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“It’s okay,” he murmurs, and somewhere Sylnan hopes Br’aad doesn’t remember what his lying voice sounds like. “It’s okay, buddy, I’ve got you. I’ve got you. You’re okay.”
The blood matted in Br’aad’s hair leaves little red marks over Sylnan’s face as he pulls his little brother close. He absently wishes he could braid it for him.
“... Sorry…” Br’aad lets his head lull into Sylnan’s shoulder.
“What- what’re you sorry for, bud?” His voice is light and his hands shake and the cloth he bunches together grows redder and redder.
There’s this awful, wry smile on Br’aad’s face. He looks pale. He looks so pale. “I didn’t…. I…. k- kept you waitin’ huh?”
“Yeah.” That pulls a wretched sort of laugh out of Sylnan. “Yeah, you did, bud.”
“... Can you… tell me… about my– my name, again?”
Sylnan breathes in sharply, and holds him closer, and the air tastes like iron. “I– I named you,” he says like a confession.
“You did,” and Br’aad sighs, like this is some great relief and not a curse.
“I did.” There’s this nothingness buzzing behind his eyes– this red absence that tears at the back of his throat, so desolate and ravenous that he wishes he could let it bleed until he could drown in it. Until there was just nothing left.
He rocks them back and forth in some horrific parody of long, cold nights and harsh hands. He always was the first person Br’aad would go to when he had a nightmare. But this isn’t the tiny infant he rocked to sleep; this isn’t the child he protected from the monsters under the bed.
“I–” Sylnan isn’t really here. He’s somewhere else, somewhere cold and fuzzy and distant. “I think we won, you know?”
He doesn’t even know why he’s saying this. Br’aad’s fine. He’s gonna be fine.
“You did a great job. You– saved those guards.” He’s– Sylnan doesn’t know why he’s crying. It’s fine. He’s fine.
Br’aad lets his eyes flutter closed. He takes this long, shaky breath. “Don’t– hey, s’okay. It’s okay, Sylnan. It’s okay.”
Sylnan can feel Br’aad’s hands dig into the fabric of his cloak a little too tightly. There’s so much blood, and he can almost choke on the haze of static fear and devastating love and scalding grief rattling in his lungs. “That’s– that’s my line. Fuck.”
Br’aad’s arm shakes as he brings his hand to Sylnan’s face, and too kindly, too gently runs his thumb under his eye. Sylnan can’t help but lean into the touch. “Don’t– like it when… you cry. It’s– you should be happy, Sylnan. I– just– just wanted to make you happy. Just wanted to make you proud.”
“I am. Gods. I am, Br’aad, so proud.” And then his eyes catch on the red and the way Br’aad’s breath stutters against his chest and the tragic, tragic smile on his face, and the air feels fragile and suffocating and not enough, amd he needs– he needs to keep his brother safe, he needs to bandage his wounds and tell him he loves him and get that fucking smile off of his face. “I’m so proud of you, you know that? So proud of the man you’ve become. So proud of you, I– I hope–”
Sylnan was always the protector. He was always the one who kept them safe. But gods, Sylnan’s not so sure he would’ve survived without someone to protect. Even if he did a real shit job at it. “I– I love you. As much as there are stars in the sky, remember? I love you, buddy, I do.”
There’s this tremor in his little brother's hand, in his breath, in his heartbeat. “I… never said goodbye.” He’s got this faraway look in his eyes. “At– at the factory, Sylnan, I never said goodbye, I just– left. I’m… sorry.”
“It’s okay, buddy, it’s okay. Shh, everything’s okay. We can talk about it later. We’re just gonna wait here. For Vel. She’s on her way. It’s okay. I’m so– I love you, and I’m so so proud of you, and everything’s okay, I promise. I promise. It’s all gonna be alright.”
“Love you too,” Br’aad says slightly, softly. “... I’ll… see ya later.” And then the pressure of Br’aad’s hand on his arm slackens, and Sylnan’s heart stops.
“Br’aad?”
“Br’aad?”
There’s a slight, horrible smile on his little brother’s slack face. His little brother. Br’aad, hurt and bloody and– and he can’t– there’s something wrong, something broken in the air, in the world, because this can’t–
His little brother. Br’aad’s hand is so cold. “Buddy. No, bud, please. Hey, please, please, please, just– I need you to stay awake, bud, please. Please. Fuck.”
“Please,” Sylnan prays over the body of his little brother. “Please. Don’t go.”