade from his tanned complexion, leaving him with an almost greyish tinge, as his eye, piercing blue, rolled into the back of his head, his body slumping as though he were but a puppet with cut strings.
“Shit Kaeya.” She spoke, slightly louder, stumbling forward under the full force of his weight. He had never been particularly heavy, what with childhood malnourishment and an unhealthy concern with his appearance, but the sudden force had caught her off guard, leaving her struggling to balance him across her shoulders.
Her couch wasn’t particularly far. A few metres, that felt like a marathon as she took staggering steps forward, her heavy breathing almost matching that of the harsh breaths tearing themselves through Kaeya’s lungs. She had always been an overthinker. Her fatal flaw. And with each struggling wheeze, she only found herself more certain of her diagnosis. Images of punctured lungs and constricted airways flashed through her mind, as she pictured Kaeya slowly turning blue, unable to force any oxygen into his body, dying a slow painful death on her couch. Having to watch the boy whom was like a brother to her slowly fade away in front of her, without any control on the situation.
With as much grace and care as she could muster (which was decidedly very little in the given situation) she attempted to rest Kaeya on the couch, elevating his feet, trying to make him as comfortable as possible as she ran through the necessary check-ups.
His skin was clammy with sweat, and his pulse was erratic, but not dangerously so. As she pressed against his ribs with gentle fingers, trying to avoid applying more pressure than necessary, clinging to her anemo vision as she attempted to stitch together the small cracks between his ribs, she found herself letting out a small breath of relief at realising that his lung had simply been bruised, rather than punctured. An injury that could have been dangerous, but was far easier to heal. Small cuts littered his body, a particularly nasty one across his chest, but nothing Jean couldn’t heal. Perhaps it was the extent of the injuries that should have surprised her, or perhaps the unknown cause, but instead, the main cause of her curiosity was the joint pyro and cryo visions burrowed away in his jacket pocket.
One of them was Diluc’s, that much she knew for certain. That cretin had somehow managed to dent a gift handcrafted by the Gods. The other one had to be Kaeya’s. A cryo vision. A cause for celebration. Yet the circumstances…
Jean had always been closer to Kaeya than Diluc, despite having known the latter for longer. They’d met when they were both eight, and Diluc was nine, at such an age that a single year seemed like such a large difference. Jean had been an older sister in name only, carrying the weight of heirship that Diluc should have understood. Yet her and Kaeya had bonded over things that, at that age, held so much more importance. The books they read, the weapons they used, their shared teasing of Diluc. And smaller things as well. Things that mattered far more than those jovial things. Like how they both walked around with weights far too heavy for their young age, that other children simply couldn’t understand. That their shared loneliness seemed to ease the more they spent time with one another. Jean had always sided with Kaeya over Diluc. And with the questionable situation, she would continue to do. Her and Kaeya, against the world, against their families, forever.
For now though, she would simply exist as the big sister. Combing through his hair, trying to ignore the crunch of singed ends, tugging at small clumps of dirt that had knotted their way through silken locks she had braided more times than she could count. Tomorrow she would be his soldier, fighting battles that he himself could fight, but didn’t deserve to. Today, she would simply be his sister.
Kaeya’s first thought upon waking up was that he had a hangover. His memory was dotty, and his head ached when he thought too much about anything. Father must have gone slightly overboard with the wine tasting at Diluc’s birthday party, forgetting that, despite his maturity, Kaeya was still only seventeen. Yet, when he moved to sit up, and felt the tug of freshly healed scar tissue across his chest, he was shoved back into reality. Father was dead, and Diluc had abandoned him. This was no hangover, but the after effects of vision healing.
“Kaeya?” Jean’s voice called from the kitchen, underlined by the bubbling of boiling water. “Kaeya are you awake and rustling around in there?” She sounded concerned, scared in a way that truly did not fit the image of Jean he had crafted in his head. Her fear only encouraged his, but he fought down the bubble of anxiety rising up in his throat.
“Yeah.” He started, only for his voice to fracture, cracking almost painfully on the first syllable. He coughed harshly, a glob of something bitter and tangy shooting its way from his throat that he quickly swallowed, before continuing. “Yeah, sorry. I’m awake. Not up. Awake.”
She rushed in, a loud clatter banging through the small house as she turned the corner, pale cheeks flushed, hair tugged back into a messy ponytail, deep bruises shadowing her eyes, but an expression of painful relief on her face. A pang of guilt struck his chest, as the realisation of the panic that Jean must have undergone that previous night upon finding him dying at her doorstep, only to be closely followed by the painful question of what if. What if he told her what he had told Diluc? Would she have still accepted him, healed him, helped him?
“Are you ok?” She asked, rushing forward to kneel in front of him, eyes staring at him with such intensity that Kaeya found himself pinned in place. “Does your chest hurt? Can you breathe? Are you bleeding anywhere? Let me check your burns, I need to make sure-”
He cut her off quickly, placing hands that were far colder than they had been before on her cheeks, squeezing them into a pout. He smiled, slightly forced, but far less so than it probably should have been, and answered. “I’m fine Jeanie. Just achy. And a little tired. All thanks to you.”
She smiled, her cheeks still smushed between his palms as she reached up to hold his hand, seemingly absorbing the information that he was ok, that he wasn’t going to drop dead if she turned away for a moment. She pulled his hands away from face, but kept hers closed around his, grip comfortingly tight. “You’re ok.” She repeated, voice ever so gentle, tinted with a light airiness. “You’re ok.”
He nodded along, still smiling at her, only for her to suddenly frown sharply, brows furrowed as she pulled herself on to the couch beside him, a spark in her eyes freshly reignited. “Kaeya you need to tell me what happened. You need to tell me everything.” She spoke, a new found energy in her voice. He opened his mouth to protest, but she simply steamrolled past him. “We can file a report, make sure that the person responsible for this gets their due deserts. I know it’s Diluc Kaeya, I’m not stupid. You two fought, you always fight, but it’s never like this. He did this, and I love him like a brother, but I love you like a brother too. And he ran. He ran, and you only run when you’re guilty. He did this to you and I can’t forgive him. I won’t forgive him, because I know you will an-”
“I’m not pressing charges.” Kaeya burst out, far too loud, leaving the two of them in a painful silence. “I’m not pressing charges.” Again, but quieter, with far more certainty. “I…you weren’t there Jean. You don’t understand. I…it was me. I’m the one responsible. I said things I shouldn’t have said.”
“That doesn’t give him any right to do this Kaeya.”
“It does. It really does.” His voice came out choked, sobs beginning to clog up his throat, just as the blood had done. “I’m a monster Jean. I’m a monster, and I wish he’d killed me. I wish I’d just stayed there.”
She flung her arms around him, pulling him close to her, letting his head rest on her shoulder as stifled sobs transformed themselves into harsh cries. Bony fingers clung to the fabric of her bedclothes, tears mixing with snot to dampen the crevice of her shoulder as he wailed the same words over and over. Repeating how he was a monster, how he deserved what had happened to him, all whilst Jean snapped her head back and forth, offering only small words of comfort she knew would not reach him.
“No. No you’re not a monster, you’re Kaeya. You’re Kaeya and you’ll always be Kaeya.”
“You wouldn’t say that. You wouldn’t say that if you knew.”
“I would.” She promised, rubbing soothing circles into his back. “I know you Kaeya and I know you’re not monster, so you can tell me. Tell me anything.”
“That’s what Diluc. He told me I’d be his brother, no matter what. He’s a liar. You’re all liars, you just don’t know it yet.”