( brother )

      Stepping into the room he feels as if he’s walking through a haunted room, as if this belongs in some sort of horror movie where the characters are about to find out what the horrors are spawned from. He can see the memories playing back in front of him almost as if visions. Himself in diapers and nothing more running haphazardly as children do through the space, Camden following him, or his mother’s laughter on Christmas mornings long forgotten, but also darker twists to their life. Their father drunkenly stumbling through the space and yelling - the table that he can see the edge of in the kitchen that he remembers his last meal with his father before he was murdered. It’s absent of life, though. It’s absent of a family.

      He watches his brother place his hand on the wall, and he swallows a little bit before then noticing that he’s facing him once more. He takes him in and then swallows a little and reaches out to touch his brother’s arm, but he stops short, almost as if he’s afraid the other will turn into a memory right in front of him. Isaac is afraid to touch him, he’s afraid of what this life is for them now, but he won’t admit it.

      Isaac can look around and see many things that Camden wasn’t there for, and things there were. He can see things that Camden was there for. He can see so much but it’s their past, it’s over. There’s nothing worth bringing to the future and he can’t help but then Camden tells him it isn’t his fault and all he can do is slowly nod as he glances down, blue eyes dancing along the middle of the wall that disappears down the hall towards their rooms. Then he glances over when he feels the other hug him and he slowly leans in to his brother, an arm coming up around his waist.

      Though as soon as the moment’s begun it’s over and he just nods a little bit. “I was the lead suspect.” he admits quietly. “I…still am…” He shakes his head as he thinks about it and drops his hold on Camden before moving past him and tracing his hands over the couch that he had hopped over so many times when chased, or even just to get comfortable. Now he looks at his brother and swallows. “I didn’t kill him, Cam.”

       The contact, though he initiated it, almost seems to startle Cam, like it’s too much to take in at once. As he pulls back, he closes his eyes, puts his fingers to his temple and rubs gingerly. Brother, brother, brother! It’s piecing back together, sure enough, but each time he grasps for a new piece it strikes like a hammer on an anvil, sending shivers down his spine. He runs his fingers through his hair, locks nearly to his shoulders now, exhaling slowly as he looks up at his brother.         Once, he could lift Isaac above his head -- a short period of time, because they both grew up too fast, but now he doesn’t have to do anything to have to tilt his head and look at his brother. He slowly narrows his gaze, mouth opening to speak, but he closes it again, dropping his gaze to the couch where Isaac’s hand touches.         I didn’t kill him, Cam. His eyes instantly dart back to Isaac, trying to gather his thoughts for a moment. The odd thing is, he wouldn’t have judged Isaac even if he had. Does this make him more of an animal? He’s avoided killing as much as possible, but war changes the way a person thinks, breathes, feels.  It certainly didn’t help that their father instilled violence into them from day one. Cam’s always lived a life with answers from a curled fist as a solution. Not that he could have imagined Isaac killing their father, but it’s an idea he wouldn’t have objected or questioned.         “It doesn’t -- I wouldn’t care. But I believe you. I know you didn’t.” He licks his lips, holding contact with Isaac for several seconds in silence before attempting a small grin. “You’re going to be fine, okay? I promise.” His voice is calm, almost impossible not to believe. Finally he turns away, glancing down to the rooms. Swallowing, he guides himself away from Isaac, towards the room that once had ‘Camden’ printed on the door.         His lungs are full of memories and he can’t take a full breath again, intoxicated as he steps into the old bedroom. He stands completely still, eyes darting around from the trophies on the shelves to the posters on the wall of bands and movies he once loved. One covers the hole that he punched in the wall when he was fifteen. He feels like he can’t move, feet glued to the floor as he takes it all in. How can it be home and still feel so empty? 

( Isaac )

He doesn’t mean to be a burden, but he knows he’s seven years old and can’t help it. He doesn’t understand completely still. He knows that mom isn’t okay, he knows that she isn’t coming back home. That they won’t have a mom to kiss their ouchies, to watch them swim anymore - and that means no more swimming unless dad’s home to watch them. Isaac knows that things are going to be changing, but he doesn’t know how they’re going to be changing. He doesn’t understand and the only one he can rely on to help him is Camden. Isaac doesn’t understand what’s going to happen next. All he knows is that Camden is here and mom is not. There are things he doesn’t know he shouldn’t say, doesn’t know if he should say, and he hopes that someone will be there to guide him to do so.

There will be tears, Isaac can feel them, he can feel the knots in his throat the way it hurts. He’s choking them back. But also he’s confused and worried and fearful and none of that is enough to trigger the tears to fall down his face. Not when Cam isn’t crying. Not when he can’t cry because if his brother wasn’t crying he wasn’t either.

“Okay…I believe you.”

It’s small but it’s true. He believes Camden more than anyone right now, and even if he can hear the wavering in his brother’s voice he believes in him. He knows that if he thinks it’s okay than it’s got to be okay, right? His foot my bother him and they might not have a mom, but Cam thinks it’s going to be okay, and Camden thinks it’s the right thing to not cry…so he’ll not cry.

When he suggests sitting down Isaac gives a small nod and remains impossibly close to his brother, smaller hand in larger hand. This would be a moment in time where mom would come bring them popsicles, ask them about the game, listen to all of Cam’s stories and maybe even adjust and settle Isaac in her lap and stroke his messy curls while listening to Camden. Either way it doesn’t matter because Isaac knows she’s not going to be there. That the popsicles are still packed in the back of the freezer and the cookies he had been enjoying were still open and sitting on the couch where he had left them.

“….I was trying to save mom…”

Keep calm, Cam. He has to play himself a message on repeat just to keep his breathing steady. He’ll do the emotions later and let the reality hit him square in the face when he’s alone and not trying to be brave for his brother. For now, he won’t think about breaking down in the solitude of his own room, punching his pillow, or sneaking a bottle from the cabinet above the fridge like he did once before. He can’t think about those things—instead he’ll focus on Isaac staying positive enough to get through the next hour or so while everything gets sorted out. “Good,” he mumbles, swallowing back the threat of tears in his throat. Biting on his lip, he helps to lead Isaac to the steps up to their house, trying not to squeeze his hand too tightly. He doesn’t want to show weakness here, reveal that he needs Isaac just as badly as Isaac needs him right now. It slowly seems to occur to him that this is going to be how it is from now on—just him and Isaac and dad. No mom to ease the tension that he can see bottling up in their father. But he’s not going to give up his promise, the words he uttered when Isaac was first born. He’s not going to give up protecting him, never. He sits down and releases Isaac’s hand, biting on his lip as he watches the vague scene before them. He frowns at Isaac’s words though, glancing over at him. “Save her?” He knows that both of their minds are elsewhere, so he wonders what’s going through his brother’s. “Hey… you know… none of this is your fault, right?” He turns his gaze away, exhaling softly. The desire to cry and throw things seems to be fading, replaced with just a calm disbelief, a washed out sadness. “It’s nobody’s fault…” He runs his hand through his hair, turning back to his brother. 

“You know what happened, don’t you? You can cry if you want to.”

( isaac )

      The bandages aren’t moving and it’s almost starting to freak Isaac out as he watches them, afraid to touch them in case something is there keeping them where they sit. Isaac doesn’t know what to believe in this second. He doesn’t know if it’s just his pain riddled mind playing tricks on him or if he’s really seeing things. The medical bag is LITERALLY enough to tell him that something not right is happening here, or, well, not natural is happening here because the bag is something he knows he hasn’t seen in years. He’s sworn that since Camden’s death things have gotten weirder and weirder.

      He can’t hear any screams from anyone, just the sound of his dad moving in another room in the house, but it’s to leave for work. Isaac’s quiet and safe…for now.

      Isaac just wants to know if he’s alone or not. If he can reach for the bandaids. There are bruises forming and blood beginning to dry in the small cuts that he has so that in a bit they’ll be scabs, but he still needs to cover them.

      Watching as the box tugs itself out, hovering as if held by some invisible being his eyes widen in a mix of fear and shock. He’s about to reach for the bandages when they’re placed to the side, but he swallows and watches as the bag is then picked up and dumped out all over, and he can’t help the nervous and awkward laugh that comes out of his mouth at the sight.

       “Cam…” the word is but a whisper on his lips as he swallows and just. “Where are you? Why can’t I see you?”

       If he can grip onto a bag and shake it, what else can he do? He’s been lost for so long now, driving himself mad in his own invisibility to the rest of the world. He might have expected the afterlife to be a bit more exciting, but instead he had been left with silence. But it’s clear that he’s now made some kind of an impression on Isaac. He’s grinning, not that his brother can see it, but he could almost laugh at this whole thing.        “Alright Cam, get a grip—” He pauses at his own words, rolling his eyes at his own pun and shaking his head. “C’mon, what do I do next…?”        He looks to the door, listening to make sure their dad stays well out of this business. “Be right back, Isaac.” Once again, knowing that his brother can’t hear him, he still finds some comfort in being able to talk to him. If his brother knew how much Cam had gotten used to talking to him over the past years with no response, he might actually find more reason to laugh. He likely would have appeared insane from anyone else’s perspective, if there were any perspective to have.         He gets up, frowning and searching the room quickly with ambition. He grabs a pen and notebook, concentrating enough to move them with him and return to sitting at the edge of the bed. “Why didn’t I try this before?” He mumbles to himself, carefully writing on a sheet of paper. “Ok it’s harder than it looks though.”         Finally he turns the notebook around, facing Isaac so that he can read the words: I’m right here –Cam. He might actually answer the second question if he knew the answer himself. He supposes he’d call himself a “ghost” but it doesn’t really feel like Paranormal Activity. Pulling the notebook back again, he adds a second line: Been here. Ghost I guess. And with a sigh and a moment’s hesitation, he adds a last thought: Sorry about dad.

( brother )

      Isaac really has lost count of how many times the world KEEPS surprising him. How many times the world keeps throwing him through loops and curves and he doesn’t know how much longer he can keep up with it, really, but at least this was a loop in which at the end he wasn’t so alone. He had a brother again, someone he hadn’t seen in years. Someone he could remember having the fondest of memories with is entire life as he didn’t really have the chance to have many friends outside of Camden. Their past may be a mystery to the older brother now but it’s in brilliant color to Isaac.

      He figures that they’ll be staying somewhere, he really hopes at nobody minds that he brought home his brother and he hopes Camden doesn’t mind possibly sleeping on a couch while they get everything sorted out. That can all be figured out later at a different time he has to figure out how to tell Camden what’s happened since they announced his death. Since Isaac had become an only child who had moved through the world accepting bruises, blaming them on rough plays on the lacrosse field even if he spent more time sitting on the sidelines than actually playing.

      Isaac waits, hearing the ‘no’ from his brother no matter how soft it is and he just listens to him, taking it in, watching him. He knows that this isn’t what the house used to be, where they have so many memories. He knows this isn’t right, and it kills him as much as he’s certain it kills Cam. It’s a lot to take in, but he can’t help but feel this is the easiest way to let him know what had happened, to let him take it in for himself and fill in the details as needed. “Uh…” he pauses, not sure how to cover it up - he can’t just tell Camden that a kanima had killed their father because he was the coach of the swim team at one time. That the kid who had almost drown in their pool had gotten a deformed werewolf-jaguar thing to kill him.

      The boy is about to reply to tell him what’s wrong but the older is moving before he can stop him, and he follows. He watches with knowing blue eyes as his brother tears the tape down, pushes the door open, and he waits in the door way behind him - taller now so he can see it all. There are memories here that flood back, a mix of good and bad, but the first one that slips into his mind is the night he had flung himself out of the door he’s standing in right now, grabbing his bike, and then he hadn’t come back here. He had spent the night elsewhere, not even remembering that night clearly after finding out his father was dead.

      “…It’s…complicated….Dad was murdered.” He pauses. “Because I ran one night and he followed and…” he cuts off, shrinking in size, waiting for the repercussions. Waiting for Camden to strike him as their father would have. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

       Memories pry their cold fingers through his mind, like color spilling into a world of grey after a lifetime in the dark. His breathing tightens, throat constricting as everything starts to fall into place. He recalls the smells, but can’t place them, remembers the why but not the how. Everything he looks at contains fragments, but with so many missing parts he can’t make it whole. The wall that once had crayon marks on it—Isaac’s doing?—the couch and (mom’s?) chair—weren’t they facing the other direction? There’s a stale smell covering the old one, absent of strong perfumes, but he can still trace the familiar lineage that almost makes it impossible to breathe for an instant.        Slowly, Cam presses his hand to the wall, eyes watering as he turns back to face Isaac again. Isaac, the biggest memory of them all. Part of him wants to run away from it all, push past him and run back to the woods before this all started—wasn’t life easier not knowing his past? That’s what you did in the first place, Cam—you ran. That’s how we got here. If you hadn’t ran away in the first place…                      --No.         Exhaling slowly, he tries to steady himself, feign the confidence for his brother. He tears his gaze from Isaac again, looking across as he speaks. He swallows, nodding once in acknowledgement of the facts. Dad is dead. Part of him should be upset, angry, horrified even—but it’s a mere acceptance. He takes a few more steps in, fingers still lightly trailing against the wall. He can hear his father yelling, and as his eyes scan the house, pieces of his past play in front of him. He sees his father throwing him down against the floor, running back to Isaac’s room, or to his room—his room. Their father’s death… isn’t it something of a relief then?        Spinning back to Isaac as he realizes what he’s saying, Cam shakes his head, eyes going wide. He approaches him quickly, frowning as he searches his brother’s face. “No, Isaac…” His voice is quiet, nearly a whisper, as though afraid to wake the house. “It isn’t your fault.” Slowly, tentatively, but without much thought, he wraps his arms around Isaac.        “It’s just one less thing to worry about, isn’t it?” He pulls back away after only a few moments, as though uncertain if that was even allowed. His lips twitch in an attempted grin out of sympathy. “If you wanna… talk now though… I’m up for it.”

( scarfiist )

        Isaac doesn’t really know if right now is the perfect moment to laugh, but he can’t help it. He needs this right now and honestly Camden could probably use it. It’s been years and he’s terrified that Camden isn’t going to take the fact that they’re the only two left in the world. Honestly Isaac hadn’t taken it too well at first, but he had, at least, had the ability to rationalize it. Maybe it hadn’t sunk in yet. Maybe it won’t ever sink in because now he’s not the only Lahey left in the world, but either way laughter is good for the soul, Isaac’s decided and the grief can come back when it’s passed. For now? His brother is alive, his brother who he’s thought was dead for years now, is alive and in front of him. It seems like a good dream that’s going to vanish at any second, twist into a nightmare, but he doesn’t care. For now he’ll cling to the good.

        He doesn’t know what’s going on when he sees him close his eyes, but he’s not going to interrupt unless he feels his heartbeat rise, unless he senses something is wrong. He isn’t going to rush Camden through anything, he knows how that’s gone in the past for him and he knows that it’s gotten him beaten, it’s gotten him in trouble before but he just wants to help. There are no bruises because he heals now, because his father hasn’t actually been able to touch him in a good while now. He can feel the worry from this brother. He knows that there’s worry, he knows he has every reason to worry, he hadn’t left in a good time and it had been hard. It had been so hard. But here he was, still alive.

        Isaac gets that it’s hard to talk about what Cam went through, hell it was hard to talk about what he himself went through. He didn’t know if he’d ever get the full details on what he was, or, well, what had happened to him. What he had gone through. He didn’t care because he was here. He wanted to know but he was here and that was what mattered. “Yeah, later.”

        There’s a shrug at the words of the other, “um. You’ll see.” He makes it all the way home, only to find that the door has the caution tape that a police officer has put there. “It’s almost like when mom died…” he admits softly and then glances over at Camden. “It’s…I’ve got to tell you some things.”

       It’s like there’s a message on repeat in his brain, telling him who he is, that this is real. The desire to pinch himself is ever present, but he settles for biting the insides of his cheeks. Lahey. Isaac. Camden. Their father—his face appears in his mind, slowly recreated. Bill. This whole thing is a puzzle, where the pieces weren’t even accessible before. Now as he puts them together, it becomes easier, the picture becomes clear. Each word brings him closer, the sound of his voice, the laughter, painting a picture, a memory of his childhood. He grasps to each piece, but they slip away so quickly, there only for an instant.        Later sounds so unreal—he hasn’t even lived in a home, let alone be able to account for a period of time like this. “Later” means sitting on a couch and talking to his brother, something he couldn’t imagine just a few hours ago. He frowns though, curious as to what Isaac means, and follows along after him with his bag over his shoulder. The uncertainty in his brother’s voice is more worrisome than the lack of bruises. He recalls his father’s fist curled and the bruises that he’d have to cover or explain in the locker room at school. The image fades after just a moment, but his concern remains as he follows after Isaac.        Camden stops, his gaze rising to the house in front of them. “No…” The house in his memory isn’t like this—with faded paint and caution tape, like something out of a film. He shakes his head, eyes wide as he looks over the scene, not even able to look at his brother. “What happened?” His voice is strong, insistent, hiding whatever weakness is there.        His feet move before he even realizes it, a storm of something more than just confusion now though he can’t quite figure out what emotion it is fueling this sudden rage. It’s not going to keep him glued to the sidewalk, though. Curling his fists, Cam pushes forward. He tears down the tape and shoves his shoulder to the door, pushing it open. He’s not sure what he had previously been expecting—the caution tape certainly put a different image in his mind. It simply looks… haunted. He takes one minute, looking around the room, shaking his head with a frown.        “When was the last time you were home?”  He turns around, taking a deep breath and running his fingers through his hair. “Isaac… What happened?”

( brother )

      Isaac had grown up, he had learned to keep his guards up, to beat people back with sarcasm and being nasty towards them. That if he were to let them in they were going to hurt him, to discover the secrets of his home life. That couldn’t happen. That wasn’t going to happen. He couldn’t let it happen and so he had built his walls up around him. He didn’t let anyone in. There were reasons he was the way he was and nobody got to know why. Now this was all different because he had a brother once again and he didn’t have a father. This changed his world drastically, because if this was Camden then he would have someone to move in with, to keep him out of the foster system and…and they could start again. They didn’t need their past, they could start again, be different. Be happy again.

      This changes everything and it terrifies Isaac. He hasn’t been given the chance to have a normal life, and he still can’t because he’s not human anymore. He has a kanima to help track down, to fight off. He lives in a world that he can’t bring his brother into, and he had thought when he didn’t have a family that that might be the one upside. That he didn’t have to worry anyone at home when he didn’t come home, when he had spent the night fighting off supernatural and exhausted. Now he has to include Camden into this. He’d rather that, though, than be alone in this world.

      It’s not the fact that the question is actually funny, but the fact that Camden had focused on THAT instead of anything else. The fact that he had asked about Isaac’s height as his first real question as a brother. It’s so…them. It’s so…natural. He can’t do anything but laugh at it. The following of time passage has brought the mood back down and he just nods a little, bringing his nail to his mouth and biting it, clipping it a little. He really does need to find something better as a nervous tick.

      Then he’s mentioning Dad and Isaac needs to tell him that their father is…well. Either way this isn’t the time because he doesn’t need to know yet and Isaac isn’t prepared to drop that on him when he’s just realizing who he is, that Isaac is his brother. “…That’s what they said when the military showed up on our door step.” he replies quietly with a one armed shrug as he thinks about it. Shifting from one foot to another he sighs softly. “I want to know how you’re alive. I know there was an explosion…It’s just…how.” Stranger things have happened very recently in Isaac’s life, but he feels the need to know.

      “It’s fine.” he replies quietly and then swallows a little and just watches him carefully. Then he’s asking if they can go home and he knows he needs to tell him. “It might be a little difficult to go home.” He admits. “It might be better to show you, come on.” With that Isaac is turning, starting to lead the way back towards the road, back towards walking to the now crime scene of a house they had once called home.

       The laughter from his brother calls him back from his frightening imagination, trying to piece together the story from the other side now. He stares up, realizing it isn’t so much laughter as a moment of amusement from him. Still, it makes Cam grin just for an instant, as though he can temporarily forget their shared grief. Truthfully, they should be laughing, celebrating. Camden is alive, and though it’s hard for him to even grasp that he had a life here before, as it slowly mends his memories, he can understand the glee that his brother may begin to feel.        His imagination begins stirring again, closing his eyes as he pictures the scene. No body to bury, just a flag to hand to his family. Waiting for the next letter, something about when he’ll be home next, only to get the worst news they could dream of. Life slowly spiraling out of control—what happened next? Surely his alleged death alone hadn’t caused Isaac to grow up so quickly. He sees no bruises, but the worry is there. Cam can’t stop thinking, I should have been there. Isaac needed someone to protect him. That was his plan from the start. When he sees his father, will it be a hug or a more violent reminder of his past?        He swallows, feeling somewhat uncomfortable as he opens his eyes to stare back at his brother again. He nods, biting at his lip and shrugging. “I’m… I’m not entirely sure of that, honestly.” There are some details he can share, but really he just wants to go home. They can talk about all of this in his bedroom, or maybe the living room. “Yeah… I should have died, but… I’ll explain what I can later.”        At Isaac’s words though, his brows knit together in confusion. He leaves little more room for conversation, and Camden hardly has a choice but to follow after his brother. “What do you mean?” He realizes that the question is about to be answered—all he has to do is follow along to see for himself. He doesn’t know how far it is, doesn’t know where their house is, but he’ll know it when he sees it.

You know why big brothers are born first? To protect the little ones that come after them.

Ichigo Kurosaki, Bleach (via midnightillumine)

( betaenglace )

      Isaac may believe in a higher power. He may believe in guardian angels, but ghosts are one of those bizarre things. They aren’t quite something he believes in, but he also has no real reason not to believe in them. He can’t see them but he also can’t see angels or why no one has thought to investigate the bruises on his arms. Why so many people are able to go on with their lives when they’ve seen the bruises. Why a few months after Camden died they seemed to just forget him. Why they could move on and Isaac could not.

      Why it was always Isaac who had to be the strong one for what was left of their little broken family. Why his father was putting so much on him and not taking it himself.

      Now though he wonders who’s there with him, watching out for him, with this medical bag. The only obvious answer is Camden because no one else knew about this secret of theirs. His dad had only thought it to be one of his many toys when they were younger and he thought that they had gotten rid of all of their toys and that’s why he had thought it was gone. Yet here it sits, almost as if it’s brand new once more. Turning his attention down towards the bag so he could start taking care of himself he pauses as he sees something…

      And there’s a bit of fear in him as he sees something moving without any help. When he sees the small white box of bandages poking out of the bag, even if just barely - it’s white on black so of course it’s going to be a little easier to notice. There’s fear in his stomach as he sees it, but it’s less terrifying than what rests outside of this room right now. The bag had been thrown out, but here it sat, here it was, new as the first time he had taken care of Camden.

                               “Cam? Are you here?”

      No, he can’t see his brother, and he may never be able to, but there’s no one else who would know where to go. What to do.

                     “Was that you?” He asks as he motions to the bandages.

       He’s seen it—Isaac saw the bandages. How badly he wants to pound his fists and scream I’M HERE! But how does this whole thing even work? He was never a fan of the paranormal shows on television, he’d always thought ghosts were a completely unreal idea. Now, being one himself, the idea’s less absurd. Still, Ouija boards never found a place in their home, and “tap once for yes, twice for no” just seemed far too cheesy for him. Especially when tapping at all was difficult enough. Still, he decides to try with words—he swears their father has heard him before.        “Yes, YES!” He can hear himself yelling just like he would hear any other voice. “ISAAC. Isaac I’m right here…”        Camden’s beginning to panic now, not knowing how to tell his brother. He moves again, just shifting closer to the bag and biting on his lip. “How the hell is being a ghost even useful if I can’t do anything?” He stares down at the bandages again though and frowns, nodding. Maybe if he does it again, that’ll suffice as some kind of ‘yes’.        Grabbing for the box again, he focuses once more and tugs the box entire out, though perhaps a bit clumsy in his motions. It’s easier this time, and he sets it completely to the side of the bag. “Okay, how’s that?” But he’s still not satisfied. He’s tired of things being subtle and living in details and shadows. He has to fix this now.        Gripping onto the bag, he turns it over and shakes it, dumping out all of its contents. “Good enough of a ‘yes’ for you?”  

( isaac )

A lack of chlorine that had been replaced by cigarette smoke had been something that had almost thrown him off, but no. It was Camden’s scent. There were some things that never changed, and had it not been for the bite he likely wouldn’t be able to pick up on it. He wouldn’t have noticed that at all, but with the bite? Certainly. The fear of someone taking the photo from a dead body does cross his mind, but he keeps reminding himself that if this was a trick, that if this was some sick hunting technique they wouldn’t be using a photo of Isaac when he was this young. Another glance to the man beside him and he knows it’s not a trick. He knows that this is really his brother.

That weekend is one that Isaac will play again and again in his mind when he thinks about all of it. He doesn’t remember if he had a cherry or banana flavored popsicle, but he knows it was one of them. He knows Camden had the other flavor. What matters is that Camden promised to come back for him…and then he didn’t. He can still feel the sting of the cold dripping popsicle juice on his bruises and hot skin from the sun that’s beating down on them. He remembers pushing Camden over, and he remembers that that weekend he FINALLY got to knock his brother into the pool after years of being the one thrown and pushed in.

Isaac keeps looking down at the photo and then back to Camden, noticing the way his eyes are glassy, waiting for him to cry so he can wipe them away with the sleeve of his shirt. He doesn’t know what’s going through his brother’s head, but in his own he’s still not over the shock that his brother isn’t dead. That the man standing next to him is his brother, that he isn’t the only Lahey left in this world.

“Don’t apologize.” his words are soft and he watches him. “Don’t.” Staring at Camden he listens to him and nods. “If you’re dreaming then I’m dreaming but we’re not.” he replies quietly. “It’s real.” There’s that grin, the small grin. And then he’s being taken in with the reflective blue eyes and he swallows a bit, nervous to have to explain what’s going on. The question that comes, though, is about his height, and it gets a laugh. “I mean, you left when I was fourteen, I had plenty of time to grow.” A pause and he looked down at his nail. “Uh. Two…two years.”

       Isaac—the boy from the picture, the boy in his dreams, a mere child in the visions that played behind his mind. How many nightmares did he have to wake from only to wake to another, realizing the truth was his own brand of terror? Gasping at his clothes, clawing for the knife that gave him newfound comfort, only to open his eyes and realize he knew nothing. The surge of purpose to find this boy was the only thing keeping him alive anymore, from pushing himself over the edge and giving in. And now he’s found him.        Camden. The name wraps itself around him, sunlight pushing through a thousand cobwebs and terrifying the demons from him. Memories leak their way in through the cracks, on a slow drip to fill up his cup. The promises he’s made—the promises he’s broken. This brother of his, older and wiser now than the boy who he would chase around the yard. Gotta catch me first, Cam!        He stares at him, uncertain why there is laughter at his question at first, but he matches it with a flicker of a grin. It doesn’t last though at the revelation of the time that’s passed. It could have been a month, five years, he’s had no clue. The answer that hits him makes him wonder—what’s made his brother grow up in the last two years from the young boy that was?        Closing his eyes, he takes in a deep breath, shaking his head. “You and… dad… You thought what—that I was dead?” The realization is strange to him—Camden has been very alive, too alive. But he remembers the army, the gunfire, the explosions—he never returned to them. It’s likely he was reported as missing or dead, and this fact hits him for the first time. “This whole time… And now you want to know what happened.” It’s not a question, it’s simply him piecing it back together. And in the midst of that is their father. The mixed emotions, something too painful to associate with love and yet still found room for it.

       “I should have been there…”  He’s still searching for words, the right thing to do. Part of him wants to wrap up his brother in his arms, but he doesn’t know how—he’s been estranged from contact for so long. “But I’m… I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere. Isaac. Can we go home?”

Kyle Schmid as Max in Zerophilia

( betaenglace )

      Being forced to remain in Beacon Hills had not left Isaac’s mind nor had it been able to keep him down. No he was no true alpha like Scott McCall, he was no sheriff’s son like Stiles, he had no known story like Derek Hale. He was a nobody, but now he was a beta of Scott McCall and lived with him. He was a werewolf and the lead suspect in his father’s murder. He was nothing compared to the legacy his brother had left behind, but that didn’t mean he was entirely nothing. He was making a name for himself now. A good name.

      The photo in his hand, though, he remembered taking. The more he looked at it the more he knew that it was definitely him, and certainly taking at the zoo. He knew all of this. He knew that this was definitely Camden he was talking to and he had known for a while but this just helped his heart soothe itself from the blind panic that he had made a grave mistake. This is his brother, and for the first time in his life he knows he’s no longer alone.

      Looking up at his brother from the photo he grazes a finger over the charred edges, wondering how it was just his part of the photo that hadn’t been destroyed. Looking up at him he sees the same blue eyes on him now and it takes every bit of Isaac’s being to stop from hugging him. That this is definitely is brother and that this is definitely fate putting them back together.

     “It is me.” he replied softly, attempting to hide the sobs he was starting to choke on. “And you…there’s no one else you could be.” He stares d o w n at him. This is a change. When he had left Camden was still standing over him, still capable of scooping him over his shoulder to throw him in the pool when dad wasn’t looking. This is a change of pace for Isaac, but he’s not complaining. “Well, you smell like him.” The words are out before he can stop himself. “You SOUND like him, you laugh like him…you look identical to him…at least. Before he had to get his hair cut for basic training.” He states with a bit of a shrug. “And you have a picture of me…”

      There’s a sudden fear in his stomach that he was given this photo. This precious photo. To track down Isaac or had looted it from his brother’s body…but he remembers that he was told Camden was nothing but a few scraps of clothing and dog tags. No photo would have lasted that they didn’t have.

      “I…I mean, I can’t do a blood test or anything, but…I just. You’re Camden.” He feels small again, as if he’s the younger brother he’s always been, and that he might be wrong and may deserve one of their father’s punishments. “You said you’d come back for me, and then you were deployed…”

       His gaze drifts from the photograph back to Isaac, to his supposed brother. He can’t help but raise an eyebrow at his words, the idea that he smells of someone. Certainly this boy couldn’t remember how someone smelled, someone he previously thought to be dead, could he? He nods though, taking a deep breath. The picture—it seems convincing in this questionable state. But how does Camden even know if it belonged to him? He’s thought it before, that this picture could simply be something he picked up. Somehow he just has a feeling it’s right though.        Isaac’s words strike him, hard enough to make him flinch even. You said you’d come back for me. His hair is cut, clean shaven, sitting out in the backyard with a popsicle and his brother at his side. He’s only there for the weekend, but there’s nothing that could bring either of them down, not even the bruises on Isaac that are just beginning to fade. He tells him as soon as this is done he’s going to take him far away—anywhere in the whole world. So start thinking about where you want to live. They both know he’s leaving in the morning, but they savor each hour like they’re children again. And then you were deployed.        He swallows, head tilting slightly as he looks over Isaac carefully, breathing slowly. Home. It’s too good to be true, but what if it’s not? As his gaze fixes on his brother’s eyes, missing pieces of his childhood slip back, and for once he doesn’t force them to stop. The tiny baby with a mop of curls and bright blue eyes, that’s the source of the laughter in his dreams. Their angry father who loved them but was tearing himself apart to the point that his fists spoke even louder.  And their mother, who sung the melody of his sleep… Mmm, you are my sunshine…        Lips parted, he’s startled by the moisture in his own eyes as he returns to the present. The images don’t slip—they’re foggy, muddled, as though still waking from a dream, but he can see it. “I’m…”                                      My only sunshine…

       “I’m sorry,” he breathes, barely a whisper, shaking his head slowly. “I’m sorry for ever leaving, Isaac.” How does he even begin? All that’s left are scraps of memories, but it’s more than Cam had known just minutes ago. “I’m here. This isn’t… I’m not dreaming. I’m not dreaming.” His lips form into a grin for a moment, slowly looking over Isaac again. Their angry father—and yet he doesn’t look beaten and bruised. He’s older, different—Cam’s grin fades and he frowns back at his brother. “You got taller. How…how long…?”

Ships are launching from my chest Some have names but most do not If you find one, please let me know what piece I've lost ( lyrics )

( betaenglace )

      He’s fourteen when he hears the knock on the door from his bedroom, he wonders if his father is awake enough to get it or if Isaac should get up and go answer it before his father is awoken. He hears another knock as his hand rests on on his door, having just opened it, and closing it silently behind him. There is no way he wants his father to wake up if he’s asleep because he’s not doing anything terrible, but he walks on thin shards of glass everyday and one wrong step shatters them and sends shards into his feet.                                                 “Isaac, get the damn door!”       Well shit. There’s a small flinch but he just says that he’s going and moves a bit faster. Opening the door he’s greeted by a young woman and a young man dressed in military uniforms that are both blue.                                 And he’s certain his heart has stopped at the appearance.       “Good afternoon, are you Isaac Lahey?” A small nod. “Is your father home, son?” Another nod. “May we come in?” There’s a moment where Isaac wants to shake his head no, but instead he forces his feet to shuffle back. They sit on the couch and Isaac takes a stool after getting his father awake where he takes his favorite chair. The air is thick with the tension before anyone speaks. “We are here to express the condolences of the Secretary of the Army.” Isaac knows. Isaac doesn’t hear the rest of the conversation because he knows.                                                   Camden Lahey isn’t coming home.       It’s quiet for a while after that. In the silence of their home Isaac can hear the quiet sobs of his father. He can hear the sound of his own heart breaking. He gets up from his bed and walks down the hall, stopping outside his father’s room, because it’s been his father’s room for seven years now. That realization comes as a secondary thought. This house had once been a home to four, but now it’s too large for the two within. There’s a moment he thinks about knocking, but he forces himself on and down to his brother’s room. Opening the door he looks around at it. Even in the darkness he can see the gold of all the first place trophies. He can make out the edges of band posters.       Trembling he climbs into the bed that had once fit both of the boys when Isaac was too small to sleep alone but too afraid to disturb their father. The bed that he had fixed Cam’s ouchies so many years ago. It still smells like his brother. It reeks of his brother, actually. And that is the first time Isaac sobs over the loss of his brother.       The days turn to weeks, and weeks to months, which turn slowly to years, and the wound doesn’t close. There are months that Isaac gets away with wearing Camden’s dog tags without dad finding out, and he’s grateful. There comes a day when he slides the beaded chain from his neck and slides them into a drawer that only he knows where they are, right next to the letter from their mother when he was seven. The bruises and beatings get worse. They have their good days, but they have more and more bad days as the years roll on. The first time he’s locked in a freezer is traumatizing.               The first time dad leaves him bleeding, half dead, on the floor.                                      The times he needs his brother the most.                                The times he wishes his brother wasn’t so stupid.                                   He doesn’t hate Cam. He just wish he were here.       He doesn’t know Camden is standing in front of him when his father’s closed fist comes down on his cheek, close enough to his eye that he feels it swell up.       Isaac doesn’t know how he’s gone this long. Cradling his arms to his stomach and tears welling in his eyes which only cause everything to burn more, blood staining his pale flesh he makes his way down the hallway. At least he can be grateful his father doesn’t want to take this down to the basement.       The medical bag, though, is on the bed and he freezes in the doorway. Quickly he moves, despite the wincing, to close the door and the yelp of his name from his father that gets the next wince. He’s closed his door too hard, and he gives a small apology before then going back to the bag. He was certain that they had gotten rid of this so long ago, but apparently not. Looking around he was clearly looking for anyone who had brought this too him. Popping it open he sees that all the medical supplies he had used for Camden are still there and he lets out a soft cry before settling on the bed and looking around, blue eyes settling right at the end of his bed. As if he can see his brother there. No one is there, though, at least not that Isaac can see, but it’s as if. For a second. Camden is there with him.                                                                                         “Thanks.”

       It’s all he can do anymore to watch and keep trying. Cam yells each time his father’s fists swing or he raises his voice. Sometimes he thinks it works. He yells just loud enough and his father seems to hesitate, or even soften and decide against whatever it was that he had planned for Isaac. Not often though. He’s tried to pry open the freezer too, but his hands never seem to get a grip on the box. Maybe now though, now that he’s finally able to grab onto something.        “I’m gonna keep you safe, Isaac…” He recounts everything each night while Isaac sleeps. Sometimes he goes and sits in his old room, sometimes he sits on the floor in Isaac’s, but he’s always trying to piece it together, trying to make a new plan. Sometimes it’s hard to remember his own death, like something’s there keeping it from him. Other times the fire still feels real and he wants nothing more than for it to stop.        He watches now as Isaac comes back in the room. He stands there, watching every reaction. His surprise is noted, looking for an answer that’s not going to be there. “I’m right here, Isaac.” He bites on his lip, fingers running through his hair as he stands there. With a grimace he mirrors his brother and sits on the end of the bed, though no indent appears beneath him.        He swears though, it’s like Isaac’s looking right at him. Not just through him, but at him. Cam feels pretty solid—he had always thought of ghosts as transparent figures, but he certainly doesn’t feel translucent, just invisible. But Isaac is staring right at him. And he’s staring right back.        Thanks. His own eyes widen now, mouth dropping open as he tries to decide what to do. Can he hear him now? See him? “Isaac?” He could change things, change life for him. He reaches for the bag again, trying to pull something out of it—maybe if Isaac saw something moving it wouldn’t entirely terrify him. He only manages to get the box of bandages just barely poking out before he loses grip on it, but if Isaac was watching… “I’m not going anywhere.”

( betaenglace )

Isaac knows that there’s a mess going on, but he’s seven years old and he cannot put together how it works. About how to word this, about all the people around. He knows that there’s a mess, but he’s also a mess. He’s a mess and it just adds to the mess around him and he can’t. He’s seven years old he doesn’t know how to control his emotions.

            “Camden!”

It’s all his fault. He could have been better. He should have been better, and maybe mom wouldn’t have locked the door. Maybe she wouldn’t have told him to dial 911 when his cartoon was over. Maybe, if he had been just a little better, maybe if he had been a little more adamant in keeping Cam and Dad home.

                                                   Maybe mom would still be alive.

Wrapping his smaller arms around Camden as best he can he looks over at their father, afraid that he’s going to come at him. Afraid that he’s going to confirm that this is indeed all his fault, and that he needs to leave. That he should have been the one instead. Mom didn’t deserve this. Mom didn’t. Mom shouldn’t be gone. She isn’t gone. She was just going to take a nap. What had gone wrong?

Head turning back he sees that Camden is trying to grin but it doesn’t look right. It doesn’t look natural at all. That the other is wrapped around him and that he knows better than anyone. Small hands cling to him and he listens to the other’s words, but he can tell that they aren’t true. That something is still wrong.

          “…Promise?”

He knows Camden CAN’T promise, but he wants to hear him try. He wants to hear it. His ankle is wrapped in a brace but aside from that he’s okay physically, mentally not so much. Isaac doesn’t even see the other neighbors as he focuses on his brother, he focuses on the one who has always protected him. Always made everything fine at the end of the day.

Blue eyes go to the commotion he can hear but before he can really get anything more out of it past a glance he feels something on his head. Cam’s favorite hat and it falls down, pushing caramel curls into his face and covering his eyes enough so that he doesn’t see what’s going on. And then Camden is trying to tell him about the game, and so he focuses on his brother’s face before then sitting down right there on the ground. “I kicked a door and hurt my foot.” He replies as if they’re going through the things that happened and he pulls up his pajama pant leg, revealing the simple flesh colored ace wrap around his foot.

When the cop comes to join them and asks them if they want to go inside there’s a dread in Isaac’s heart. Glancing at the door and then at the two around him he blinks and shakes his head slowly.

              “Do we have to?”

Processing everything will come later. Understanding the damage that has happened, the details—all of it will catch up to him at some point, the second he has his back turned away from Isaac. Until then, his entire focus is his brother. Cam isn’t sure how much he knows, how much he saw or heard, but Isaac is far from stupid. This isn’t something that cleans up nicely, no matter how calm everyone pretends to be. Everyone is stepping on eggshells, trying to say just the right thing when nothing in the world is right anymore. He just keeps his hands on his brother, hoping to keep him as calm as possible. If Isaac doesn’t break down, it’ll be easier for Cam not to, but he can’t expect him to be composed. He stares down at him, eyes pleading. How can he promise that it’ll be okay when he knows that it won’t be? But he can’t help thinking it has to be okay. He promised that he would protect Isaac; he just didn’t realize it would come to this. “Yeah, promise.” The waver in his voice isn’t entirely convincing, but he manages to tug his lips into a grin. Maybe if he smiles it’ll erase what happened. He knows it won’t, but maybe, just maybe they can both forget for a fraction of a second. He frowns slightly as Isaac tells him about his foot, glances down and nods as though accepting this as truth. He might have stayed there with Isaac, telling the cop that he’d rather stay out here, but between seeing his brother’s foot in a wrap and a few men pulling his dad to the side, he forces another impossible grin. “Let’s at least got sit down, okay? Right outside.” He points to the front door, licking his lips as he nods at him, taking a step in that direction with a hand on Isaac. It feels like their mom should be here, like she’s going to come bursting out any second and wonder what’s going on. The neighbors—something happened to the neighbors, right? None of this is real. He’s just going to tug his brother to the front of the house and it’ll be like they’re eating ice cream on the porch on any other summer day. Not real.

“You wanna tell me why you kicked a door? Or do you wanna just play ‘I Spy’?”  

( betaenglace )

       For a while it’s burning—everything’s burning and it’s pain like he’s never known before. He’s on fire—every inch of him is covered in flame and try as he might to tear his clothes away, the heat amplifies. Get out of there! It wasn’t like he hadn’t heard the call, but he had to go back. He couldn’t leave anyone else behind. At what cost now, Cam? You’re losing the battle, you’ve already lost. Just as it starts to subside, his skin going numb almost, he’s hit with something else, a blow to the head, and it all goes black.        He wakes up in his own bed back home, the lights low. Mom walks in and tells him it’s time to wake up—he’s got a lot to do today. Not now, mom, I’m not ready to get up. But she tells him Isaac is waiting. Cam turns and she’s gone. He’s standing suddenly in a battlefield, a gun shoved into his hands. We need you up front, Lahey! Gunfire sounds and he ducks down, only to fall into a pool of water. He hears coach’s whistle blow, his yelling, finals are on you! He goes in for the flip turn and instead he’s met with darkness again.        He sees his brother again, just as he left him, except perhaps for the fresh bruise. Their house—he’s home again. Just as he begins to smile again though, ready to call out for Isaac, he’s pulled away. He finds him again sometime later—he’s not sure how much time has passed, but something is very wrong. Dad is crying. Before he can even discover words, the dream ends again and he’s pulled into another time. It continues to happen: he finds himself staring at his brother or his father, unable to greet them, only to be pulled away into blank nothingness for an uncertain amount of time. It’s when he’s watching Isaac staring at his dog tags that he realizes that this is no morphine dream.        You’re dead, Camden Lahey.        He pushes harder to get out of the nothing then. Sometimes it’s not nothing, but there are voices and images of strangers, and all he wants is to be with Isaac again. Each time he pushes through, it’s only for a few minutes. He wants to tell them both that it’s going to be okay, but they can’t hear him. Each time gets a little longer though. He learns to check the calendar in the kitchen to see how much time has passed since he last found his way in. Still, Cam hardly wants to admit to himself that he’s dead—that he’s a ghost. Belief in such things was silly and childish. Not real.        Finally, months later, he stays for several hours, just watching. It gets easier each time, and before long he doesn’t have to try to keep himself there at his own house. The nothingness is just a bad dream, one that he doesn’t have to deal with if he never has to sleep. They can’t hear him, can’t see him, but sometimes he wonders if they can feel him there. His hands go through solid objects, though he keeps trying. All he can do is watch as his father lashes out on his brother. The most that’s happened is the lights flickering once or twice, but he’s still uncertain if that was entirely his fault.        It’s entirely on accident when he pushes over a cereal box. It doesn’t last long and he can’t grab it again to set it back up, but he knocks it over a second time with a gleeful smile.  He tries yelling once, and he could swear his father hears him, or at least hears something, but nothing happens. All he wants to do is let them know he’s there. How does he keep his promise to protect Isaac when he can’t even be seen or heard? He needs it now more than ever. Cam’s pleas of “stop” go unheard, and stepping in front of Isaac does nothing any more. 

       It’s when their father is yelling again that he finds the old first aid kit, Isaac’s for Cam when they were younger, still filled with bandages and other tools. After months of practice, he can finally grab hold of it, take it to Isaac’s room, and leave it on the bed. Maybe a sign he’ll understand.