Chapter Text
It wasn't a scream or a wail, but both smashed into one throat scratching yowl broken first by a choked cough and then by a shuddering sob. It might have been a heartbreaking sound, coming from the youngest prince, but to Ryouma, with the source of the sound clutched tight and close to his head, it was unearthly, almost demonic. He kept one arm wrapped around Takumi's legs to keep him from kicking anymore, his other hand on Takumi's back as he tried to run through the castle halls with his younger brother hefted over his shoulder. Unfortunately he couldn't do anything about Takumi's hands that pounded at his back like tiny little bricks.
When did he get this strong?
At least that meant that Takumi was eating properly again, if he had the strength to thrash like this.
He almost ran right into Queen Mikoto, running through the halls as he was. The sound of Takumi's shrieking and crying had drowned out the sound of their mother's footsteps. That didn't matter though, what did matter was that she was here now and Ryouma barely managed to resist the urge to throw Takumi down at her feet and back away from it all. His ears were going to be ringing for days.
"He won't stop crying," Ryouma said, stating the obvious, desperation dripping from his voice.
It took him a moment to notice the pallor of Mikoto's face, the newly familiar gauntness in her cheeks that seemed to have only deepened as the days and weeks passed. Months now, actually, though it seemed even longer.
Ryouma kept Takumi firmly in his hold, the hand on his younger brother's back rubbing frantic circles that failed to soothe but still tried.
She held out her arms, offering to take Takumi from him, lips curving thinly in what was more of a fracture than a smile.
He didn't really want to hand Takumi over to her anymore, afraid that the hysterical child might thrash and kick in their mother's thin arms, but she eased him off of Ryouma's shoulders anyways and cradled Takumi against herself so carefully and naturally.
And then he wasn't screaming anymore, stopped thrashing. Takumi reached to wrap his arms around Mikoto's neck, still sniffling and sobbing, breaths coming in shaky hiccups. She pet the back of his neck gently, hands moving in a soothing rhythm as if to guide those stuttering breaths into something calm and regular. Takumi followed, the rhythm was still broken occasionally by a quiet sob, but slowly he calmed down, rubbing his dirty face against the clean white fabric of her robes.
"I'm sorry."
Of course, he hadn't been able to help, even with something this small.
Mikoto made a gentle shushing sound, Ryouma wasn't sure if she was trying to quiet Takumi or him. "It's not your fault."
But it was.
He didn't have Mikoto's gentleness or his father's patience. He wasn't used to the heavy silence that filled the halls of Castle Shirasagi lately, or the crying and shrieking that crushed it. He didn't know how to be a good son or brother like this, how to be a good prince.
"I should be able to do more."
Mikoto took her hand from the back of Takumi's neck and lightly laid it on Ryouma's arm. The touch was so gentle and careful, just that one touch was so full of concern. It was too heavy.
Ryouma stepped back, so that Mikoto's hand fell away from his arm.
"I'll do better."
"Don't be silly, you don't have to worry so much, Ryouma. Look, Takumi's fine now."
She shifted, trying to coax Takumi to lift his face and look at his brother but small hands clutched at her robes firmly and he kept his face pressed determinedly into her shoulder, refusing to look at Ryouma.
Ryouma was tall for his age, with a broad and sturdy build that made him look more a young man than a child. He looked very much like his father had in his youth, or so he'd been told. That used to be a good thing. Now, after what had come to pass, the resemblance felt like an extra burden on top of everything else that bore down on his shoulders, irrationally.
He was the eldest, the age gap between him and Hinoka, too, felt heavier than ever. The gap between him and Takumi was even greater; but, though he would never admit it out loud, he was still a child too.
He hadn't seen Takumi in several days, not really. He thought he'd seen the ends of his hair in the corner of his eye yesterday, dashing low and quiet through the halls, but they hadn't spoken or even stood face to face since that other day. It'd been too long. Takumi was probably avoiding him deliberately, he was being ridiculous but -- he was only a child. And it was probably much more ridiculous for Ryouma to avoid his younger brother.
Usually all he had to do to find Takumi was stand still and listen for a while. He wasn't a particularly loud child but he wasn't quiet either, so in the past Ryouma only had to wait and listen for a bright laugh or the noisy clatter of something knocked over in play.
But Ryouma had forgotten.
These days there wasn't much playing in the castle. Laughter, even less.
The only sound he heard when he stood still and listened was the sound of listless, shuffling footsteps.
It hadn't actually taken that long to find Takumi. Even though the castle was large there weren't that many places that was of interest to a four year old. Still, for a burning, irrational moment, Ryouma panicked.
He sighed, staring at Takumi sprawled on his stomach on the floor of Corrin's room, paper strewn around him and ink splatters dotting both the paper and his sleeves.
"You should roll up your sleeves."
Takumi said nothing, didn't even turn to look up at Ryouma.
He sighed again, at this rate he would probably become but a gust of wind if he ceased to have a physical form.
"Come on, sit up," he demanded, trying to ignore the little jump in Takumi's shoulders when he crouched down next to him. Ryouma waited without saying anything else.
Takumi sat up eventually, holding out his arms and putting his dirty sleeves on display. On one sleeve it looked like he dragged his entire forearm through the ink, though at least it was dry now. The other sleeve wasn't so bad.
Ryouma reached out slowly, afraid to startle Takumi, and carefully rolled his sleeves up so that they were neatly folded up past his elbows. He glanced at Takumi's face, but didn't try to catch his downcast gaze. "There."
He hated the heavy silences that fell over the castle now. The laughter that used to be so commonplace seemed to have evaporated completely from their home. It was so quiet and stifling that it hardly felt like the same home it used to be.
"I'm sorry," he said, when the silence had stretched on for too long, when he couldn't stand it anymore. "I shouldn't have...I shouldn't have hit you."
Ryouma winced, but it was a relief to apologise. It was one less thing weighing down on him but everything else --
He couldn't do this. Apologising was easy, the guilt and worry had been clouding his head for days, he meant it from the bottom of his heart. But it didn't change that he had lost his temper, lost control, he didn't have their father's patience and calm. He couldn't do it, couldn't fill the gaping hollow that the loss of their father had left behind.
(How could he hold them together, how could he help, when he was still a child too?)
A light touch to his chin startled Ryouma. He looked up at Takumi, he hadn't even noticed when he looked away. Small hands pat at the faded bruise on his chin where Takumi had kicked him in the midst of his flailing.
"It's okay."
Takumi pulled his hand away and picked up his brush again, drawing aimless swirls on an over saturated piece of paper. Ryouma just watched, quietly, as his younger brother reached for another piece of paper and started painting on it. He held up the painting for Ryouma to see when he finished.
"It's for Corrin."
There was a rock on Ryouma's chest, so heavy that he could barely breathe some days.
He ran a hand through Takumi's hair, smile stretching over his lips. It felt like his face would crack. "It's perfect. You can give it to him when he comes back."
Takumi smiled, placing a hand over Ryouma's that still rested on top of his head.
He'd seen this before, with his father and Takumi.
Ryouma pulled his hand back just to pinch Takumi's cheek lightly. "And you better clean up the mess you made before he comes back."
Takumi whined noisily at the pinch and the chore, but he smiled up at Ryouma, without any cracks or fractures.