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“Hey, hey now, Wrecker, wake up, you’re alright…”
Wrecker opened his eyes, shaking in every limb. Ninety-nine was hovering over him, brows drawn together in concern. Behind him, barely visible in the dark, Crosshair and Hunter were on the bottom bunk of the other bed, eyes wide like owls, Tech hidden from view beneath his blanket on the top.
For a moment, Wrecker tried to hold it together, the nightmare’s real detail evaporating on waking, but then Ninety-nine touched his shoulder, soothing, and he couldn’t keep it together. Ninety-nine pulled him, gently, until Wrecker was leaning against his chest, trying to bite back on cascading, shameful sobs.
He never used to cry like this before. No, not him, he was the tough one, he was the only one who didn’t cry or shake when their mother took lumbar punctures or made them dunk in the ice tank. Coming to Ninety-nine’s, though— every little gesture of affection was a crack in the armor, and now he was ashamed of himself for being so sensitive, so soft.
He tried to stop crying, because he could tell from the silence in the room that Hunter and Crosshair and Tech were watching, wincing in sympathy— and Tech, especially, Wrecker knew that if he didn’t shut up it would just get worse and worse because Tech would blame himself, even though it hadn’t really been his call. No, Ninety-nine had made the gentle suggestion that Wrecker sleep alone, and the small part of Wrecker’s brain knew that it was the right thing to do.
For a little while, it’d been good, Tech sharing the bottom bunk with him. He said it was only ‘cuz it was warmer that way and he didn’t like the climb to the top bunk, but Wrecker knew better, and he was grateful; if he woke up from a nightmare having Tech so close could calm him down in seconds. Then, a few days ago, he’d gotten a really bad nightmare, one that made him thrash around, and he’d accidentally kicked Tech hard, hard enough to send him tumbling out of the bed, and— and he’d almost broken his arm, even though it was an accident, and Wrecker’d just felt so big and awful and oversized and he was just so jealous that Crosshair could double with Hunter without getting hurt, what an awful brother he was, and— and— and—
“There,” Ninety-nine said, rubbing circles in Wrecker’s back, “it’s okay, son, you’re okay.”
Wrecker hiccuped pathetically, letting himself get held.
After a few long minutes he quieted down, feeling deep-in-his-bones exhausted.
“Ah, Wrecker,” Ninety-nine sighed, squeezing a little. “You okay?”
Dumb and wordless, he nodded. He pulled back and Ninety-nine let him go. Wrecker sniffed, scrubbing at his face.
“Do you wanna tell me about it?” Ninety-nine asked, so quiet and soft.
Wrecker shook his head. The nightmare was over, anyways; nothing to tell about it. Sometimes Tech or Hunter could remember theirs (if Crosshair did, he never told), but Wrecker’s were always flash-bulb gone the second he opened his eyes. Just leaving behind imprints of panic and fear. Ninety-nine’s hand moved from Wrecker’s shoulder to the back of his head, smoothing against his hair where it was growing out.
“You gonna be okay to go back to sleep?” Ninety-nine asked then, voice quiet.
He had no idea. He nodded anyway.
“Here,” Ninety-nine soothed, sitting down on the side of the bed. “I’ll stay here till you’re asleep, okay? Nothing bad’s gonna happen while I’m here.”
The calm surety of his voice, saying that, almost made Wrecker’s walls come crumbling back down again. He managed a tight nod and lay back down. He didn’t dare glance over at the other bunk bed; but he could hear the springs creaking as Tech rolled over or shifted up top.
He ended up drifting back off within minutes, sleeping dreamlessly the rest of the night.
In the morning, he hung back, stomping on the urge to jump and run around. There were so many of them in this little house, all of his brothers plus Ninety-nine and the twins Fives and Echo. If he wasn’t careful, he’d knock over another lamp, like he did their first night there. Ninety-nine had said it was okay, Echo had glared daggers, but while he knew he wasn’t the brightest, Wrecker understood that he had to be careful or Ninety-nine would come to his senses. He said that’d keep them, but Mother had said that, too. She said it in a different way, sharp, frowning, but all Wrecker knew was that he liked their bunk beds, and Ninety-nine’s food, and he liked the trees around the house and the muddy little river in the backyard. Giving up their mother’s house was nothing; having to give up Ninety-nine’s house would be everything.
Tech was quiet that morning, too. He used to talk a lot more— when they could talk. When Mother wasn’t around. Wrecker made sure to bump their arms together as they stood together in the little downstairs bathroom, brushing their teeth. Their turn for the sink— Crosshair and Hunter argued with each other in the doorway, waiting their turns. Tech shot Wrecker a guarded glance, and Wrecker replied by making a face, sticking his toothpaste-covered tongue out. Tech smiled back, rolling his eyes.
School that day was okay. Just okay. They had finally moved Wrecker into the specialty remedial classes a week earlier, so he was with other kids his age in the tutoring room, not shoved into the grade below with all the little-little kids. It was better, less awkward, to get through the workbooks with other kids his age who also had some problems getting the reading done, or remembering how to do the math problems.
Technically you had to sit with your class during lunch, but so far the lunch minders didn’t make Wrecker move when he really quickly trailed behind the lunch line to follow Hunter and Crosshair over to their class’s table. Some of the kids there used to try and kick up a fuss, the first few days, but Echo and Fives said something, maybe, they weren’t sure, but Fives and Echo, over with Tech and the other eighth-graders, always looked kinda smug when they glanced over at the seventh-grade table, and no one ever tried again to get Wrecker to move.
Then, finally, end of day, and they could finally go home.
They took the bus to the end of the line, and then all six of them started the walk out to Ninety-nine’s house. Wrecker loved that it was such a long walk. After so long cooped up inside their mother’s house, every weird, tricky tree-root break in the dirt path along the side of the road was an adventure.
Fives and Echo walked a little ahead, talking to each other, but that was fine; Crosshair and Hunter were arguing about something that happened in their class that day, and there were plenty of crunchy leaves to step on, so Wrecker was occupied. Tech ended up joining him, the two of them hanging back, hopping from brittle yellow leaf to brittle yellow leaf.
They all broke up here and there as they got to Ninety-nine’s house. The old man was home early from his shift, downstairs, and with his blessing they were allowed an hour before starting their homework. Wrecker dumped his backpack in the living room with the rest of them and was about to race out the back door when Ninety-nine called his name.
He hung back, and found Ninety-nine waiting at the bottom of the staircase. “I have something special for you,” Ninety-nine said, smiling and conspiratorial. Wrecker felt his pulse pick up in anticipation as he followed the old man up the stairs.
They ended up in Ninety-nine’s bedroom. It was the tiniest room in the house, really cramped with his specialty medical bed big and lurking. Wrecker hung back, playing with the ends of his sleeves, when Ninety-nine turned and handed over a bundle of—something. It was wrapped in the funnies from the newspaper— the Sunday one, full color. In Wrecker’s big hands the paper crackled, the thing inside kind of light but with some give.
“Go ahead and open it,” Ninety-nine urged, eyes shining.
Wrecker didn’t need telling twice. He ripped open the present and a stuffed animal fell into his hands. Big and overstuffed, it was covered in black and red material, flannel maybe, beaten to a velvety softness. Big drooping ears made him think of a rabbit, but the stuffing made them stick straight up like horns; red velvet eyes looked calmly up at him.
He stood there, silent, unsure what to do or say. Something in his chest was twisting, tight and hard.
“Made that for you this afternoon,” Ninety-nine’s voice sounded very far away. “Made her special, too; nice and big for ya.”
Wrecker stood there and just looked at the thing. Dimly, he could hear Ninety-nine continuing, that he’d made stuffies like it for Fives and Echo, too, when they were younger, that there was no shame in needing a little comfort at his age, that Ninety-nine would still be there for him after a nightmare if he needed him, but he wouldn’t have to sleep alone anymore—
And then Ninety-nine was quiet, because Wrecker had stepped forward and thrown his arms around him in a tight embrace.
“Ah, Wreck,” Ninety-nine sighed, cupping the back of his neck with one hand and patting his back with the other. “There, it’s alright. It’s no trouble. Just want you to have some comfort, is all.”
Wrecker pulled back from the embrace, clutching the stuffed animal to his chest. He had never… He knew, kinda like he knew about breakfast, lunch and dinner, that normal people got gifts, or had stuffed animals, but it was always something that happened to other people. Not to him or his brothers.
Ninety-nine’s smile was bright as he looked down at Wrecker. “You like it, then?” he asked, chuckling a little.
“Yeah!” Wrecker felt like his face was gonna break in half from how he couldn’t stop smiling. He hugged the plushie close, the give of the stuffing perfect and soft and comforting. Ever better, because Ninety-nine had made it for him. For him! No one had ever made anything special for him before.
“You’re a good boy,” Ninety-nine said, ruffling where his hair was growing out on the top of his head. “Go ahead, get on,” he said, jerking his chin.
Wrecker felt so giddy, he could fly out of there. And fly out he did—sprinting at a clip, Ninety-nine calling out for him to be careful on the stairs behind him—to go show Crosshair and Hunter and Tech what he’d just been given. If any of them ever needed it, he decided as he burst out into the backyard, they could borrow it, no questions asked—it was the least he could do for his brothers.
All of them were outside, Fives and Echo, too. The twins were tossing a football back and forth to one side, Echo’s back turned to the lot of them. That was okay. Wrecker knew that Echo was smart, so he assumed that he wouldn’t want to hang out with him specifically, though he was surprised that Tech and Echo didn’t hang out together that often. The twins were a package deal—they hung out with each other, and tolerated the rest of them.
Crosshair, Hunter, and Tech were crouched together, Tech scratching something into the dirt with a stick.
“Guys!” Wrecker said, breathlessly sliding to a half-stop at their little circle. His weight took him off-balance, almost crashing into Crosshair, who shoved him back hard enough to almost totter him in the opposite direction.
“Watch it,” Crosshair sneered. Wrecker tried to catch his breath.
Hunter frowned at the plush animal in Wrecker’s arms. “What’s that?” he asked.
“It’s mine!” Wrecker crowed, shoving the stuffie forward with pride. “Ninety-nine made her for me!”
“It’s a her?” Tech asked, arching an unimpressed eyebrow.
Wrecker’s excitement banked a little, suddenly feeling funny and kind of shy. “I dunno,” he said, deflating and hugging it close. The soft give of the plush material made him feel better almost immediately—and that relief alone doubled at how easy it was to feel better. “Ninety-nine gave it to me,” he corrected.
Hunter elbowed Tech, and not lightly. “That’s nice, Wreck,” he said. He looked like he was about to ask something more, but cut himself off, eyes cutting behind Wrecker.
He turned to spy Fives and Echo, football abandoned, close with curiosity. “Hey,” Fives said, trying to peer around Wrecker’s bulk and into his arms. “What’s that?”
Still a little tender from Tech’s comment, Wrecker cautiously turned his shoulder so Fives and Echo could see his stuffie, hugged to his chest. He braced for some ribbing—he knew that Tech only did it because he had trouble filtering, sometimes, but if Fives or Echo wanted to be mean, it was probably just ‘cause they were just being mean.
Neither of them ribbed him. Echo looked disaffected, huffing a little. “C’mon, Fives,” he said, but Fives didn’t come on.
“Can I hold it?” Fives asked Wrecker, pointing to the plush.
Cautious, but pleasantly surprised at Fives’s interest, Wrecker handed it over. Fives bounced it in his hands, testing, then started to lob it up towards the sky, skipping back three big strides to catch it as it arched backwards.
“Careful!” Wrecker’s eyes tracked its precarious rise and fall through the sky. “Fives!”
“I’m not gonna drop it,” Fives said, careless. “It’s way lighter than I thought, look!” He leaned down then hauled up with both hands, sending the plush flying; he chased after it, head tilted back to track the fall. He barely snagged it by one ear before it hit the ground.
Wrecker couldn’t breathe. “Fives! Don’t!”
Fives, panting and excited, paid him no mind. Wrecker started to reach out to grab the toy, but Fives danced backwards. “Come on,” he wheedled, “what are you freaking out about? I’m not doing anything!”
“You’re gonna drop it!” Ninety-nine’s backyard was basically woodland, nothing but dirt and pine needles and rocks. Wrecker’s panic rose as he considered what might happen if the toy, with its soft velvety material, landed in the dirt— or worse , a few shallow puddles dotting the landscape. He held his hands out, ready to dive in and try to catch it— he couldn’t go for Fives, he was bigger than him, and if he hurt him, even by accident, he couldn’t bear to look Ninety-nine in the eye ever again—
“I’m not,” Fives rolled his eyes, tossing it up again.
“Give it back!” Crosshair stepped up, thunderously angry. “Hey!”
Fives and Crosshair didn’t get along; everything was always a competition. A bit of challenge sparked behind Fives’s eyes. “Oh, yeah?” he said, holding the plushie up over his head one-handed and shaking it. “Are you gonna make me?”
“Give. It. Back,” Crosshair ordered.
Fives held the toy up and back, like he was about to throw it overhand. “Make me,” he said.
Crosshair lunged at Fives, and when he tried to dodge, punched him in the face. Fives went down, Crosshair snatching the plushie from his hands as he clapped them to his nose. Wordlessly, Crosshair stalked over and shoved the plushie into Wrecker’s waiting hands. He held on with breathless tightness, the comfort of holding it a wave of relief that left him reeling.
“Dad!” Echo shouted, booking it towards the house. “Dad, Crosshair hit Fives!”
“Snitch!” Crosshair shouted to his retreating back. On the ground, Fives clutched his face and rolled around, getting onto his knees and then standing.
“You’re the worst!” Fives shouted at Crosshair.
Crosshair didn’t even bother with formalities; he launched himself back at Fives and the two tumbled into the dirt together. Fists and elbows flying. Hunter dove into the fray, trying to get his arms around Crosshair’s middle, only to get an elbow to the face for his trouble. Wrecker just stood there, clutching his plushie, feeling like any second now the ground would open under him and swallow him up.
A sharp, shrill whistle cut through all the furor.
Crosshair, Fives, and Hunter all froze in the dirt. Over by the house, with Echo by his side, Ninety-nine lowered his fingers from his mouth. Limping a little, shuffling, the old man approached the messy scene, Echo on his heels, looking far too smug.
For a moment, no one said anything. Ninety-nine’s eyes roved carefully over the scene, cataloging everything. When they landed on Wrecker, his shoulders hitched up, uneasy, clutching his present—if Ninety-nine asked for it back—if he made some mistake—
But the old man’s gaze only softened, looking at him.
Ninety-nine didn’t raise his voice. Very calmly, he gestured towards the house. “Everyone, go inside. Now.” He stood there, still as a statue, as everyone fell in line, trooping into the house. Wrecker was last, trying to slink by with his head down. Ninety-nine stopped him with a gentle hand on his shoulder, stalling him as Hunter disappeared ahead.
“You okay?” Ninety-nine asked quietly. Wrecker nodded. “You’re sure?”
Wrecker swallowed. “It’s okay,” he said. “Fives— it’s okay.” Ninety-nine frowned, and Wrecker, feeling quizzed, pressed on. “They were here first,” he said, quickly. “Uh. So it’s okay.”
Something flickered on Ninety-nine’s face. He squeezed Wrecker’s shoulder. “Wrecker,” he said, voice forcibly even, “Fives and Echo were here first, but you’re here now. It’s okay if Fives hurt your feelings. I w-won’t,” the tremor in the old man’s voice made Wrecker’s chest clench. “I won’t be mad at you,” he finished. “I just want to know.”
Wrecker had a hard time swallowing. He managed a nod. “I-I thought he was g’nna hurt her,” he managed, hugging the stuffed animal tighter.
Ninety-nine nodded back. “Thank you for telling me,” he said, and he sounded like he meant it. Feeling lightheaded, Wrecker walked at Ninety-nine’s side towards the house, trailing along behind him through the door.
The tension in the living room was palpable, two clear teams encamped on opposite sides of the room. The twins were shooting daggers at Crosshair, who glared gamely back, Hunter at his side. Tech popped up at Wrecker’s elbow and stayed there as he picked a seat and sat down.
Ninety-nine closed the door to the back porch behind him and moved, slowly, shuffling a little, to stand between the two sides of the cold war. He didn’t sit down, only stood there, with his hunched back, his tired eyes, and sighed. He looked to Hunter and Crosshair for a minute, then turned towards Echo and Fives. Echo stood firm beside his twin. Fives tried to meet his father’s gaze, but even Wrecker could see the nervousness kept nailed down out of sight in his system.
“I’m very disappointed in you, Fives,” Ninety-nine said, sounding saddened.
The reaction was immediate; Fives’s face screwed up, eyes getting shiny as he struggled to keep it together under Ninety-nine’s soft eyes. “I wasn’t gonna do anything to it,” he protested, voice weak, and sniffed.
“I know you weren’t,” Ninety-nine soothed, “but Wrecker was upset. You didn’t consider his feelings. You have to be considerate of others, especially your brothers.”
To that, Fives had no excuse, and ducked his head, glaring at his toes.
Crosshair looked like the cat that got the canary, but froze as Ninety-nine pivoted towards him. “Crosshair,” he said, a gentle reprimand. “I’m disappointed in you, too.”
A familiar stony, empty mask settled over Crosshair’s features; for a second, Wrecker was thrown back in time to when they would have to stand at attention, their mother pacing and lecturing. Can’t give her an inch. Can’t let her see. He clutched his plushie hard and the moment passed.
“What Fives did was wrong, and it’s a good thing that you stood up for your brother,” Ninety-nine continued. “But you escalated the situation. You hurt Fives. You hurt Hunter, too.”
“‘s not bad,” Hunter tried to speak up, but Ninety-nine silenced him at a glance.
He turned to face Crosshair again. Just looking at him. “Why didn’t you come and get me, son?” he asked.
Crosshair flinched, scowling. “What would you even do, anyway?!” he burst out, and Wrecker felt his stomach drop. “Fives’n Echo’re your kids, we’re just here, and—and—” he cut himself off as his tone twisted, breaking painfully.
Ninety-nine was quiet, for a long moment.
“Echo,” he spoke up, turning to look over his shoulder, “Fives. Go upstairs to your room. I’ve got more to say to you. Later.”
The twins trudged off, trooping up the stairs in deflated silence.
“Wreck, Tech, come sit over here, so I can see you.”
Tech and Wrecker did as they were told, flanking Hunter and Crosshair. Ninety-nine looked at them for a long moment, expression bruised but unreadable. For a second his gaze skirted over all of them, but then narrowed until he was looking directly at Crosshair.
Crosshair kept his resolve, color rising in his cheeks, until finally the pressure was too much and he turned his head, shoulders hiked up high with tension.
Ninety-nine started to speak. His voice a pleasant, creaking burr. Rough with sincerity. “If I ever made you boys think that I wouldn’t take your side, I’m sorry for it,” he said. “I know you don’t know me all that well. But I do care for you. All of you. Very much.” He cleared his throat, and Wrecker could feel his own eyes getting misty.
“Fives and Echo are my kids,” he confirmed, “but you’re my kids, too. I won’t force you to call me dad, or even think of me that way, if you don’t want to. But that’s how I feel.”
At Wrecker’s elbow, he could feel Crosshair start to tremble, just a little bit. He got all tense, like he always did when he was trying to hold as still and solid as possible. Wrecker leaned against his arm, just a little bit, so Crosshair could have something to ground against. From the pressure of Crosshair leaning in, he needed it.
“I want to do whatever I can to earn your trust,” Ninety-nine said.
“I trust you,” Wrecker spoke up, because he did.
Ninety-nine gifted him with a watery smile. “I trust you, too, Wrecker,” he said, and reached out to squeeze his knee. “Fives was wrong,” he told the group. “He won’t be getting off scott-free for that.” Again, his eyes landed on Crosshair. “Do you understand,” he asked, gently, “why what you did was wrong, too, Crosshair?”
Crosshair bit his tongue and said nothing. For one long moment. Then two.
Then, he forced out a breath between clenched teeth. “I shouldn’t’ve hit him,” he grumbled.
Ninety-nine nodded. “I know that Fives and Echo are new to you boys, just like you’re new to them. But you’re all brothers. Brothers don’t solve problems with violence. If something like this happens again, I want you to find me. Okay?”
The four of them all nodded their heads. Ninety-nine nodded back.
“Good,” he said, and sighed a little. “Alright,” he said, making a gesture, “go on, go get started on your homework, okay? I think after all the excitement today, I can handle making dinner on my own.”
They got out of there quickly, Hunter at the lead with Tech right behind him. Wrecker wanted to pause and give Ninety-nine a hug, but Crosshair was hanging back, agitated and quiet, so Wrecker went up the stairs to give him some privacy to talk to Ninety-nine alone.
In their bedroom, Tech and Hunter were sitting on Hunter’s bunk. Hunter was frowning, shoving some growing-out curls away from his forehead.
“I think it worked out!” Wrecker declared, waving his plush. “Look! You didn’t get a good look, earlier.” He started to clamber up with them, Tech getting a loose elbow for his trouble. He shoved the plush into Hunter’s face, and he swatted it aside. Not meanly, but Wrecker felt giddy with how the plush stood up to the attack. He bopped Hunter with it, then laughed and did it again.
“Don’t know what you’re so happy about,” Hunter groused, dodging.
“I got this today! Why wouldn’t I be happy?” Wrecker swatted Tech with it, just a little. “Now I won’t wake you guys up at night,” he added, feeling funny and bashful.
Tech adjusted his glasses. “What makes you so sure it will?” he asked, but not harshly. Just curious, like Tech usually was.
“I jus’ got a feeling,” Wrecker said laying down and holding the plush up at the end of his arms. The fat little arms and legs didn’t move, but the long ear things had some give, and flopped over a little towards him. He shook it, just to see them move, then rubbed his thumbs over stuffing-chubby cheeks. It felt nice under his hands, and he just reveled in the texture for a minute.
A tentative hand reached out, and Wrecker let Tech take the plush. He studied it, turning it over and around in his hands. Crosshair appeared in the doorway, silent, and clambered up next to Hunter; soon they’d all be too big to share the one twin bed, even all sitting up, but Wrecker didn’t mind the crush. Even Tech, who usually did mind, was distracted enough by the stuffie to not shift away or get up.
Crosshair slung his legs over Hunter’s and glared at nothing. Wrecker plucked the plush from Tech and passed it to Crosshair; he took it easily enough, and his glare blunted a little bit, giving the stuffed animal an experimental squeeze.
He scoffed, trying to look like he didn’t care. “It’s nice,” he said, shortly, and passed it back.
“You can borrow her,” Wrecker told him, and looked over all of his brothers, so they knew that it applied to all of them. “If you never wan’ to. Or need to.”
They all heard the muffled noise of Ninety-nine talking to the twins in the other room. He talked to them for what felt like a while. All of them silent, not with trying to listen, but with conscious awareness that the twins were getting talked to. Ninety-nine’s kids. About accepting them. Interlopers though they were.
They broke up into doing their homework, on the beds or the floor. Wrecker stayed hugging and moving his plush around, since being in the remedial classes meant he did all of his homework in a special program the last hour of school and didn’t have anything else to do. Downstairs, it started to smell like Ninety-nine was cooking up his special spicy meatloaf, Wrecker’s favorite.
There was a tentative knock on the door. For a second, they all sat there, before Tech remembered that here, a knock wasn’t a brief warning that a door was about to open; they had to give permission.
“Come in,” Tech said, the words sounding stilted and odd.
It wasn’t Ninety-nine, but Fives, poking his head into the opening.
“Hey,” he said, voice rough. “Uh. Can I… come in for a sec?”
“No,” Crosshair said, at the same time Wrecker said “Sure.”
Fives glanced between them with a funny expression. “Fifty-fifty,” he said, slowly, and looked to Hunter and Tech. “Tiebreaker?”
Tech and Hunter shared a silent, calculating look. “You can come in,” Hunter said, crossing his arms over his chest and giving his best glare. “What do you want?”
Fives didn’t answer immediately, shouldering in and leaving the door open halfway. Echo was visible in the hallway, peering in but not approaching, his own arms crossed over his chest. It was kinda funny—they were all brothers (well, half-brothers, Wrecker had to get told what that meant their first night there), but they didn’t all look too much alike, just their shared eyes. But in the hallway, stormy-faced, Echo looked a lot like Hunter.
Wrecker was sitting up on his bed, and Fives beelined towards him, booting up to sit next to him, the mattress dipping under his weight. He shoved something into Wrecker’s hands, quickly, and Wrecker almost dropped it, setting his own plushie aside— tightening his grip, confused, he was left holding a worn-down stuffed black-and-white cat, fur thin with age.
“That’s Domino,” Fives said, quickly, indicating the plushie. Wrecker dumbly held it in both hands. “Sorry about— about earlier. If you want— fair’s fair, if you wanted to mess with him, uh. You know. That’s okay.”
Wrecker wordlessly handed the stuffed animal back. He didn’t want to mess with it any more than he wanted his plushie messed with; it actually kind of stung that Fives thought he would want to.
Sheepish, Fives slung Domino over one shoulder and leaned back onto his elbows. “I figured, but I thought I’d offer. Uh.” He kicked his legs a little, frowning. “I’m sorry about earlier,” he burst out. “Really. I’ve been thinking about it, and. And I don’t want you thinking that I’m just some stupid jerk.”
Wrecker did think that Fives was just some stupid jerk, but he was a couple other things at the same time, too.
“Like with Echo,” Fives continued on in a rush, “he knows that when I mess with him I don’t really mean it. And Rex’n Cody’n my buddies at school. I, uh. Forgot that you guys aren’t used to that.”
“Don’t go doing us any favors,” Crosshair hissed.
“I’m just saying!” Fives exclaimed, holding his hands up.
Wrecker eyed him. Fives dropped his hands, squirming uncomfortably.
“Don’t do that again,” Wrecker said, surprised at how rough his voice sounded.
Fives winced. Echo came over to stand in the doorway. “I won’t,” Fives said.
“I mean it,” Wrecker insisted, something in his stomach churning. “Don’t mess with me— with us— like that. I don’t…” he could feel his face heating up. “I don’ like it,” he muttered.
He couldn’t read Fives’s expression. “I promise,” he said, and held out his hand with all but his pinkie finger folded in.
Wrecker looked at his hand, then to Fives’s face. He didn’t know what that gesture meant.
Fives realized that, and another wince flashed across his expression. “It’s a pinkie swear,” he said. “You link your pinky with me and it’s—it’s like double the strength of a regular promise.”
“Only double?” Crosshair mocked, rolling his eyes at the display.
Wrecker watched as Fives’s face got a little dark with color, especially his ears. “It’s triple if you say it is,” he said, and grabbed one of Wrecker’s hands, finagling it until their pinkies were locked together. “There. Triple-promise.”
Something about the earnest way Fives tightened the hold of his finger made Wrecker feel the same way he did when he hugged his plushie to his chest. He squeezed back, and the look of relief on Fives’s face was almost a surprise—he liked to be so cool, but Wrecker was getting the mounting feeling that maybe Fives cared a little too much about how other people saw him.
They dropped hands. Fives fidgeted a little bit, then grabbed Domino off of his shoulder and fumbled him around in his hands. “Uh,” he said, clearing his throat, “have you, uh, picked out a name, yet?” he asked, glancing aside at Wrecker.
Thinking, he picked up his plushie and thumbed at the cheeks. “I dunno,” he said. “Uh… maybe Lucky?” he said, but knew as soon as he said it that it was the wrong name.
“Lucy,” Fives offered. “Lola?”
Wrecker considered it. “Lula,” he said, with finality, and couldn’t help but smile. “Lula,” he said to the plush, and while he knew that Crosshair probably was thinking that he was being silly, it felt nice.
“Lula,” Fives echoed, and he was grinning big and gleeful, too. He adjusted how he was holding Domino, holding out one little white paw. “Nice to meet you,” he said.
Grinning and giddy, Wrecker made Lula’s little stuffed arm reach out and mock-shake Domino’s.
“Ugh,” Echo said from the doorway, but he was smiling too. “You two are ridiculous,” he said, archly.
“It’s ‘cause we’re related,” Fives sniffed back. “It’s genetic. You’re all ridiculous, too.”
“I’m not,” Tech and Echo said at the same time. Chatter and laughter picked up, and Wrecker cradled Lula to his chest, leaning back and just basking in it.
That night, after dinner, with Lula in his arms, Wrecker slept the whole night through without a single nightmare. And the night after that. And the night after that. On and on and on.