Work Text:
When Lang Buddha falters, it is Tony Corleone's responsibility to hold him and the family together and wait until he can get back up.
It's him who closes the Clean Manor off from the rest of the world and sends an email saying no one is allowed to wake up or come to the house. It's Tony who carries a crying Lang from his bedroom, away from all the memories the boys have left. They pass bedrooms and Tony covers Lang's eyes, keeping his own from straying on the doors and the portraits of the family.
They settle on the couch before the stairs—a place rarely used by anyone, and holds the smallest of echoes of the three people. Tony pulls Lang in close, lets him dig nails in Tony's back, tucking the man's head under his chin and grips him just as tight.
"Buddha." A single word contains his sorrow, a plea, and a reminder in itself. He hugs the man more and listens as his brother cries harder. It breaks his heart but Tony refuses to let that show in his voice. They can't afford him to fall apart too; Lang is his to take care of now. He's the only one that can understand completely, that has been there since the beginning when they kept losing and losing and losing people.
"Baby," he says as his shirt sticks to his skin because of Lang's tears. "We'll get through this, you hear, Buddha? Just like last time, we'll survive."
"It'll be okay. We can survive this, baby. We'll get through it," is what the racer repeats with his lips on Lang's temple. "You and me, baby. I'm here—just like old times."
Lang sobs out, "Tony. Tony, they're gone."
"I know. I know, baby," he whispers, voice nearly cracking. "But I'm here, alright?"
"Our boys are gone."
Tony takes in a shaky breath, blinking hard to stave off tears. It's true—the boys aren't here anymore, their rooms unused and their stashes untouched. It takes more of his heart like it always did when someone left the family.
(But this time it was three all at once. Tony's left wondering how he's still alive with his heart a husk of what it was—having lost too much too soon.)
"They are." The admission strikes deep at both of them, Lang continuing on sobbing on his chest and Tony looking blankly at the windows. "But we can recover, right, Boobski?"
A bitter, "What, build another family again? Rinse and repeat?"
"Rinse and repeat," Tony repeats lowly. Coaxing Lang to face him, he plants a kiss on the man's forehead and pulls back, holding a check in one hand. "We wait for them to come home. But we need to make sure they still have a home to return to, baby."
"We have to progress, keep the money coming." Wiping away tears, he continues. "Keep our place in the city. So when they come back—"
"We'll be ready to welcome them."
"Exactly, Buddha." The grip relaxes on his back. They shift so they're lying down on the couch instead of kneeling, Tony again leading Lang to rest his head on a shoulder. "Love you, Booba. We'll be okay. They'll be okay."
"Love you too, cocksucker."