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Despite the fact that the living world had crumbled to pieces and everything they’d ever known was well and gone, sometimes little things reminded Mars of it so completely he ached for normality back. He ached for nights where he could fall asleep without wondering if the barriers he’d set up would hold, if one of his brothers would get it in their heads to slip out and he’d wake up to find—
“Stars,” Mars muttered, rubbing the heel of both hands against his eyes. “Stop thinking about that.”
His own brain didn’t take the instructions.
All he thought about these days was their safety, barely even his own; it probably wasn’t really mentally healthy, but did that really even matter these days? Mental health had dropped from his concern along with the rest of society, leaving him with nothing but the dregs of survival. It wasn’t a very fun existence, but at least he was alive, and he’d managed to keep Phobos and Deimos alive and with him despite their… boisterous personalities and tendency to forget that the entire world was dangerous, now. That he could be thankful about, was the only thing he had left.
“Do you think it’s going to rain, Mars?”
Deimos’s voice shook him out of his thoughts, and he blinked hard and refocused as his younger brother trudged up to the window beside him, peeking through the small hole he’d left for that purpose only. “Probably,” he admitted, remembering the dull gray color the sky had held that morning. “But it’ll be fine, Deimos. Just a little rain.” He lifted one hand and ruffled Deimos’s hair gently until he whined in annoyance and struck away, dashing back towards Phobos rearranging all of their blankets and pillows into a fort of sorts.
Mars sighed. “Don’t forget to put those back when you’re done!”
Phobos barely glanced at him even as he cheerfully replied, “Okay!”
Mars sighed and struck for the kitchen, eager to make preparations for whatever storm rolled through that night. He might’ve told Deimos that it’d just be a little rain, but he wasn’t sure about that himself. Without any sort of weather forecasting he couldn’t know for sure, but something about the sky and the heaviness in the air felt foreboding, like something bad was on the horizon.
It also could be the never-ending sense of dread that dragged him down these days, but Mars thought he could separate that well enough now.
Regardless, a storm meant noise, and it meant enough of it to confuse the dead all around them… and not in a good way. It meant more roaming around the neighborhood again when the thunder drew some of them in from neighborhoods around them, and it meant he’d have to be a lot more vigilant in the coming days.
Like he wasn’t already.
“Mars, aren’t you going to come play?” Phobos called out, making him lean over enough to peek through the kitchen archway, keeping grip on the counter for balance. He was standing in front of their fort creation—which Deimos had already crawled into, the only thing visible now several tufts of pale blond hair. “Look! We made a fort! Isn’t it cool?!” The corner of his mouth twitched up.
“Yeah, Phobos, good job. It looks great.”
Phobos beamed at him. “Won’t you come play?”
Mars’s smile faltered. “Sorry, dude. I have to take stock of all our food. Why don’t you and Deimos have fun with each other?”
“All I do these days is have fun with Deimos,” he practically whined. Mars braced himself for a tantrum—they were rare even before this all happened and even rarer now, but even they had their limits, considering they were children—and instead was met with Phobos slumping with a pout before he dropped to his knees and crawled into the fort.
Deimos emerged just enough to stare at him, blinking once, and then he crawled under and joined Phobos, directly followed by the sound of quiet whispering.
Mars sighed, fingers tapping against the counter.
Then he rerouted his attention back to their supplies, unwilling to let anything slip. After all, Phobos and Deimos knew by this point that the state of the world required sacrifices, even if they were ones he wished they didn’t have to make. Like having anyone else to hang out with.
At least they were lucky enough to like each other.
To have each other.
He held onto that thought like a lifeline as he pulled open the pantry door and started counting. He was halfway through the cans still stored in their pantry—and growing slightly concerned with the amount—when he spotted a certain one and paused, thumb rubbing against the label.
Maybe…
Mars gave in and stood up, heading straight out of the pantry and towards the boys’ fort. “Deimos? Phobos?” He waited until their heads poked out of the end, strands wild and frizzed up from the close spaces. “How about we have this for dinner?”
He held up the can and watched their faces light up.
“Spaghetti-O's!” Deimos shouted, hands thrown up in the air. “Please? Please?” He crawled straight out of the fort and tugged at his jeans. “Please?”
“Don’t worry,” Mars said, fighting back laughter. “I’m making it.”
"Yay! Did you hear that, Phobos?!"
Deimos's volume shot up, and Mars winced, dropping his free hand to the top of his head. The moment Deimos looked up at him, he pulled it back up and pressed one finger to his lips. “Sorry,” he whispered, crawling back to Phobos. “I forgot.”
Stars. He wished he could forget.
But he was glad they could. At least sometimes.
"Can we have a cookie with it?" Phobos piped up abruptly, still crouched in the shadow of the fort. "Just one? Pretty please?" He hesitated, and both boys leaned forward, turning on the full force of their puppy-dog eyes. Mars's shoulders slumped. The meager supply of cookies they had—a fateful find one day, an unopened and clean box of them in the back of another house’s pantry—was steadily growing smaller, and soon enough they’d be gone, but…
If they didn’t eat them now, who knew when they’d get the next chance?
Living for today was all they could do, now.
“Alright,” he said, smiling at them, “spaghetti-o's and cookies it is. Give me a bit to finish checking on the food and prepare it, and then we can eat.” He made an aborted motion to turn and instead paused, pointing at the fort. “But I need that cleaned up by the time it’s ready, so when I tell you to, you better. Alright? Or no cookies for either of you.”
“Come on,” Phobos protested. “Mars!”
He just shot his younger brother a look. “Phobos.”
The two shared a look of their own. “Fine…”
Fighting a smile, Mars listened to their excited back-and-forth as he made his way back to the kitchen, glad for the chance he had to give them at least these glimpses of the world previous.
Even if nothing else, they could have cookies. He’d make sure of that.
He was finishing up his nightly rounds of ensuring the house was entirely closed up—checking the locks, the windows, the boarded up front door and the locked-and-blocked back door— when the first boom of thunder interrupted his thoughts, and he jumped so hard he nearly slammed his shoulder into the doorframe.
And then it didn't stop.
By the time he'd come back to the living room the rain had started too, drumming against the roof and windows all around the house. It was almost relaxing if not for the fact that it had him thinking about all the dangers it'd cause, all the undead it'd draw back into their neighborhood, all the--
"Mars?"
His eyes jumped straight to the lump of blankets where Phobos and Deimos had been sleeping; Phobos was still dead asleep, arms flung out and one leg escaped from the blanket, the sight barely visible in the single flickering candle he had... but beside him was Deimos, curled up in a little ball with his arms around his knees, eyes reflecting the same candlelight and fear baked into every line of his little face.
Oh.
That was right. How had he forgotten—?
He set the candle down and crossed the room, dropping to one knee beside Deimos's lump of blankets and whispering, "Hey. It's all right, I promise."
Another crack of thunder rolled overhead, and Deimos squeezed in on himself, a small whimper escaping. Mars's chest tightened.
"I know it's scary, buddy. I'm sorry."
The moment he held one arm out Deimos shot forward, burying his face in against his neck while Mars sat back and rubbed the opposite hand against his back. "It's so loud," he whispered, "It's going to get in, and—and it's going to get us. It’s going to—”
"Hey, no. We're safe in here, okay?" Mars didn't add on the silent I think. "I told you and Phobos I wouldn't let anything hurt you, and I meant it." He watched a flash of lightning through their makeshift peephole. "That's just the thunder, Deimos. Just part of storms."
Deimos didn’t seem comforted by the words.
"But it's going to lead them to us." He lowered his voice even more, now barely audible with his face still shoved in his neck. Mars could feel the frantic in-and-out of his breathing, hear his near-silent whimpers. "The monsters. They’re going to get you, and then—and then—" His voice broke into a sob.
That time his heart nearly stopped.
"I—" He swallowed hard, a lump growing in his throat. "Deimos..."
Unable to come up with something to say in response, he just squeezed his little brother closer and let him shake in his arms; his heart broke a little more with every new burst of thunder, every new flinch from the small body curled against his. His hand had taken up a repetitive soothing motion he remembered from his own childhood, rubbing up and down the length of Deimos’s spine.
“I’m not going to leave you,” he finally managed. “I’ll try my best every single day. I’m here to protect you and Phobos, okay?”
Deimos peeled away, staring at him with candlelight jumping in his eyes.
“You promise?”
He shouldn’t. He really, really shouldn’t.
“I promise,” Mars told him. “I won’t leave you.”
Deimos sniffed, giving him a watery smile and rubbing one balled fist underneath a reddened eye. “Good,” he said, sniffing again. “You’re my favorite brother.” He looked back at Phobos, then leaned in and whispered. “But don’t tell Phobos. He’ll get mad if he knows he’s not my favorite.”
The mere bit of humor tore a helpless smile from him.
“Don’t worry, Deimos, I won’t.”
Deimos beamed at him before collapsing right up against his chest, dead asleep within a minute. Mars had to stare at him for a second in disbelief before he actually moved, shaking his head in amusement before laying Deimos right back down next to his brother.
Both of them squirmed towards the other in their sleep until they were almost one pile of limbs that looked far too uncomfortable for him, but…
Mars could admit it was cute.
And even as his own promise weighed heavy in his chest, Mars pushed to his feet and walked over to the candle he’d left, listening to the distant thunder while he blew it out and let the room fall into a deep darkness interrupted only by the occasional flash of lightning.
“Goodnight,” he whispered. “Sweet dreams.”
He really did hope their dreams were much sweeter than their waking lives.