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It was inevitable that Primo and Secondo would hunt him down. Terzo knew they were worried about him, even without Omega and Copia’s constant reminders. They were trying to be reassuring, make him feel like he mattered and was missed. All it did was add to the guilt that ate away at him, every second of every day.
Terzo was being seen outside of his room more frequently, mostly taking short walks around the grounds, or visiting Omega during lonely nights. He avoided Primo’s garden like the plague. He avoided pretty much everything like the plague. He didn’t want to run into someone who might ask questions or offer help he wasn’t ready to accept. He especially didn’t want to run into Nihil or Imperator, though it would appear they had the same idea and gave him a comfortably wide berth.
One of them must have noticed his more frequent appearances, or else word of his gradual reemergence travelled fast. Because when Terzo made his way to the kitchens one afternoon, he ran directly into Primo. Literally.
He staggered back, on the defensive immediately, and when he saw whose chest he’d just face-plated into he wasn’t sure if he should be more or less on guard. Primo was staring down at him in mild surprise, concern clouding his expression. Secondo stood slightly behind him, peering down at Terzo with his typical bored, disinterested expression, lips pinched under his little mustache.
“Terzo,” Primo said quickly, “fratellino. Will you... come with us?”
He stiffened, hands sliding instinctually up to his neck. He hadn’t worn a shirt without a collar in weeks, and yet his throat still felt exposed. Vulnerable. “Go with you where?”
“Somewhere we can talk,” Primo said. His tone was calm and level, but not exactly soothing. Honestly, Terzo appreciated it. He was getting tired of being handled with kid gloves.
The last thing he needed right now was a reminder of just how easily he could break.
“To the garden,” said Secondo, when neither Terzo nor Primo made a move. He breezed past them, waving his hand at them to follow. Primo smiled thinly, gently nudging Terzo’s arm.
The walk was awkward and silent. Terzo stubbornly refused to meet his brother’s eyes. He could feel their stares on him. The worry in the air was so thick it was suffocating him.
Primo’s garden was just as tranquil as ever. The three brothers sat on a stone bench in a patch of peach-coloured roses. The thick hedge fence penned them in, but its towering walls and long shadow felt like more of a comfort than a confinement. Though unspoken, the brothers all felt that the garden was a sort of sanctuary. Nihil could not find them here.
“Omega says you are getting better,” Primo remarked. Terzo shrugged.
“I suppose.”
“He says you spoke to Copia.”
Curse Omega and his bull-headed love. “That I did.”
“What did you say?”
Terzo sniffed. “It was a private conversation.”
“Fair enough,” said Secondo. Terzo couldn’t tell if he was respecting his privacy, or simply didn’t want to hear the story. Perhaps it was a bit of both. “Listen, fratellino, we didn’t bring you out here to make small talk.”
“We haven’t spoken as brothers in a long time,” Primo said. “Believe me, I—we—understand how difficult this is. But we cannot avoid one another for the rest of time.”
“I bet I could have, if you two weren’t stalking the halls looking for me,” Terzo said, without much venom in his tone. Primo and Secondo shared a look over his head, which he assumed was one of pity. Curse his brothers, too.
“No one else knows what it’s like to come back from the dead,” Primo said softly. Terzo’s heart skipped. “No one but us.”
“We are unique in the universe,” Secondo agreed. “Freaks. Or miracles, if you prefer.”
“I prefer neither,” Terzo said in a strangled voice. “What happened to us was... it meant nothing. We were killed because we’d exhausted our purpose, and we were brought back because it would be good for publicity.”
“Really?” Primo shifted, facing Terzo down. He refused to meet his gaze. “You think that?”
“I know that.”
“Nihil and Imperator may be stubborn, cruel assholes,” Secondo said, “but they never do anything without a reason. And they have plans—plans that reach further into the future than any one of us could imagine, I believe.”
“It’s easy for you two to say that,” Terzo muttered. “You weren’t dragged off stage and literally thrown aside to make way for—for someone else.”
He’d wanted to say something much more cruel, much less forgiving. But even in his hardest of hearts, he knew Copia wasn’t truly to blame.
“This is true,” Primo said. “But , petardo, we were all done away with. None of us were allowed to see the future of the Ghost Project.”
“So?” Terzo folded his arms. He felt childish, a little boy with his legs swinging off the too-high bench, looking even smaller and more insignificant between his towering brothers. Towering to him, at least. “What of it? What does any of this matter?”
Secondo sucked in a careful breath. Uh-oh. “Terzo, you have not talked to Nihil?”
“Of course not.” Every nerve in Terzo’s body was tensed.
“Neither have we.” Secondo and Primo exchanged another glance, hard and meaningful. “We are going to today.”
“Okay.” Terzo stood up, stretching his legs. “Well, have fun. Tell the old fucker I don’t say hi, and I never--”
“Fratellino,” Primo said, taking his wrist gently. “Please. We won’t force you to come with us, but it would be best if we go together. There is strength in numbers.”
“Why are we talking to the man who betrayed and murdered us?” Terzo snapped. “We owe him nothing.”
“Right you are,” said Secondo. “This isn’t a friendly chat, imbecille. We’re going to tell him to suck his own dick.”
Terzo smiled. He couldn’t help it. He’d missed this, he realized. He’d missed the garden. The safety. The casual chats. The insults and banter.
He’d missed his big brothers.
And apparently, they’d missed him, too.
“So, what, we’re barging into his office and telling him ‘fuck you for having us killed’?” Terzo pursed his lips. “You’ve waited a month for this... why?”
“You aren’t the only one who’s afraid,” Primo said. Terzo guffawed.
“Afraid?” He puffed out his chest. “I am no such thing. I am certainly not afraid of Nihil, that crusty old bag of fleas.”
“So, you’ll be joining us?” Secondo smirked.
Smug bastard. He should say no.
“When are we planning this... conversation?”
“Now seems good,” Secondo said. “Before our courage wanes.”
“Our?” Terzo echoed. “Don’t worry about my courage, fratello.”
It wasn’t until they reached the door of their father’s office that he began to feel it. How many times had he stood outside this door, waiting to be told he wasn’t doing well enough? How many times had he left this office near tears, or fuming, or completely dejected?
He remembered every divot in the wood. Every stain. Every crack. He remembered the ominous, hollow sound it made when you knocked. How you had to wait several seconds before he answered, and depending on his tone you knew if you were about to be showered in praise or told you weren’t good enough, weren’t strong enough, weren’t deserving of the title of--
“Hey,” Primo said quietly. He touched Terzo’s arm. “It’s alright, fratellino.”
Terzo swallowed. “Sì. I know.”
Secondo knocked. There was a faint grumbling, and then a low, growling voice called “come in!”
They filed into their father’s office, silent and stony. Nihil’s eyes widened and his brow quirked curiously as he watched. Primo closed the door gently behind them, and Terzo felt the already tense atmosphere grow thicker as the one and only exit was cut off.
“Well, boys,” Nihil said, “finally come to visit your father?”
“Cut the bullshit,” Secondo snapped. Always the direct one. Terzo was grateful for it. He was having a rather difficult time finding his voice right now. “You know why we haven’t stopped by to say hello. ”
Nihil sighed. He leaned back in his chair, arms folded, lips pursed. His white robes enveloped him entirely, his frame lost in the many folds. “Boys. I... I understand that it is hard to accept--”
“Hard?” Primo echoed. “You did not die, Nihil. You did not lay five years under the earth. You were not betrayed.”
“Betrayed,” Nihil echoed, “hardly.” He held up a silencing hand when all three began to protest. “Look. I won’t attempt to explain it to you. I won’t pretend this is an easy thing, and I won’t ask you to understand or accept it or even to forgive me. I doubt you ever will.”
“You’ve got that right,” Secondo snarled.
“But you were not betrayed,” Nihil went on, “we never wanted you dead. We wanted you to return.”
“But you didn’t have to kill us,” Terzo snapped. “You could have asked us to go away. We would have said yes. We would have--”
‘Would you?” Nihil asked. “Would you ?”
Terzo glared, because the truth was, he would not have. Not at first. He could never abandon his title.
They needed to drag him off stage. They needed to tear the crown from his hands by force, because he would never give it up willingly.
“Look, it doesn’t matter now,” Nihil said, “perhaps you are right. Perhaps we acted rashly. Perhaps what we did to you was unfair. And for my part, I am... I am sorry, my sons. If I could redo it, I would have done differently.” He cleared his throat uncomfortably, his gaze shifting away. “And for what it’s worth, I have missed you all.”
The three brothers shared a look, part bewilderment, part anger, part something entirely different for each of them. Primo looked sorrowful. Secondo looked indignant. And Terzo...
Terzo looked annoyed, aloof. Uncaring. Above it all.
He felt sick.
Because this was his father. Not that he’d ever been a particularly good one, but he was still...
It wasn’t like he had another one.
Well. He glanced sideways and Primo, then Secondo.
Maybe he did.
Still...
“Anything you want to say to me,” Nihil said, his voice low and weary, “say it now.”
“Fuck you,” Secondo snapped, but the heat in his tone sounded more sad than angry. “You-- you are a terrible father.”
Nihil nodded mutely.
“You are right,” Primo said. His tone was level, calm. A rock in a storm, still and constant, no matter how the seas raged around him. “I, for my part, cannot forgive you. At least, not yet.”
Terzo licked his lips. He was aware of every gaze turning slightly to him. Did he have anything to say? Everything and nothing, it seemed. Because how would he express what was happening in his mind?
“I don’t forgive you, either.” Terzo’s voice sounded foreign to him. He spoke as if possessed, his words his own, but not sure how they got out. “I can’t, ever.”
Nihil nodded again. There was silence, not entirely uncomfortable.
Secondo scoffed, then reached for the door. “I guess that’s all,” he said, and he was gone. He left the door open in his wake, a bright point of freedom. Primo shifted, angled towards the door, looking to Terzo.
Nihil raised an eyebrow. “Are you waiting for my permission?” he asked.
I don’t need you. I never needed you.
You took everything from me.
Did I deserve to be Papa? Did I deserve to stay papa?
“I understand, though.” Terzo said.
He and Primo found Secondo back in the garden. Primo laid a hand on his shoulder, and Secondo smiled thinly and gripped it in return. Terzo watched them share their silent understanding, feeling only slightly jealous, because even though they had all died and all returned they had not all suffered in the same way.
“Do either of you have a scar?” Terzo blurted. Primo and Secondo turned, looking confused. Damn. “I mean—from... after we woke up. Did you...”
“No,” Primo said, “we died by lethal injection, fratellino.” His brow furrowed. “You... have a scar?”
Terzo’s heart thudded against his chest. Damned idiot. “N-no, I just...”
“What did they do to you?” Secondo asked. He meant to be protective, but he just sounded angry.
And the answer was ‘nothing he didn’t deserve.’
“Excuse me,” Terzo said stiffly, and he ignored his brothers as they called after him. He ignored the confused siblings of sin he passed in the hallways, storming along as if to commit a murder. He thanked Lucifer that he didn’t run into Omega or Copia. He made it to his room unbothered, and with the door closed and locked, and the lights low, he tore off his shirt to stare at the scar.
Hideous, ugly thing. Disgusting.
What did they do to him?
Because if Primo and Secondo didn’t have a scar, then why...
What happened?
Terzo bowed his head, tears welling in his eyes. This was getting ridiculous. Would the rest of his life be spent in a cycle of misery and woe, false hope flickering only to be snuffed out, leaving him in an even deeper pit than he’d been in before?
He gripped his throat, fingers splaying out to cover the ugly thing. He thought for a moment, and then it came to him. Of course. The answer was so obvious.
Stupid boy.
His scar, he could not rid himself of. It would remain on his skin forever, a blemish that served only to remind him of his failure and weakness. But the rest of him could still be radiant. He had always excelled in that regard. He had always been beautiful, and he had always put great care into his appearance. Well, now, he would just have to put in a little more.