Chapter Text
The sight of blood terrified him, his own, mostly. He could handle the smell of iron filling the air, the warmth on his hands while skinning an animal after a hunt, he could even handle—albeit with a twinge of panic—the sight of people he cared about bleeding. But the sight of his own blood terrified him. His own blood meant weakness, it meant that no matter how strong he got he was still just that little kid who cowered when his father yelled because he knew it preempted a strike.
He remembered the first time his father had drawn his blood, he’d been nine, his mother had left a week ago and he had sensed the rage boiling under his father’s skin. He had done… something—God, he couldn’t even remember what he had done now— and his father had gone off like a cannon. He remembered the glint of his father’s ring in the window-light as he lifted his hand to strike. Remembered the burning pain as that ring sliced open his cheek. He’d hoped then that the stream of red that mingled with his tears and ran down his face would shock his father enough that he’d stop. He shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up. If anything his father had gotten even angrier, grabbing his wrists so hard they’d been bruised for a week and slamming his back into the wall, yanking his hair so that Texas was looking at him. He remembered the look on his fathers face, eyes wild and mouth pulled into a snarl like a rabid dog, as he growled that Texas would tell nobody what had happened, if anyone asked he’d tell them he had an accident and cut his cheek. He’d frantically nodded, and bolted as soon as his father let him go, holding his stinging cheek as he raced as far away from his father as possible. He stumbled to a halt when his legs were too tired to keep running, collapsing onto the grass, breathing heavily and pulling his hand away from his cheek. It was red, so much red, red so bright his vision blurred and flickered. And then he was staring at larger hands, covered in red from a cut, being gently pulled away from him as a soft, familiar, voice spoke quickly from somewhere above him.
“It’s okay Texas, it’s okay. I know, I know, you’re okay, come on.” He was still breathing hard as he was pulled gently to his feet—why was he on the ground?—and the voice continued to comfort him softly as it led him… somewhere, Texas didn’t know where he was.
“I know, it’s okay. You’re safe, he’s not here anymore Texas, remember?” The voice—god, it was so familiar, who was it?—continued to murmur soft reassurances to him. Somewhere, distantly, he heard a sink start running, then he felt warm water rushing over his hands as if they weren’t attached to his arms, he felt a ghost of a touch on his back, rubbing up and down comfortingly. Slowly, very slowly, Texas’s vision cleared, he blinked away the last of the tears as… California’s face came into view, concern etched in every crease of his brow, but thankfully no pity.
“Hey, you’re back.” Cal said, a bit strained, but with a ghost of a worried smile on his face. Texas was suddenly acutely aware of Cal’s hands on him; how his fingers gently held Texas’s hand under the kitchen sink and how his other hand was still gently rubbing circles on Texas’s back, as if the movement was second nature. Texas wanted to rip himself out of the touch and snap at California, he almost did, but he was still trembling, could still feel his heart beating a mile a minute, and… Cal already knew didn’t he, this was second nature to him, Texas couldn’t count the number of times Cal had helped him out of a spiral back when they were younger, how Cal had never pressed him about it until he was ready to tell.
He leaned into Cal then, a soft “oh” escaping the other’s lips as he did so, he was still trembling, and tears had started falling again. Cal reached behind him to shut off the water before wrapping his arms around Texas and cradling him as Cal slowly pulled them both to the floor, sitting them both against the side of the counter. Texas buried his face in the crook of Cal’s neck, trembling and holding him tightly as Cal reached up with one hand and started gently stroking Texas’s hair, quietly murmuring comforts to him. And maybe the next day Texas would be embarrassed, maybe he’d make California swear never to tell, maybe he’d go right back to hating Cal as if nothing had happened, maybe they’d finally talk. For now, though, Alta just held Tejas gently, both of them lost in much fonder thoughts of times long past.