Chapter Text
Winters had always brought out the worst in people. Food was scarce, fires were rarely ever warm enough, and the town’s compassion grew as cold as the darkest of nights. It was never something to look forwards to, and yet, despite the depression that accompanied it, the season was responsible for the Wittebane brothers’ creation. Well, certainly not in the most traditional manner of speaking, but it had been enough for Caleb. And, he suspected, enough for Pip.
This winter had been especially cruel. Not only had Caleb caught the malaise that inflicted more than enough common folk – in addition to his already hardly functioning breathing ability -- but he had been roped into the town’s hunting frenzy. Really, after the same tribulations every year, one would think that eventually someone would put an end to the senseless accusations. It didn’t help that he was barely able to participate in the work it offered, but with the people so careless in their suspicions, it most definitely wasn’t an ideal situation.
Caleb sat up and laid on the pillow against the wall, carefully positioned by none other than Pip himself. The hay underneath him crinkled softly at his movements, and his chest gave a painful throb at the shift in weight. A painful cough was forced out of him, fist moved up to muffle his sound as he did so. He sighed gently, as to not irritate his already aching throat. Really, one would think this would be getting old by now. This illness of his seemed destined to never leave him, winter be damned.
A small series of knocks came from the barn door, in a pattern unique to only one, other than himself. Caleb let out a small smile.
“Come out the cold, Pip. It wouldn’t do for the both of us to have a frosted pair of lungs.”
The child in question struggled with the door momentarily, fighting against the rusted hinges, until finally opening it with a grunt. He quickly took to the inside, carved mask covering the red tinge left over from the weather outside. Closing the door with the same gusto as he opened it, he laid the bag he held over his back beside his feet and turned to Caleb. His hands came up to his mask, and delicately removed it from his person, revealing an expression brightened only by the image of his brother.
“Caleb! I’ve brought only the finest bread Mrs. Pendleton had to offer.” Philip rummaged through the bag and came to sit next to the elder of the two. Caleb shifted to provide more room for the two of them on the makeshift mattress. He moved his jacket away from his lap, and brought it up to cover Philip, whose shivering managed to lessen in the close contact.
Another cough forced its way out of Caleb’s throat, covered by his own fist. Philip’s hand came to a slow stop, still within the bag, as he slowly looked up worriedly at his brother. The arm around his shoulder had tightened ever so slightly, and the coughing had managed to shake Philip just enough to bring his eyes to the pale complexion Caleb managed to sport on his face. “Has your breathing…?” He didn’t bother finishing the question – the answer was clear. Still, Caleb removed his hand from his face, and let out of slight sigh as to not trigger another fit. Eyes half-lidded, he took a second before answering.
“Oh, just the same as always. You know winter brings out the worst in us, health or otherwise.” Caleb made himself comfortable and forced a small smile – exhaustion be damned, he was still an older brother, one who was blessed with the comfort of a younger creature, kind enough to bring him bread and more. “Never mind that. Tell me about your day. How were the townsfolk? How did Mrs. Pendleton do without me, today?”
Philip paused a moment, eyes shining with a worry only a child could reflect. It was clear his brother was unwell, but he understood their situation. At the end the day, Mr. Smithson would hold no care for his brother’s current state. If there was work to be done, then God-willing, it would be done, one way or another – and if it wasn’t Caleb that received the surviving payment, it would be some other poor sap.
He looked down at the bag he brought, frowning at the thought of not being able to have bought something as simple as bread and fruit in the coming days. And yet…
“My day went well, and I was able to visit Mrs. Pendleton a couple of times. She wishes for your good health and says to not let Mr. Smithson work you too hard.” Philip tilted his head to look up at his brother. His eyes had closed, his minute expression still stubbornly planted on his face, even with his head tilted back. He let out a hum in acknowledgment, already falling into the hands of sleep laid so clearly ahead of him.
Philip continued to talk, albeit with a much softer voice. He told him of the wind that was just a little too cold this morning, and of the fish Mr. Lively had caught today. He told him of horses that came passing through town, and the hoof marks so clearly planted in the dirt they kicked underneath them.
He did not, however, tell Caleb of the witch trial that had been followed with a zest rare in the present days. He did not tell him that it was Anne Compton who had taken the trial and was as of now still waiting on her punishment, a decision to come out in the evening hours of the following day. And, most importantly, he did not tell him Mr. Smithson’s grumblings that did nothing but insult the state of his brother, or the lack thereof.
For now, Philip let Caleb rest his head against the back of the barn. He let his arm remain protectively around his shoulders, for it was a comfort that none could compare to simply because it was his brother’s arm, and no one else’s. “Brothers Wittebane, Caleb. Forever, and always,” Philip whispered to himself, his brother long-gone from the land of consciousness.
Philip slowly shifted his body to curl against Caleb’s, careful not to waken him in the process.
Tomorrow was a new day – everything would be better tomorrow. Perhaps, even, Caleb’s breathing would be better, and they could pick up the firewood Mr. Smithson would inevitably ask for together with laughter, instead of wheeze infested silence.
Yes, tomorrow would be better. Philip was sure of it.
Spreading Caleb’s jacket to cover both of their legs – more so Philip, considering the smaller stature – he closed his eyes, and dreamed of sunlit fields, where he and Caleb would be free to live in the comforts of their own home, filled with adventure and more, together.