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Swaine couldn't sleep.
The room Marcassin had let them stay in was...fine. Nicer than the inns they'd been staying at, even. He couldn't complain about being uncomfortable—hell, he'd slept just fine at the Fairygrounds, and he hadn't even fit on that bed all the way. He wasn’t even a restless sleeper; he was usually the first one to fall asleep (and Esther would complain every morning that his snoring had kept her up). He wouldn't have an excuse if Oliver or Esther noticed he'd slipped away and confronted him. He wasn't even sure if he knew why he couldn't stand to be in that room. Maybe he'd tell them he was disoriented from being in the past. He just...needed to clear his head, he decided. That was functionally vague. That could suffice.
He was pleasantly surprised that he still knew his way around the palace, even after all this time. The trek down the corridors was nearly second nature to him. He almost didn't need to think about where he was going, merely listening for the guards to ensure they didn't see him stalking the halls. Though that was easier said than done, as they walked tighter paths and had higher numbers than he remembered. They must have increased security around the princes' rooms after...well...he shook his head. It didn't matter. He knew exactly how to get past them. He'd done it a million times.
He stopped himself before putting his hand on the door handle, momentarily considering jumping ship and making the walk of shame back to the guest suite. Not that he had much time to think it over, he thought bitterly. The guards would surely round the corner any second and see him if he didn’t commit one way or the other. What would he say when they found him in the morning? That he'd gotten lost and just happened to end up in the most heavily secured part of the palace? He just coincidentally spent the night in the runaway prince's room? They would never believe that. The guards would assume he was attempting to steal from them, and Oliver and Esther would…
He gritted his teeth and turned the handle. He'd have to think of something later.
He pulled the door shut behind him as quietly as he could, cautious not to disturb the sleeping prince down the hall or alert the guards with the noise. He shrugged off his coat and kicked it against the bottom of the door, blocking the gap so it wouldn't reveal his presence as he lit the room. Everything looked...exactly as he remembered it. He couldn’t help but give a laugh at his own surprise. Of course it did. In this time, he'd only just left. Everything was exactly as he remembered it. There hadn't been time for dust to collect on the gears haphazardly tossed across his desk, or for his wardrobe to have been emptied of his clothes, or for Marcassin to turn his room into...well, whatever Marcassin was doing with the space nowadays. He wondered if anyone would notice if he dug out the in-progress pistol from one of the drawers and slipped it into his pocket. That had always been one of his regrets; he had to start over when he left, lacking the foresight to bring it with him so he could finish it. He wished he'd gone back for it. Maybe if he had, then...maybe...
It didn't matter.
The items on his desk were definitely small enough that he could tuck most of them into his pockets with little issue. He was sure he could find a use for the stray nuts and bolts he'd left behind, and he could probably work his prototype pistol into some kind of upgrade or backup for his current gun. It's not like anyone would miss them, anyway. It's not like anyone but him would even notice they were gone in the first place. Though if they found him in the room, he realized, they might have an incentive to check that everything was accounted for. He gritted his teeth and left them where they were. He could worry about it when he wasn’t so exhausted. He dimmed the room again, navigating in the dark towards the bed. He couldn't say it was any more comfortable than the one in the guest suite, but it was...familiar. It felt more lived in. Smaller than he remembered, though he supposed he'd just outgrown it. He wasn't sure how he felt about that.
He nearly jumped out of his skin when the door clicked back open, sending a thin beam of light from the hallway across his face. It must have gotten caught on his coat, given how narrowly it was pushed open, but he didn’t doubt that he’d been seen. Fuck, he was stupid. He should have locked it (would locking it have been more suspicious, though?). He started to open his mouth to defend himself, scanning the doorway for the guard he was anticipating had burst in, but...he stopped himself. He'd looked too high up.
"...I'm sorry." Marcassin hid his face behind the door, startled by the sight of Swaine on the bed. "I didn't know you were in here."
Swaine sat up quickly. "That's alright," he assured him, watching him shrink even further at being acknowledged, "Were you looking for something?" Someone?
Marcassin's gaze was on the floor, staring at the bunched up mess that was Swaine's coat, as if he couldn't bring himself to look at him directly. Swaine hated to admit that this version of his brother was more familiar to him than the one in his own time. "No," he said after a pause, still leaning on the door. Even in the dark, Swaine could tell his eyes were puffy, Marcassin's normally pale face instead flushed with a bright red.
"Couldn't sleep?"
He shook his head. "This is Gascon's room." He hesitated, correcting himself, "It...was...Gascon's room."
Swaine could remember when Marcassin would stand in the doorway of his room, whisper-yelling his name until he'd jolt awake and begrudgingly allow him to come in. Marcassin was frequently woken by bad dreams—Swaine hated to admit that they were probably partially his fault, forcing him to practice magic against monsters much too frightening for someone so young. He spent a lot of time sitting on the end of his brother's bed, talking and laughing into the late hours of the night until he forgot what he was so afraid of. They'd wake in the morning to their father scolding them for sleeping in, and Swaine would shove his brother's shoulder and tell him not to keep him up so late next time. He stared at Marcassin's nervous form in the doorway and shook the memory from his head. Those days were long behind him. "Well, I'm sorry to disappoint." What was he supposed to do? Invite him in? 'Hey, I know you're looking for your brother to comfort you, but surely this old geezer from the future will do?'
"May I come in?"
...He supposed the old geezer would have to do after all. "Knock yourself out." He stood from the bed and retrieved his coat from under the door, giving it a few good shakes before pulling it back over his shoulders. Marcassin seemed to have gotten over his prior discomfort with looking at him, meeting his gaze as he glanced down at him. He looked like he was...studying his face, scrutinizing it. Swaine grimaced and turned away, catching the door as Marcassin slipped past him and settled on the edge of the bed.
"Are you going back to the guest suite?" He sounded...disappointed. Why did he sound disappointed?
"I was planning on it. Why, do you want me to stay?" He asked it with an air of sarcasm, but Marcassin shifted uncomfortably in response before nodding. "Really? Why?"
"You...remind me of him."
"Of your brother?"
Marcassin thought for a second. "Of my father."
He certainly hoped not. "Bah," he scrunched his face at the thought, "don't insult me like that."
Marcassin laughed, sliding to the end of the bed as Swaine begrudgingly took a seat next to him. "You look a bit like him."
"Didn't I just tell you not to insult me?"
That triggered even more laughter from Marcassin. "Now that sounds like my brother."
Swaine hesitated. "I'd rather sound like your brother than your father."
Marcassin's eyes went distant for a moment, making him fear he'd said the wrong thing. He gave a small sigh. "I'd give anything for either of them to be here now."
Well... Swaine put a nervous arm around his shoulders. He was never very good at the whole 'comforting' thing. He tended to just distract Marcassin from whatever was upsetting him. In hindsight, that may not have been the greatest strategy. "I'm probably not a very good replacement, am I?"
Marcassin startled him by burying his face against his chest, taking Swaine's awkward attempt at comfort as an invitation to lean on him. "I didn't want him to go. I wanted him to stay with me forever, but all I did was make him mad at me. It’s my fault he left."
"What?" Swaine furrowed his brow. "No, no, that's not true. Your brother was never mad at you. You didn't do anything wrong."
"When I couldn't do magic, he yelled at me," Marcassin was starting to tremble slightly, his breathing wavering as he attempted to fight the tears he knew were coming, "and when I could, he left. He left me all alone.”
That…he couldn’t really argue with that, could he? "He just wanted the best for you." Swaine wasn't sure how he'd messed this up quite this badly. Hadn't he been laughing before? "He just wanted to help you."
"It doesn't feel like it." Marcassin had fully turned and curled against his side, tugging on his coat with how tightly he'd balled his fists.
"No, I suppose it wouldn't." Marcassin was so young. Had he really been this young? "Marcassin, I'm...I wish there was something more I could do for you. I really do—"
"You're from the future, right?" Marcassin cut him off. "You...will have to leave soon, won't you?"
Swaine bit his tongue. He wanted to say no, of course not, what kind of monster would leave a kid all alone, grieving, missing his brother, with an entire kingdom thrust into his unprepared hands? How could he ever bring himself to leave? but...he knew better. They'd already stayed in the past longer than they needed to at Swaine’s insistence, keeping the prince company as he attempted to adjust to his life without his brother and without his father. He was running out of excuses for why they couldn't leave just yet. Marcassin had buried his face deeper into his coat in his silence, already knowing the answer. "Hey, don't cry." If Marcassin cried, then he was going to start crying, and he was certain neither of them wanted that. "There's a version of you in our time that's counting on us. Our paths will cross again, I promise."
Marcassin turned his head slightly so he could look up at him. He was studying his face again, his eyes blurred and teary, and Swaine had to turn and blink to keep his eyes from betraying him the same way. Marcassin's voice had a trace of defeat behind it. "Gascon...?"
Swaine felt his breath catch in his throat. "Hm?"
Marcassin sunk back against his chest. "Gascon...comes back, doesn't he?"
He took a long breath to keep his voice from shaking. "Yeah," he was going to start crying, "yeah, of course he does. Your brother...cares about you...very much.” He pulled the prince fully against his chest, scooping him into his arms so he could carry him. He cleared his throat to try and compose himself. "C'mon.” He adjusted his hold on him to free his hand to open the door. If it were up to him, he wouldn't let go. "Let's get you back to bed."
"Gascon would carry me like this," Marcassin mused tiredly, leaning against Swaine's shoulder. It was...familiar, in a way. He was lighter than Swaine remembered.
"Did he?"
"I would pretend to be asleep sometimes," Marcassin gave a small giggle, though his eyes were still laced with thick tears, "just so he would have to carry me back to bed."
"Really?" Swaine laughed at the confession, partially at himself for having never noticed and partially because he hoped he wouldn’t cry if he was laughing, "You little—"
"Swaine," the name sounded...wrong in his mouth, "thank you."
"...You don't have to thank me."
You don’t have anything to thank me for.