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Sylnan hadn’t come back.
Long after the sparks had stopped rippling so angrily over his skin, long after the tears had stopped rolling down Br’aad’s skin, long past the sun sinking into the sky, Sylnan had not come home.
Once the tears had stopped, Br’aad took a deep breath in, and stood up. He was going to figure this out. Whatever he’d managed to fuck up this time, he was going to find a way to fix it.
He started going around to sort through his things. In Sylnan’s rush to leave, and Br’aad’s rush to not hurt him, there’d been a lot of things bumped around. Br’aad’s collection books had been knocked off the boxes they sat on, kicked around in his haste to curl into himself. Many of the books had been ones Sylnan had snuck out of some jobs involving nobles, collections of stories and fairytales, or simply just books on topics he thought Br’aad would enjoy. Br’aad froze as he reached out towards the books. Memories flashed in quick succession in his mind of the hours earlier when he reached towards Sylnan, the energy that had flown out of him, the damage he had caused. Destructive. He would clean up that mess later, then.
Br’aad’s footsteps echoed around the empty factory as he paced the space he had spent the past few years of his life in, the sound hollow without the sound of another person in the room. They’d chosen to build as much of a home here as they could, together. His eyes caught on the damage done from the blast of energy shot from his hand earlier. An ugly mark in this place they had worked so hard on. Singed edges and charred rubble. Damaged.
His hands had started to shake again as he examined the mark. This was all he had managed to do. He sought out this power as something to help them, something that would ease the burden on Sylnan, make their heists go easier. Not something to earn his disappointment, give Sylnan more things to worry about. His trembling hands brushed up against the mark, coming away stained with soot.
He couldn’t keep doing this.
He couldn’t keep messing things up. He couldn’t keep making things more difficult for Sylnan.
How had he managed to mess up his way of helping? He didn’t even summon the deity right, got stuck as the property of some asshole that didn’t explain anything, just threw some tattoos over him and sent him some magic he barely knew how to control. Who was he kidding, he didn’t know how to control it at all. He didn’t know what to do. And neither did Sylnan, apparently.
A metallic clang sounded from the alleway, startling Br’aad. He stood still, ears straining to hear anything else. Maybe Sylnan was back. Br’aad didn’t know if it would be better or worse if he was here. He could be back with a solution, or just with a more level head to help Br’aad figure this out. They could work through it together. But at the thought of forcing Sylnan to help, to deal with more of Br’aad’s shit just because he had managed to fuck another thing up, Br’aad wanted to curl in on himself again. He wanted to rip out whatever parts of him made him like this. He wanted to be a better brother for Sylnan.
He couldn’t keep doing this. Not to himself, and not to Sylnan.
When nothing else moved in the alleyway, Br’aad moved back over to where his things were and started to pack, ignoring the continued shake of his hands. He didn’t grab much; a change of clothes, some food to hold him over for a while, a dagger to protect himself with. He didn’t want to take too much from Sylnan, he’d be able to find whatever else he needed on his own. He scanned the room one last time, eyes catching again on the damage caused earlier, the bedrolls tucked into the corner next to each other, the years and years worth of collected items scattered around the factory. The home they built in the abandoned factory.
He was leaving this all.
He kept repeating the mantra in his head that he was doing this for Sylnan, to make it easier for him. He would not focus on the fact that he was just scared, and ashamed, and that he did not want to have to face his brother after this. He wouldn’t focus on anything at all after he caught sight of the latest trinkets Sylnan had brought back for Br’aad from whatever heist he wouldn’t let Br’aad join. He refused to think more on how much Sylnan had done for him, and how little Br’aad had been able to do in return. The trembling in his hands had gotten to the point that he was struggling to get his things into a bag.
After shoving everything he thought to grab into a bag thrown over his shoulder, Br’aad made one more pass over the room, stopping at the shabby table they’d managed to nab when someone had tossed it out. He couldn’t leave Sylnan with nothing. With a short search around the room, Br’aad managed to come up with a scrap of paper and some quill they’d pulled off someone.
Sylnan,
I know you can’t read this, but I hope you’ll take it to someone so you at least know what’s happened.
I’ve left the Wharf. I know we always said we’d leave it together someday, but I couldn’t stay here and burden you more with the mistakes I’ve made. You’ll be better off.
I don’t know if I’ll be back
I’m sorry,
Br’aad
The note was a little smeared from tears, but Br’aad hoped it would be legible enough. He didn’t have time to write it again. He left the note on the otherwise empty table and grabbed his bag off the floor.
He left out the door, not bothering to look back. He didn’t know if he would be able to keep walking if he did. There was no plan, not really, just his heavy footsteps as he made his way away from the place that had become home in a way that nothing else in his life had managed.
The night was freezing, and only got colder as he made his way towards the docks, the chill seeping in from the fraying seams of the only jacket they’d been able to afford for Br’aad. The wind stung as it hit where the last tears had smeared across his face, and Br’aad brought a hand up to his cheek to scrub off the remnants. The cold was good. The cold forced Br’aad to focus on the world around him rather than sink back into that moment, rather than think about what he was doing and the million things that could go wrong.
Goosebumps had already erupted along his arms by the time he spotted the ships in port. Even at the late hour, there were still some ships loading supplies and preparing to leave for gods know where. He chose the ship that looked the easiest to sneak onto, crew too busy to notice as he made his way down into the hull and hid amongst the supplies. His feet didn’t stop moving until he was tucked away where no one could see him, until he could no longer run back home to the warmth he missed and the destruction left in his wake.
It wasn’t until nearly an hour later, when he felt the ship moving from the docks, when he knew he was truly leaving the Wharf, that the tears started flowing again, room lit up by the occasional sparks zipping down his arms, choked sobs echoing off the wooden crates surrounding him. The noise didn’t matter now. No one was here to hear him cry.
And it wasn’t until the next morning that Sylnan finally made his way back to the factory. Frozen in time, in the exact state he had left it in last night, save for the absence of Br’aad and the addition of a note on the table. He didn’t move to grab it, to take it to someone. He already knew what it would say. He already knew what running off when Br’aad needed him most had caused. The wall was rough behind him as he fell against it, hands going to his head as he slid down. He knew he could never do enough. He’d fucked up, and he wouldn’t get to make up for it this time.