Work Text:
i.
“Todd?“
The bathrooms in this house are too loud.
Todd’s still hunched over the sink, splashing cold tap water in his face, when his brother enters. It makes him flinch, numb fingertips slipping on the wet porcelain. The nightmare grips Todd’s perception with a spidery tingle in the back of his neck, Jeffrey looks unhumanly tall in the cold glare of the bathroom light.
“Sorry,”, he says, hovering in the door frame.
Todd shakes his head, licks his lips. His face is still dripping water. His cheeks burn. “No, you- you didn’t do anything, it- I overreacted, didn’t see you.”
Jeffrey nods. “Yeah.”
It’s silent then, or as close as it comes – the tap drips trickles of water, the boiler and pipes hum. Todd remembers, suddenly (his subconscious closer than usual, with its teeth still jammed into whatever part of Todd it can reach) a game Jeffrey used to play with him when they still shared a room.
Todd, always a slightly washed out version of his brother, got scared of the noises that filled the house at night, sounds that were unfamiliar as soon as the lights were off.
“It’s just the pipes”, Jeffrey used to mumble, sleep-slurred. “They’re singing. We can sing along.”
And so they did, shy whispers at first, Jeffrey kept quiet by fatigue and Todd by fear, but as their voices filled the bedroom that still held half their childhood – toys packed away in boxes, pictures on the walls of the brothers with thin hair, missing teeth –, they lost themselves in old folk songs and childrens’ rhymes, until they were singing as loudly as they could without their parents waking up.
Todd never had nightmares in nights like these.
That’s long ago now, long long ago.
“Um”, he says, reaching for a towel to dry his face, “did you want to use the bathroom? I’ll be out of here in no time, just-”
“No!”, Jeffrey says too quickly, and then he falls quiet, as if regretting having interrupted Todd, as if not yet ready to speak.
They’ve done a lot of that these past days – stumbling around each other, verbally, physically. How strange that they don’t know how to act around the other any more, how strange that they’ve forgotten how to talk when they share more than a third of DNA.
Todd looks at Jeffrey at the dinner table sometimes, when they awkwardly push food around on their plates or scarf it down as quickly as possible to flee the silence pressing down on them. I am you and you are me. Where did we drift apart?
Jeffrey clears his throat. He’s still standing in the door frame, as if stepping inside the bathroom or back out into the hall is too much of a stance to take.
“No, I didn’t- I mean, I don’t need to go. I just, I heard you get up, and I thought you were crying.”
Heat floods Todd’s face, and he stares at the tiles of the bathroom floor that are slowly sending cold seeping up his bare feet. “I had a nightmare.”
“Ah.”
“Yeah.”
This is fucking perfect. Of course Jeffrey had to be the one to hear him – Handsome, outgoing Jeffrey, who hasn’t had nightmares since he was five, who probably only ever cries about football or spilling too much of his beer or coming in second at a maths competition.
“Do you-” Jeffrey shrugs, looking around uncomfortably as if the bathroom walls might offer some conversation pointers. “You know, want to talk about it?”
“I’m okay. Thanks, though.”
“Yeah.”
They used to spend every day together, and maybe that’s it. Now that they only ever see each other on school breaks, they feel more like distant cousins than brothers who grew up together. They did. Grow up together.
“Well”, Todd says, desperate to flee the bathroom, “I’ll go back to sleep. I should get some rest before I leave for Welton.”
“Was that it?” Jeffrey’s not moving out of the doorway. Todd stands right in front of him, unable to squeeze past his brother’s broad-shouldered figure without making the situation even more awkward.
“Was what it?”
“The nightmare.” Jeffrey looks uncomfortable. His head hangs lower than usual, strands of hair falling past his eyes. He’s not looking at Todd. “Was it about Welton?”
Todd swallows thickly. He’s leaving tomorrow morning, it’s too late for this conversation. “I don’t remember, it’s-”
He sighs. “Yes.”
“You don’t want to go, do you?”
Todd huffs a laugh. “Of course not. They’ll all know each other, and I’ll be the new kid, the odd one out. I wish Dad would understand.”
Jeffrey shakes his head. “You’ll find friends in no time.” Seeing Todd’s impression, he adds an urging “I promise! I didn’t think I’d find any either, but as soon as you start talking to people, they wanna get to know you more.”
Todd shakes his head. “I’m not like you, Jeff.”
Jeffrey looks like he wants to say something, but doesn’t; he just steps aside as Todd pushes past him and into the hallway. They were kids together. The sink is still wet.
Todd’s hand is already on the doorknob to his room when Jeffrey calls out. “Todd?”
“Yeah?”
“Sleep well.”
ii.
Nervous sweat pools between Todd’s shoulder blades, he feels slightly dizzy as heat rushes to his face. “Sorry?”
Dr. Hager is stone faced, staring him down with watery eyes. “Your presentation, Mr. Anderson. It’s half your grade for this term, surely you haven’t forgotten?”
“I- I-”, Todd stutters, trying to repeat what he’s said ten times already, “I didn’t know-”
There’s laughter in the crowd of students, flapping around the room like a trapped bird. Todd’s eyes burn.
“You didn’t know?”, Dr. Hager repeats in a horrible imitation of Todd’s voice, and there’s more laughter, and Todd is suddenly certain he’ll be sick. Nausea is choking him, making it hard to breathe, to speak, to think straight as Todd desperately tries to remember what project he was supposed to get done, but he can’t he can’t he can’t.
Don’t throw up in front of them. Don’t you dare.
“Dr. Hager, I’m sorry, I-”
“Silence! I’ve had enough of your excuses, Anderson.” Dr. Hager’s face is weirdly contorted, he looks almost animalistic as he shakes his head. “Your family won’t be happy to hear about this.”
Todd is speechless, looks first at his teacher helplessly and then at the students who are laughing, and he sees Neil, Neil who still hasn’t found him out, who still believes he’s someone worth being friends with…
“Todd”, Neil says, and he sounds careful, scared, as if he doesn’t want to come to grips with how incompetent Todd is; as if he doesn’t want to see who he’s been wasting his time on. “Todd!”
Todd feels heat pressing against the back of his eyes, and he can’t cry, not here, not now-
“Todd!”
He jerks awake.
Neil is looking at him, visibly nervous, half sitting up in the sleeping bag that pools around his lower body like a mermaid's tail. Charlie's next to him, eyebrows raised, his characteristic smirk missing. "You okay?"
Oh God. This might be just as bad as the nightmare itself - who gets invited to his new friends' sleepover just to wake them with something as pathetic as school nightmares? What is he, a third grader?
"Yeah", Todd manages, trying to laugh it off. "Just a nightmare."
At least he's in a bit of luck, he notices as he quickly glances around the dawn-grey room, heart racing; the others don't seem to have woken up.
Pitts is curled up in his sleeping bag, knees tucked close to his body as if he's not yet used to how tall he's become, Meeks has tossed and turned enough to be laying diagonal, his feet crashing into Cameron's, who's sleeping at the far end of the row of air mattresses they've set up in Meeks' parents' living room.
Charlie grins at Todd, some of the awkwardness melting away. "Maybe we shouldn't have watched that movie last night, then. Too much horror for you?"
Neil nods, looking worried. "Yeah, Todd, you could have said something!"
"It's fine, guys." Todd's cheeks are still burning, he's grateful for the darkness that hopefully hides his blush. "It wasn't about that."
"Well, what was it?" Neil's properly sitting up now, elbows on knees and all. He's ready for this to turn into a conversation. Todd isn't.
"Yeah", Charlie adds, grinning. "Was it about Cameron trying to murder you to have a better shot at being top of the class?"
Todd laughs in spite of himself. "No, it's just- It was about school. Exam phase has been tough."
He waits for laughter, or at least a badly-hidden snort, but there's nothing like it. Charlie just looks at him like that makes more sense than his Cameron theory, and Neil nods.
"Yeah, it's hell. Pittsie gets nightmares too, 's had them since we started Welton."
Now Charlie does laugh, but there's no edge to it. "They're weird nightmares, too. Last year he kept dreaming of Nolan making him break sticks in half but he was never quick enough, so Nolan would shout at him to break more sticks. That'd be it for the whole night, just seven hours of breaking sticks in half."
Charlie casts an affectionate grin at Pitts' sleeping figure. "He was majorly freaked out, I tell you."
Something unclenches in Todd's stomach as he smiles. "So you don't think it's-" He shrugs, not meeting their eyes. "I don't know, embarrassing?"
Charlie purses his lips. "Hm. A bit, maybe. But I mean, everyone gets them, right?"
"I used to have loads of nightmares as a kid." Neil is smiling, his voice soft and vulnerable like it can only be in the dark. "My dad always read to me. It was really nice - he'd sit down on the edge of my bed and read a book, even if he had work in the morning."
Todd's careful not to show any emotion, but Charlie doesn't hesitate. "Mr. Perry did? What'd he read you, the school rules?"
"No, it's-" Neil shrugs, a hint of his smile still etched into the corner of his mouth. "It was good. A nice memory."
Todd returns Neil's smile as warmth floods his chest, warmth that only this particular boy with conflicting thoughts on his father and the silliest laugh Todd's ever heard seems to bring out in him. "My mom made me warm milk as a kid, with honey. To make the bad thoughts fall asleep, she said."
"That's real sweet. How 'bout you, Charlie?"
Charlie shrugs, his sleeping bag rustling. "I don't think my parents ever noticed me having nightmares, to be honest. I didn't go to them for help, so how'd they know? My maid did, though. Moira. My sister's girl was real annoying, Hannah, she never let her have any sweets, but Moira was nice. She sang to me when I couldn't sleep."
It's strange, this - Todd keeps forgetting how rich Charlie's family is. Having two maids sounds like something out of a storybook to him, but it's the reality his friend grew up with.
"Do you ever miss her? Moira, I mean?"
"I used to, yeah. When i started Welton, i definitively missed her more than my parents, that's for sure. But she left our family that year, there was no use in keeping her if i was only gonna be around on school breaks, so it's been a long time."
Neil grins. "D'you remember the package she sent the first weekend? Must have been five pounds of candy."
Charlie laughs. "My sister was so jealous."
There's a rustle. "Wha' you guys doin'?"
Meeks is still half asleep, blinking up at them in confusion, hair a tangled mess. "You okay?"
Todd smiles, and there it is again - that glow, that warm feeling of safety. "Yeah", he says, and he means it, he really does. "Everything's fine."
iii.
There's not a lot of downsides to sharing a room with Neil Perry.
There's a whole list of perks - he doesn't snore, he shares his sweets, he's the most handsome guy Todd's ever seen, he has a pretty reasonable sleeping schedule and he gets dressed in their room with his hair still wet after he showers.
Right now is one of the downsides.
"Todd?"
Neil's voice is soft, like something melting, opening. Todd can't handle it, not right now.
"It's okay. Just go back to sleep."
There's a rustle of fabric, Neil sitting up in bed.
"No I- Can I help?"
Todd freezes, face pressed into his pillow to try and silence his thoughts, forget the images of his nightmare that still float behind his eyes.
"Help?" His voice sounds small.
"I could read to you. You know, like my dad did."
Todd hates the way his heart flutters at this, the way butterflies bump against his nervous stomach ache- this is why it's so hard to ignore the confusing feelings Neil seems to bring out in him, why swallowing down the affection won't work:
Neil is too much, too kind, too gentle.
"Todd?"
"I don't know, I- I don't want to keep you awake."
"I won't fall back asleep now, anyway."
It's dark, but Todd can sense Neil's smile in his voice. Does it get more intimate than this, than letting your voice be so open you can hear the emotions plucking at your vocal chords?
"I can hear your thoughts when you have nightmares, they take up so much space that I can't sleep either." Neil's voice dips into something tender, a tone Todd's only ever heard in the dark. "I worry about you, you know."
And it makes it hard to breathe.
"You do?"
"M-hm. I don't- I want you to feel good."
Todd nods, his heart high in his throat, pressing against the roof of his mouth. He feels shaky. "I do."
A snort. "You had nightmares so bad you woke up."
Another perk of rooming with Neil Perry - he makes Todd laugh. It takes away some of the tension, and Todd melts into his pillow, feeling warm and tired.
"No, I mean, you- you do make me feel good." His cheeks burn. "I like being your friend."
Everything about this is ridiculous. Neil's voice is so soft.
"Me too."
There's silence for a while, silence that stretches long enough to make it impossible to dismiss what they said, to laugh it off. It's Neil (always Neil), who breaks it.
"So, is that a yes?
Todd can barely hear him over the sound of his heart still beating faster than normal, in the rhythm of poetry, of all things good.
"Hm?"
Neil's bed creaks. "You'll let me read to you?"
Todd doesn't mind nightmares like this. He could go years on just minutes of sleep if this is the rest of the nights.
He swallows. "I'd love that."
iv.
The nightmares have changed since Neil's death.
They used to feel like: Everything is too big. Todd jolts awake and nothing feels familiar, his room stretches out around him, wide and lonely, a dark gray dollhouse he's been put in. He barely feels connected to his feet as he watches them walk, walk across the same cold floor that was in his room yesterday, but it feels like it's changed. Todd's small. He's so small.
Now it feels like he walls are closing in around him.
Todd's still muddy-eyed from the dream, he lays without moving a muscle in a room that is too familiar, in a bed that is too familiar, with tears stinging the back of his eyes that are too familiar.
There's a crushing weight on his chest.
It presses down on him with 160 pounds, the force of a boy gone, the ghost of a boy present. The tears come without Todd's control.
He buries his face in the sheets, scared, embarrassed, but the sobs are brutally torn out of him by the sheer force of the weight on his chest. He can't breathe. Todd can't fucking breathe and he's trying to be quiet.
He's sharing a room with Knox now - after Charlie left, Cameron needed a new roommate, and instead of sharing with Todd, the obvious choice, he got Knox' old roommate Hopkins. Todd doesn't know if Cameron asked not to share with him or if Mr. Nolan had enough insight of the situation to keep them apart, and he hasn't bothered finding out.
He's not even sure he wants to know.
The sobs are like gagging, Todd can't hold them back, and he presses his face into his pillow until it hurts, until they're muffled. Knox has had trouble sleeping - some nights Todd wakes up in the small hours to see bedroom darkness interrupted by the light of a single torch: Knox reading, the shadows under his eyes enhanced by the cold light.
"Go back to sleep", Knox whispers in these nights, and Todd mumbles a "You too" and earns a shake of head.
Knox talks in his sleep, too - just rarely. Sometimes it's Neil's name and sometimes it's Charlie's, and sometimes phrases Todd can't place. Just over the hill or It's blue but you can have it.
And now Todd lays in bed, paralysed by nightmares he can't keep out.
He can still see Neil's face, desperate, agitated. Neil never speaks in these dreams, just looks at him with wide brown eyes until Todd feels like he's drowning, because it's his fault, he knows it.
Sometimes he almost wishes Neil would talk to him, just so Todd could finally hear his voice again. Just so he'd know what he did wrong.
"Todd?"
Knox is sitting up in bed, rubbing his eyes like a kid. He looks pale in the sliver of moonlight caught by their window. "What happened?"
"Go back to sleep." Todd's voice is higher than usual, cooked out by sobs he's violently holding back. "'S okay. Just a nightmare."
"Don't you think-"
"Really, Knox." Todd manages a watery laugh. It knocks the air out of him. "It's nothing."
But Knox looks at him, looks at him, and even though the room is so dark Todd can barely make out his shape, something happens. Knox' voice is soft. "Todd."
And then Todd just breaks.
It's like everything he's balled up all tense together suddenly spreads out, a bridge sinking into wet sand, paper tearing, something giving way deep inside his stomach.
Todd sobs and sobs and chokes on tears and snot, he coughs and cries and doesn't even freeze when he suddenly feels Knox beside him, just buries his face in Knox' chest and sinks into the warmth of his touch.
"It's okay, Todd.", Knox mumbles, rubbing circles into his back. "You're okay."
Todd gasps for air and sobs so hard his stomach hurts, and Knox is still there, laying in Todd's bed and letting his shirt get soggy, and somehow the tenderness of it makes Todd cry harder.
Knox runs his fingers through Todd's hair, pulling him closer until Todd feels like he can curl up in Knox' ribcage, and the ebb and flow of breath in the chest he's laying on envelop him like a lullaby.
They lay like that for a long while.
Todd sniffs, wipes his eyes that are drifting closed under Knox' soothing whispers. Knox still has a hand in Todd's hair. It's dark and cold outside, but this single bed dressed in scratchy Welton covers feels warm and safe.
"Sorry", Todd says wetly. He sniffs again, attempts a laugh. Now that the sobs have seized, fatigue is hitting him like a rock, he feels half-asleep already. "I don't know why-"
"Don't."
Knox is still holding him tight, their bodies melting into each other so well that something pulls deep in Todd's heart, because this is what humans were made for.
He's not sure he's ever been this close to someone - Knox' heartbeat is right by the pulsepoint of his own neck, the heat of their torsos blend, he feels Knox' knees press into his own.
Todd closes his eyes, because this - Knox hearing him, joining him, holding him - houses a tenderness he can't bear. "Thank you."
They're close enough to let Todd feel the shake of Knox' back when he hums a reply, and he thinks of Knox sleep talking, of Just over the hill and It's blue but you can have it. He grips Knox' shoulder.
He's safe from nightmares in nights like these.
v.
Todd watches as coffee trickles into his mug.
Early morning noise fills the tiny kitchen of Pittsie and Stephen's apartment - Chicago traffic far below him, a faint police siren, three seagulls looking out of place in the 5am sky.
He likes this place, liked it right away.
Todd first came here seven years ago, when it was still Pittsie and Vivienne's apartment and Stephen lived a few blocks down, closer to the uni building he gives most of his lectures in.
With its posters on every wall, its plants and cracked kitchen tiles, the apartment had a sense of home to it as soon as Todd first stepped into the crammed hallway.
Of course, there was always the looming shadow of Vivienne's rapidly decreasing health and the worry about the baby, but the place still had an inherent kind of warmth to it.
The coffee machine gurgles and stills, and Todd takes his mug with him to the kitchen table. He sits by the window, dragging a hand through his hair, gazing at the rooftops of the neighbourhood.
"You're up early."
Todd flinches, spilling a bit of his coffee, and Pittsie laughs. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you."
"Didn't remember you as an early bird."
"Trust me, I'm not." Pittsie yawns, starts going through the kitchen cabinets for a mug. "Luke woke me up at four in the morning, he was feeling sick. I read to him for a while, couldn't fall back asleep after."
Todd gives him a sympathetic smile as he pulls out the kitchen chair next to his own. "So all the myths about your sleep being cut in half by having kids is true?"
Pittsie groans as he watches the coffee pour. "I'm afraid so. Wouldn't trade it for anything, though." A genuine smile on his face as he says it.
Pittsie, Todd has come to realise, is a great dad.
In all the little ways - cutting up Luke's food while talking with Todd and the others, singing lullabies until he's half-asleep himself, giving piggy-back rides and play fighting with Luke on the couch, always with a big grin; he reveals a gentleness that is almost hard to look at.
Todd hadn't expected Pittsie to be the first one with kids in their little group, and much less had any of them anticipated the tragedy it brought along - Vivienne dying, Pittsie split between mourning his wife and caring for a toddler as a single dad, refusing help until Stephen forcefully moved in -, but his friend has grown into the role perfectly.
"How 'bout you?" Pittsie sets down his coffee mug with a thud. "Why are you up so early?"
"I had a nightmare." Todd smiles at him, remembering the shame that used to accompany these words. There's none of it left now. "I still get them sometimes, about Neil."
Pittsie gives his shoulder a warm squeeze. "That sucks, man, I'm sorry. D'you think you and Knox being here with us after such a long time brought it back?"
Todd shrugs. "Who knows. I'm kinda over trying to figure it all out - and if it is, I don't care. I'm glad the four of us are finally all together again."
"I'll second that."
There's a moment of comfortable silence as they both sip their coffee and look out of the window, watching the city below them wake up.
"I get them too, once in a while." Pittsie smiles at Todd. They're adults. They're adults, and they can talk, they've finally learned how to. "The nightmares?"
"About Vivienne?" It's out before Todd can worry about being insensitive.
"Yeah. Neil's in there too sometimes, but Viv was- well, you know how it is."
Todd nods. He does.
"It was worse right after, of course, which I suppose you know as well... It was hell to try and care for Luke running on even less sleep than your average single parent is on anyway, and the constant emotional whiplash of seeing her again- Stephen moving in was a huge help, of course, he's an angel, but in the end, I guess only time helps."
"It does, though. Help, I mean."
Todd means it. There was a time where the whole you'll grow out of this pain bullshit sounded like naive lies, but he does feel better. He doubts he'll ever forget Neil, but he isn't mourning him any more.
"Whoa, what are you guys doing up?"
Stephen is standing in the door frame, hair still bed-messy but looking much more awake than both Pittsie and Todd. "You having a secret meeting without Knox and me? I'm shocked, Todd."
Todd laughs, pushing his feet against the chair opposite his own to offer Stephen a seat. "Don't be, we're basically sleep-walking. I had a nightmare, and Pittsie couldn't fall back asleep after being on dad duty."
"Sorry guys, that doesn't sound like a perfect morning." Stephen squeezes their shoulders as he sits down at the kitchen table.
Todd takes another sip of his coffee. The lingering feeling of the nightmare is almost gone - nothing chases them away faster than conversations with friends. "'S okay. What are you doing up, Stephen, anyway?'
Pittsie smirks as he utters a groan. "He gets up horribly early, it's insufferable - stomps around at six in the morning like he wants me to wake up."
Stephen grins, gives him a light slap to the back of his head. "Careful, I'm the mother of your child."
Pittsie rolls his eyes as Todd laughs.
He likes this, Todd thinks as he watches them bicker. Likes being an adult - others made it out to be much harder than it is.
With the right people surrounding him, he's almost sure, nothing will be as hard as people make it out to be.
+ i
Todd's woken up by a little hand dragging on his covers.
"Dad?"
At the sound of Alma's voice, he rolls over, blinking sleepily into the darkness of his bedroom. She's standing at the edge of his bed in her white pajamas with the foxes on them, strands of hair already falling out of her little plaits (Todd’s still not mastered the art of hair braiding, but Gwen's sure he'll get there one day.)
"What is it, Ally?"
She blinks up at him, eyes shining with the light of the street lamps outside. "I had a nightmare."
Todd smiles at her, lifts up his blanket. "Come here."
Her little feet are ice blocks against his shins, but he doesn't say anything, just wraps an arm around her as Alma dives under the covers. The only hint of her is white blonde hair peeking out at the top of his blanket, and Todd can't fight the smile that tugs at his mouth.
"You had a nightmare?"
"Yes." Her words are muffled against the shirt of his pajamas, Todd can feel her hot, damp breath on his arm.
"D'you want to talk about it?"
Alma shakes her head, her chin bumping into his elbow.
"Do you want me to sing the sheep song?"
A nod.
So Todd sings, sleepily humming and talking of clouds and stars and all the fluffy sheep going to bed. He can feel his daughter relax, small and warm in his arms like a dog, her little head already so full of thoughts.
"So the fluffy, fluffy sheep looked up at the sky, and where was the moon?"
Alma yawns, her voice is slurred by sleep. "Gone to the barn."
It makes Todd think of Jeffrey, and he hasn't thought of him in a long time. Well, not like this, anyway.
He thinks of Now-Jeffrey quite frequently, they had coffee just a few days ago when Gwen left for her conference in New York. But this - singing to his daughter as she falls asleep, offering her this bit of comfort even though he's dead tired - makes Todd think of Back-Then-Jeffrey, of how they used to sing to make the pipes less scary.
"So the fluffy, fluffy sheep said good night at last, and where did they go?"
Alma peeks out of the covers, a tired smile on her face. "Home to the barn."
Todd presses a soft kiss to her forehead. "Feel better?"
She nods. "But can I sleep here tonight?"
"Of course. You can get mommy's side, hm? She'll only be back tomorrow."
Alma hums sleepily and rolls over onto Gwen's side of the bed. She stays close to Todd, though, clasping one of his arms, yawning.
"Daddy?"
"Hm?"
"Can you- Can you do something against nightmares? Can I make them go away?"
Todd smiles, thinks of two brothers singing with pipes, of air mattresses and butterflies and crying until your stomach hurts, of coffee and tenderness.
"You can't make them disappear, no. But you'll always have people to hold you."