Chapter Text
James had been acting weird lately, and Titch couldn’t figure out why.
As devastating as their mother’s death had been (God rest her soul), Titch didn’t believe this was old grief coming back to haunt them. Unfortunately, that left him with very few ideas as to why James was suddenly behaving so strangely.
It’s just that, ever since they started the school year, Titch had been seeing more and more of James, at home, around the field, at school. It wasn’t that Titch didn’t want to see him. James was an annoying little brother, sure, but he was heaps better than the kids at the orphanage or even the kids at school. But for a boy who “didn’t want to be a farmer,” James sure was putting an awful lot more time into growing aubergines.
Heck, it seemed like James was paying attention when Father was giving them advice about the farm.
If their father noticed or cared about James’ behavior, he hadn’t said anything, so Titch was taking it upon himself to figure out whatever was happening with his brother.
“What’s wrong with you lately?”
No one’s ever called Titch particularly subtle.
James tensed but didn’t look up from where he was thumbing the leaves of the aubergines, eyeing it with feigned interest, “None of your business.”
So he was obviously hiding something. Titch groaned internally. If only diagnosing his brother was as easy as diagnosing the aubergines (some of the leaves were yellowing, and there was a sticky residue; the aphids always came around, but lord, were they annoying).
Titch leveled James with an unimpressed look, “Don’t be like that. You’re not fooling anyone, just tell me.”
Frustratingly, James dodged Titch’s insistent prying just as much as he was dodging Titch’s eyes, “Nothing’s happening. Just drop it.”
Titch sighed, “James, what time is it now?”
The seemingly off-topic question startled James into properly meeting Titch’s gaze, “Wh- I don’t know.”
“It’s 4 in the afternoon,” Titch said plainly.
James blinked, “…Okay?”
“Right, and instead of doing literally anything else, you’re here, working on the farm. You don’t even like farming!” Titch continued exasperatingly, “You like footballing, you want to be a footballer, so what are you doing here? A blind man could see that something’s wrong!”
James scowled, “I’m quitting football.”
“You’re quitting?!” Titch echoed back in disbelief, “But football is like your whole thing! You love playing football.”
James glowered at Titch, “Well, it’s not like anyone believes that I can actually make it. Not you, not Father, not anyone. You’re all just lying to my face to save my feelings. I’m not good at football, and everyone knows it, so I quit.”
“So you decided to come here instead?! You’re not good at farming either!”
They both froze. The silence that resounded after Titch’s impulsive outburst was deafening.
Shit.
James met Titch’s eyes with a glare that, much to Titch’s dismay, was rapidly becoming filled with tears.
James ducked his head, hiding what Titch had already seen, as if it could make Titch unsee it.
“Right. You’re- You’re right,” James’ voice wobbled, “I-“
James cut himself off with a sob that had risen up in his throat unbidden. Unable to handle being with Titch for any longer, he leapt to his feet and bolted into the house.
And Titch was left stock-still, crouched in the fields.
James’ bedroom door stayed locked for the rest of the evening.
Titch had fucked up.
There was no denying it. Titch had royally fucked up. If there was ever any chance that James would confide in him about anything, it went out the window when Titch couldn’t shut his stupid mouth.
And then Titch wasn’t seeing James at all anymore. James stopped walking to and from school with him; he disappeared into his room as soon as he got home, and dinners became an affair between only Titch and their father.
Titch felt guilty. Immensely guilty. He was supposed to be the big brother. A good big brother, at that. It was something his mother had instilled into him early on, when she was still technically just his foster mother.
It was the primary thing she had said to him when he was meeting James for the very first time, when they were both much smaller and staring at each other with wide eyes, “Titch, this is your little brother, James. As the big brother, it’s your responsibility to take care of him, okay?”
Titch had nodded fervently then, desperate to be good and not be sent back to the orphanage.
Titch wondered what his mother would think of him now. Even with the disappointment that would surely be faced his way, Titch fervently wished his mother were here. She would’ve been able to help Titch reconcile with James while also ensuring that James was okay.
When Titch thought about it, James didn’t really have anyone else to talk to. Their mother had passed away (God rest her soul), James grew distant from their father since he proclaimed his goals of playing football over tending to the farm, James wasn’t talking to Titch right now (obviously), any friends that James had in primary school branched off to different secondary schools, and the only friends he made in secondary school were in football, which was where his problems were stemming from.
Titch was already scooping up his bag the minute before he was supposed to be dismissed from tutoring. He hadn’t paid attention for the entirety of it, evidently, just staring at the projector screen blankly. He never really did pay much attention. Really, why should Titch care about English when he’s just going to work on the farm when he grows up? His teacher, well-aware that Titch didn’t really care at all, didn’t object as Titch left the classroom.
Farming would take his mind off things for a bit.
Titch walked down the hallway, absentmindedly pushing the school’s exit doors open and squinting as his eyes adjusted to the lighting change.
Titch turned the corner and jumped back right before he could run face-first into the doubled-over form of his brother, “Jesus Christ, James!”
James raised his head at the sound of Titch’s voice, and Titch took a moment to appraise his brother. James looked worse for wear, covered in sweat that made his matted hair stick to his scalp. He had his arm against the brick wall as he leaned heavily into it, and his right foot was raised slightly off the ground. His face was twisted in poorly concealed pain, eyes red-rimmed. If Titch looked closer, he could see some nasty bruising and swelling on the younger’s ankle.
“What happened to you?” Titch questioned as his brows furrowed.
James panted, “…I sprained my ankle.”
Titch glanced at the aforementioned ankle, “…Okay. And how’d you do that? I thought you quit football.”
“Coach made me stay back,” James replied simply, straightening up to lean on the wall properly.
Titch gave him a suspicious look. There was more to it that James wasn’t saying. “And she let you just walk away with a sprained ankle? No ice or anything? Not even calling Father?”
James fell silent, unable to formulate an answer. Guilty.
“Wait, did you walk here from the field house?! There’s no way your coach would allow that!” Titch exclaimed incredulously, gesturing madly to the foot that James had not lowered since they’d started talking, “Were you planning on walking home from here on that?!”
James didn’t answer the question, and Titch got a sickening sense of Déjà vu as James ducked his head and scrubbed at the tears filling his eyes in lieu of a response. This time, though, James didn’t have the option to run off.
Titch floundered. It was the second time Titch had made his younger brother cry this month, and he was still at a loss for what to do.
…But he wasn’t going to get anywhere if he didn’t try.
With no small amount of hesitance, Titch took a step forward and pulled the other into a hug, tucking James’ head into his shoulder. James went boneless in his arms, forcing Titch to have to readjust to prevent James from falling.
Titch tried to rub soothing circles into James’ back like their mother used to, as James bawled out months of pent-up stress, heart-wrenching sobs that left his words virtually incomprehensible as he gripped the front of Titch’s overalls like a lifeline.
And just like that, all of Titch’s previous trepidation went away. Titch hugged him back just as tight, as if the strength of his embrace would be enough to steady James’ rattling breaths and trembling form. He just needed his brother to stop shaking.
“I should’ve- I should’ve quit,” James blubbered, stumbling over his own words, “I should’ve when- But I loved football! I didn’t wanna- I- I know I’m not good, but I wanted- I want to stay! I shouldn’t’ve stayed, I knew they weren’t going to be- be happy. I knew they would be mad- and they- I should’ve known they would get payback and- and my ankle- Now who knows when I’m gonna play again? I don’t know how serious it is- It- it hurts.”
Titch froze. This wasn’t a standard injury that came from the expected riskiness of playing a sport. No, this was deliberate. Someone, or several someones, had intentionally harmed his brother, no doubt to cause lasting damage that would put James out of commission for the foreseeable future.
Oh, Titch was going to murder people.
With icy fury, Titch held James out to meet his eyes, “Who. I’m going to kill them.”
James hiccuped and shook his head, “Titch, you can’t, you’ll get in trouble.”
“I do not care.”
“You’ll just paint a target on your back!”
“I do not care.”
“I just want to go home,” James’ voice cracked, taking on an edge of desperation, “Please.”
That made Titch’s bloodlust grind to a halt, “…Okay,” Titch relented with a deep breath, “Okay. We’ll go home then.”
James’ so-called “teammates” were not getting off scot-free, Titch would make sure of it, but not now. Right now, James wanted to go home, so they were going to go home.
Titch marched through the woods along a familiar, but overgrown, path, pockets heavy with phones that weren’t his own.
The two of them had grown used to visiting the tent in the forest frequently when they were in primary school, a place where they could play under the watchful eye of the town’s resident witch while their parents were working on the farm. In truth, Titch was skeptical of the idea of letting a drug dealer, man or woman, watch over your kids who haven’t even hit double digits yet, but what did he know? He supposed that she never offered them any drugs. Well. At least not seriously.
As they grew older, with Titch picking up farming in earnest and James busy with football, they scarcely visited the lady of the woods anymore.
Or that’s what he thought.
“Back again, James?”
Titch watched his step as he came in, dodging the various paraphernalia strewn about, not fully processing that he was being called the wrong name.
Lady Margaery looked up from her pot of mysterious liquid, “Oh, it’s you. What’re you here for, boy?”
“Good evening, Lady Margaery,” It was important to be polite. Then, Titch registered the implications, “Has my brother been here?”
“Oh, yeah, lots. His presence is driving away customers,” Lady Margaery grumbled, “Don’t see why people have such qualms about buying drugs when an eight-year-old is in the room.”
“He’s actually eleven.”
“Is he, now?” Lady Margaery questioned, unimpressed by the correction, “I don’t got all day, boy. State your business.”
At that, Titch fished the devices from his pockets. “I need a healing tablet.”
“That can be arranged,” Lady Margaery said, already turning to the shelves behind her to grab one, “Anything else? You’ve got a lot of phones for just one healing tablet.”
“I also want to get a few people kicked out of town,” Titch paused, then added, “And maybe break some ankles.”
Lady Margaery raised an eyebrow.
Titch puffed up defensively, “They deserve it! They hurt James! They’ve been bullying him, and it’s not fair. I stole their phones, too-“
“Alright, alright, calm your tits,” Lady Margaery interrupted him, “It’s not in my pay grade to be judging. Just hand them over.”
Titch did so. Lady Margaery pressed a green pill into his palm in return, scrutinizing the devices with some muttered comments about ‘the dirtiest phone screen she’s ever seen’ and ‘whose bright idea was it to give a brat a brand new iPhone 6S plus,’ but she wasn’t asking for more payment from Titch, so he didn’t care.
Lady Margaery put the phones down and looked up at him, “Come back in a month for the second part of your order. I’ll have something cooked up by then. If not, you’re free to get some MDMA instead.”
Titch disregarded the last comment and, because it was important to be polite, said, “Thank you, Lady Margaery.”
“Pleasure doing business with you,” Lady Margaery shooed him away with the wave of a hand, “Now, off you go. I’ve got an appointment you’re about to be interrupting.”
Several phones lighter and cradling the tablet in his palm, Titch turned around and was about to leave when Lady Margaery called his attention again, more serious.
“Have you apologized to your brother?”
Titch stopped where he was standing with one foot out the opening, “Me?”
“Who the fuck else, boy?” Lady Margaery met his eyes, “You said some things that you regret, didn’t you?”
Titch scuffed his shoes on the ground, feeling shame rush to his cheeks as he darted his eyes away, “I’m… trying to make it up to him.”
“And that may well be true. But, I think he would still appreciate an apology,” Lady Margaery said pointedly, in a way that reminded him of gentle lectures from his mother, but the image was chased away by a slap on her knees and thinly-veiled annoyance returning to her voice, “Where was I? You’ve distracted me, barging in out of the blue like that. Off you get!”
Titch nodded once, still marginally stunned, before he ducked out of Lady Margaery’s tent and started on the trek back home.
When Titch pushed open the door to James’ room, the younger was still in the same position Titch had left him in, seated on his bed with his foot propped up and ankle encased by a bag of ice.
“I’m back,” Titch announced, as if it wasn’t obvious.
“Hey.”
A few days of rest and ice made the injury look only marginally better. Titch was no doctor, but he suspected the injury was worse than just a sprain.
It didn’t matter in the end, anyway. “Here. Take this.”
James took the tablet between his fingers, eyeing it skeptically, “What is it?”
“A pill. It’ll fix your ankle.”
“From Old Lady Margaery?”
“You’ve gotta stop calling her that,” Titch chided, “But, yeah.”
His younger brother didn’t need any more convincing, downing the pill with water from his water bottle. James carefully shuffled to push the ice aside, exposing his now completely healed ankle. He rolled it around experimentally. Good as new.
“James.”
The other looked up, “Yeah?”
Titch buried down the inhibitions and forced the words out of his mouth, “I wanted to say I’m sorry.”
James blinked at him owlishly.
“I’m sorry for what I said. Before. On the farm.” Why was using his words so hard?
James looked away with a shrug, tension creeping in and lingering in his shoulders, “You weren’t wrong.”
“No, I was wrong. You’re not bad at farming- Don’t give me that look. You’re not,” Titch insisted, “You just need to learn a bit. No one should expect you to be perfect, even yourself, when you’ve barely done any farming at all. I wasn’t naturally gifted. I learned, I practiced. You’ve been doing football instead, and you’re way better at that than I am! I hardly even know my left foot from my right foot.”
James cracked a smile at that, “I’m sure you could do good if you tried.”
“Maybe, but I don’t really care for football. Like how you don’t really care about farming,” Titch took a breath, “Point is, I think you’re beating yourself up too much about your farming skills. And your footballing skills.”
James deflated, “I’m really not that good at football, though. The others-“
Titch scoffed, “I don’t give a shit about the others. They’re jerks, and they don’t deserve a spot on the team. I think you should give it another try because you love football, and you are good at it, James. You’ve just started secondary school. You’re only going to get better from here, and you have so much time to do it before you hit the bigger leagues.”
James hesitated, bouncing his leg, “I don’t think I want to go back. With them.”
“And that’s fine,” Titch reassured, “We can- We can go talk to Father, and maybe we can get those bullies kicked out, or we can find you a different team nearby.”
“We?”
“Yeah.”
Looking more relaxed than Titch had seen him be for the last few months, James nodded meekly.
“Okay. I’d like that.”