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It’s a testament to how surreal Reynold’s life had become that waking up six years in the past barely makes it into the top three experiences of his life.
Top one, at the moment, is currently held by Penelope’s near-lifeless body that had yet to show any signs of improvement. His chest aches even thinking about it. Even with the antidotes that had been forced down her throat, there was still a chance that— That she wouldn’t—
Not that it matters now, he reminds himself firmly, before the spiraling can start in earnest.
None of that had happened yet.
And it won’t, he tells himself.
It’s not hard to figure out why he’d been sent to the past. Sure, he didn’t think making a wish at Penelope’s bedside late at night would lead to something like this— “I wish I could go back and do things differently” is something everyone must have thought from the moment Penelope collapsed. Most would, in his position— But he’s not complaining.
Barring his single and only panic session this morning as he tried to catch up on where he was, and the compartmentalization of the fact that he had to go through puberty all over again, and the relieved sobbing he had done in his palms when he realized that he had another chance, and then the nausea at realizing just how much he had to change to keep Penelope from wanting to drink fucking lethal poison to escape— Barring all that, he’s been fine.
In any case, he can’t focus on himself right now. Right now, the most important thing is talking to Penelope. Supporting her from this day forward, before the situation has a chance to deteriorate between them.
He never wants to see that empty, hurt expression on her again. He never wants to hear her telling him, “I hate you.”
Only—
He can’t find her anywhere.
Penelope hadn’t come to breakfast or lunch. It wasn’t that surprising, if a bit unfortunate. Father had been too busy to come, so Penelope had likely decided to eat alone than face the wrath of Reynold and Derrick without Father there to act as a mediator. Derrick had, at one point, asked him how he was feeling, likely confused as to why he kept looking around the dining room like a madman, but Reynold hadn’t paid him any mind.
None of the staff could answer to her whereabouts, either. In other words, no one had cared enough to keep watch over her so long as she didn’t make a fuss.
Reynold clenches his jaw. All the ways they had let her down, over and over again.
It’s only in the evening, when he hears the creaking of footsteps coming from above him that he realizes where she must have gone.
Reynold slaps his forehead. Of course. Whichever god or sorcerer or unholy being had brought him to the past would of course bring him to this day. Originally, he had assumed that they would have brought him back to the very beginning, when Father had made the decision to bring Penelope home. Or to the morning things had really started to go wrong, when he had decided to plant Ivonne’s necklace in Penelope’s room.
Instead, it had brought him to today.
The sound of fireworks starting outside only proves it.
It’s the day of the festival, when Penelope had snuck into the attic.
The same place where Reynold had gotten the idea for that stupid necklace in the first place. Then, six years later, the place where Penelope had told him that he made her feel worse than an insect.
The place where Penelope makes her wish for Ivonne to never come home.
And sure enough, by the time Reynold sprints there, Penelope is just finishing up.
“...and never comes back. I hope, I hope she died already— Reynold!”
Oh, he realizes. He had slammed the door open this time around, instead of just watching quietly from the doorway. Well. That’s fine. He was planning to talk to her about this.
Penelope quickly walks over to him. She’s breathing unevenly. “Brother. I, I found this space earlier. I wanted to sit somewhere quiet.”
“Mm,” Reynold says. “I was looking for you.”
“I...”
“It’s fine,” Reynold says. “I should have known you’d find this place eventually.”
Penelope bites her lip. “Did— Did you hear...”
Reynold nods. “I heard you just now.”
Penelope’s expression crumples. “I’m sorry!”
Reynold startles as she falls to her knees. The sound of her knees hitting the wood floor echoes louder than the muffled sound of the fireworks. “Penelope!”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that. I wasn’t thinking, I really wasn’t!”
Reynold swallows. “Penelope. Stand up, will you? What kind of Eckhart kneels so easily?”
Immediately, Penelope scrambles to her feet. Her eyes are wide. “Brother— Brother, I’m sorry. Please. I’m sorry.”
“I know,” Reynold says. “Don’t apologize to me.”
“Brother—”
“But you know you can’t say such a harsh thing again,” Reynold tells her. He doesn’t want to scold her for it, not anymore, not when he knows the exact thought process that led to her saying it. But still, it wouldn’t do well for her to accidentally say something in front of Derrick.
“I won’t, I won’t, never again,” Penelope says, her voice still panicked. Small, soft hands rip his sleeve. “Brother, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean it. I don’t know why I said that.”
Careful to keep his tone even, Reynold says, “It’s not a nice thing to say. Father would be upset to hear you say that, don’t you think?” Reynold puts a hand on hers. She flinches as he does, but Reynold can only blame himself for that. Had he experienced this back then, he would have yanked her hand off, or shouted at her for needlessly wrinkling his shirt. He doesn’t wait for her response to add, “I’m not mad at you for saying it.”
Penelope stills. Her mouth trembles slightly when she speaks again. “...You’re not?”
“No,” he says.
“Really?”
It’s her disbelief that eats at Reynold the most. How many times had he already gotten mad at her over things that weren’t her fault? How many times had he snapped and yelled at her just for existing?
To his baby sister, who didn’t know anything.
“There’s nothing to be mad at,” he says, chest tight with grief. “You’ve been... having a hard time, right? That’s why you wished for something like that.”
Penelope’s breath hitches. “I...”
Reynold watches tears start to spill down her cheeks. Her cheeks are flushed red, and each blink sends down more tears. She’s quiet as she cries. Reynold doesn’t say anything to her, letting her sob to her heart’s content. At some point, her hands go from his shirt to his own hands, but even her tightest grip isn’t enough to hurt him, so he lets her do as she pleases.
“It hasn’t been hard,” she answers in a thick voice.
“Haa...” Reynold could laugh. Her tantrums had been legendary even at this age. Tantrums that each had a root cause, clear as day if only he or anyone in this godforsaken household had bothered to look. “You’re terrible at lying.”
“I’m not—!”
“It’s fine,” he interrupts. “I get it. Seriously.”
Penelope nods slowly. Hesitantly. After a beat, she leans in. She assesses him carefully. “Brother, were you crying?”
Damn. Are his eyes still red? No wonder Derrick was worried about him.
Still. How laughable, to have Penelope worried for him.
It makes his chest hurt. She had been a good child in a tough situation. He’s old enough to realize that now.
If only... If only he had been a better sibling from the beginning. Then, maybe, things wouldn’t have gotten so bad. Penelope wouldn’t have been starved in a house full of riches, cast aside and ostracized until her only way out was death itself.
This was really... all his fault.
“Yeah,” he admits softly. “I was.”
Penelope’s face twists. “Why? Are you hurt?”
“...It’s nothing.”
Don’t waste your time worrying about me, he wants to tell her. You were the one who was hurt. You should be happy the villain in your life is getting his due.
“Okay,” Penelope says.
“Are you hurt?”
“I’m not.”
“Are you scared?”
Penelope shakes her head. “Not now.”
“Are you mad?”
“No.”
“Sad?”
“I don’t know.”
“Tired?”
“No.”
“Confused?”
“A little.”
“That’s fine,” Reynold says, and pulls her into a hug.
Penelope clearly isn’t expecting it, if the way her body stiffens to a wooden plank is any indication. Reynold pulls her in tighter. He can’t remember the last time he did this. Actually, had he ever hugged Penelope in all the years she had lived with them? Had anyone?
(The crown prince might have, he thinks sullenly, and firmly pushes the thought out of his head.)
He grits his teeth. He won’t let himself drown in his regrets, not with this second chance at his fingertips, but fuck is it hard. The more he thinks about it, the more he realizes, and the more he wants to strangle himself for letting this happen to Penelope.
“Listen, Penelope,” Reynold says. He braces himself. It’s still a hit to his pride to have to admit his faults, but he had done it already years-late. It’s no skin off his back to do it now when there is still enough uncorrupted rope tethering the two of them together. This is what he came back for. A moment like this, to set their life on a different course. A better course. “I’m— I’m sorry I haven’t welcomed you properly to this household.”
Penelope stiffens up again. “That’s...”
“Not okay,” he finishes. “In the beginning, I was sad, and angry with Father, because I thought he was trying to replace Ivonne with you, and I was too immature to see it from your perspective. I took it out on you for no reason, and I was wrong. I made you think there was no place for you here, but that’s not true.”
Penelope is shaking against his chest. He feels her hands tugging at his shirt again.
“You’re an Eckhart now, and the fault lies in the rest of us for not treating you like that. You aren’t Ivonne. That’s fine. Ivonne is... Ivonne is dead, most likely.”
Penelope gasps, lifting her head to look him in the eye. “But that’s your—”
“She was my sister, yeah,” Reynold says, and saying the sentence in past tense doesn’t hurt nearly as much as it used to. He’s starting his twenties now. Ivonne had been gone for years. He’d already known in his heart that a young girl wearing silk and jewels would never have survived so long on her own. He can only pray that whatever happened to her came swiftly, before she could even feel it.
The commoner who had come back wearing her face is— There was something strange about her. Reynold hadn’t gotten far enough in his investigations to figure out why he had such a bad feeling about her, and there was no guarantee she wouldn’t return in six years when Penelope’s coming-of-age ceremony came back around, but—
Reynold won’t be a bystander to Penelope’s suffering again. When “Ivonne” comes back, it will be to a Penelope who’s been properly loved and supported by the dukedom.
More importantly, Reynold will be ready for it, whatever “it” brings.
“She was my sister,” he repeats. “But so are you. You’re Penelope. My little sister.”
“Brother,” she whispers. Her eyes are so wide. Utterly disbelieving.
Reynold puts a hand on the top of her head, brushing through her bangs. “I’ll be a proper big brother to you from now on. So if someone hurts you, or says something mean, or brings you food you don’t want to eat, tell me straight away. You don’t have to take it quietly and let everyone misunderstand you. Even if I’m the one doing it! You can just call me a big, stupid idiot if you want.”
That startles Penelope enough to laugh briefly. Good.
“You’re Penelope Eckhart,” Reynold continues. “The only people who can stop you from doing anything are your older brothers and Father. No one else.”
Penelope bites her lip. “The king?”
“Screw the king,” Reynold answers, looking behind his shoulders quickly to make sure no one followed him here. He sighs in relief when the coast is clear. Penelope doesn’t seem too scandalized, which makes sense. She was so removed from even the average commoner’s life even before Father uprooted her into the lap of nobility, so it was more than likely she didn’t understand why one couldn’t badmouth royalty this far away from the palace.
Not that Father would care about his treasonous words, either. Reynold’s sure of that much. Father would more than likely scold him for appearances. But it wouldn’t do well for a neutral household to draw attention from the imperial family with such a sentiment.
And, speaking of. “Screw the crown prince, too.”
Penelope frowns. “The crown prince?”
Ugh. Reynold can picture him clear as day. Blonde hair. Annoying grin. Even more annoying words. Reynold had believed Penelope at first, when she said she made up her sordid romance with the crown prince during the trial, and made the personal choice for his own sanity to not believe any of the rumors circling around the two of them before that, but—
The way he had held her when she had fallen from the poison, and the look on his face—
The way he had sat at her bedside, unmoving, as though he was watching the person he loved wither away in front of him—
It didn’t paint a good picture.
Maybe that’s why Reynold came back. Not to save Penelope from the mistreatment of the Eckharts, but to save Penelope from the likes of him. Reynold is pretty sure Father can find someone better for her to be married to, if she felt the need for romance. Better yet, it would be good if she realized that there was no need to marry at all. Why marry when all the wealth and luxury she could ever want could be found right at home? What could the crown prince give her that the Eckhart family couldn’t?
...Even thinking about it is irritating him again.
“Yeah,” he tells the twelve-year-old Penelope, who’s way too young to even think about marriage right now. He’s determined to keep it that way. “Just know that he’ll never be good enough. Trust me.”
“...Okay.”
Reynold sighs. “Anyway, what I’m trying to say is, you don’t have to come all the way up here just for some peace.” He gestures to the room around them. “You can, if you want. You’re allowed to. But you don’t need to. If you want a new bedroom that faces the fireworks next year, so you don’t have to come all the way up here to see them, you can tell me. Or if you want a toy, or a diamond, or a necklace, I’ll buy it for you. If you want to go for a walk in the garden, or visit town, I’ll accompany you then, too. I don’t know if I’ll ever convince Father to not take guards with us, especially before I’m of age, but you don’t have to worry about being alone with people who don’t respect you.
“You don’t have to worry about any of them ever again. I’ll sort them out. And if they don’t want to comply, then I’ll fire them! I’m old enough to do that, at least.” Probably. At the very least he’d be able to plead his case with Father. “I’ll talk to Derrick and Father, too. They won’t be allowed to ignore you or belittle you anymore, either. So... so don't worry about anything anymore. You don’t have to wish for Ivonne to never return, because even if she does, I won’t let anyone kick you out. You’ll be my sister for the rest of time.”
Penelope stares at him like he’s a stranger. Reynold can’t say he doesn’t understand her. “I... I...”
Reynold sighs, mentally cursing himself out. That was way too much to drop on a little kid. He should have just stopped at “I’m sorry.” Whatever. It’s not like he can take any of it back now.
(And... selfishly, there are still things he doesn’t tell her. He doesn’t tell her that he’ll accept it if he’s too late with his apology, that she can hate him to her heart’s content if it makes her happy. He doesn’t want to hear her confirm it again.)
The shock of his speech seemed to have stopped her tears at least. One good result out of the whole thing. Reynold can still see the tracks they had left on her face, even with her entire face flushed, from crying or his words or both. Her nose is running too. Gross, he thinks, and starts cleaning her face up with his sleeves. “Like I said, you’re an Eckhart now. You can’t stutter like a dummy every time you don’t know what to say.”
She takes his wiping with only a slight grimace. He’s not sure how gentle or rough he should be with her, considering she hasn’t been this young in his eyes in six years, but it must be tolerable enough if she’s not complaining. Softly, she asks, “Then what should I say?”
“Are you seriously asking me?”
Her expression turns hesitant.
“Nevermind,” he says quickly. “Just— just say whatever you want. Whatever you want to say, I’ll hear it. I won’t even tell anyone if you want to keep it a secret.”
Penelope’s brows furrow. “Whatever I want to say...” Her mouth purses in thought. Then, her expression brightens just a little. More than it had this entire time. “Then, I want to say something to you.”
“Sure.”
“You’re a big, stupid idiot,” she says.
Reynold blinks, and then bursts into laughter. “You brat.”
The corner of Penelope’s mouth quirks up. “You said I could say anything.”
Reynold grins at her. “I did, didn’t I?”
“Mhm,” Penelope says, and steps back slightly. Reynold lets his arms drop.
He asks her, “What do you want to do now then? Did you eat dinner already?”
Penelope starts to nod, and then shakes her head. She looks down at her fingers. “One of the maids sent me breakfast this morning.”
Reynold frowns. But no lunch or dinner? Is it because they couldn’t find her here? Moreover, he remembers the spoiled bullshit Penelope’s maid had fed to her. When did that start? “What did they give you?”
Penelope mumbles, “Some bread... tea...”
“That’s it? Was it good?”
Penelope glances at him quickly, before she drops her head again. “The bread was... a little hard...”
Reynold grits his teeth. That settles it, then. It had started this early. Even without the outright vehemence Reynold had shown Penelope later on, the staff must have already picked up on the brothers’ dislike of her, and reacted accordingly. “And the tea?”
Penelope shrugs. “I didn’t like it.”
Yeah. Reynold bets. The maid delivering her food had probably spit in it or something. “Then let’s go eat right now,” he says, resolute. “I’m starving, which means you are probably hungry enough to eat through every sweet Father hides in his study.”
Penelope blinks. “Father... does that?”
Reynold grins. “Didn’t expect that, right?”
Penelope shakes her head.
“Let’s get you real food first,” Reynold decides. Sweets wouldn’t be enough to satiate Penelope having eaten practically nothing all day. And he has to be a good big brother and all, so. “Maybe tomorrow, when Father isn’t in his study, we can go on a secret mission to find Father’s candies. What do you say?”
Penelope’s eyes are shining again. Hopeful this time, or childishly excited by the premise of a “secret mission". Or so Reynold thinks.
...He’ll work on understanding her better. By the time she turns eighteen again, he’ll be an expert.
“Okay,” she says.
He reaches his hand out, and Penelope takes it. “Be careful on the steps,” he tells her. “You could slip and get hurt.”
“Okay,” she says again. “...Thank you, Brother.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Reynold responds, and leads her downstairs.