Of Dragons and Poets

Brother

[ AN/ #TW: graphic depictions of violence. ]

We talked about making it,
I'm sorry that you never made it.
It kills me just to hear you have to
say it.

You sleep with him that night, in his room, with his off-red bedsheets and a locked door and an ancient radio that crackles out soft rock and classical music if you turn the antenna just right. It's not as though you can't use your own room, you just like his. Everything smells like him. His pillows smell like the lavender conditioner he uses and his dresser has hints of the cologne he used to wear to church. A sweater that's too small for him (and resides on the back of the chair in his room) smells like his body spray. You can't lie - it's comforting to have your brother with you, to know you've spent your lives in this house together.
You love to tuck him up under your chin. Call it protective, call it possessive, call it whatever. It doesn't matter how you twist it; you have the constant need to protect Kankri from your father and those boys at school and anyone who does him wrong. You have this instinctive want to destroy anyone that hurts him, purely because you've grown up protecting him. It's in your blood.
Presently, however, you just keep one hand tangled into his hair and the other between his shoulder blades, fingers splayed in a kind of 'I'm here' fashion. You listen to his soft, quiet breaths to and the soft, staticky sound of Elvis Presley as his steady, swinging voice sings. You don't know the song. You rarely do. You'd bet Kankri's friend would. Something about a hotel crosses your mind vaguely, but you're out by the time the song is over, and you don't catch the name.

In this peaceful state, sleep claims you easily.

"Kankri!" You shriek his name, look up just in time to see the fist your father breaks your nose with. You can hear a muffled sob, and spot him as he stands there, watching from the top of the staircase as you're thrown against the wall, horror and pain marking his already tear-stained features. Don't cry baby, you think to him, another slam accompanying your thoughts. Ouch. Definitely going to bruise. As soon as the pressure's off of you, you sink to the ground, amber eyes connecting with Kankri's red. His name leaves your lips silently, your face contorting as your father steps on you, kicks you; breaks you. Breaks you like a hammer hitting a glass vase, then yanks you to your feet, a tree held up by the twigs beside it. And then, as though to spite you, he drops your shoulder and lets you fall, like a child dropping a penny from a bridge. Except, you don't make that gentle pop sound and drift quickly to the bottom. No, if only you should be so lucky. You find yourself shattering, destroyed by he who gave you life.

"Karkat. Karkat!" He shakes your shoulder, and you realize that you're not bruised and broken, it was just a nightmare. You're safe in Kankri's arms, trembling and sobbing as you lean into him, sharing body heat and clinging to one another. "Karkat, what happened, what's wrong?" His eyes meet yours, eyebrows furrowed and expression gentle as he waits for an answer, which you reluctantly give. "R-remember when dad b-broke my nose?"
"Oh, Karkat ..." Kankri sits up, pulls you into his lap and curls around you and it's so comforting, that he's there and nothing will change that for the moment. Nobody's going to take him away from you - except your father, and the prospect of that scares you. "K-Kanny, d-don't go anywhere. Don't leave." He frowns, wrapping his legs about your middle to keep you close. "I'm right here, Karkat, I'm not going anywhere. I'm here, you're safe. I've got you." You hide your face in his chest, taking comfort in his scent and the hand on the back of your head, the affection that has been there since you were a baby. "Go back to sleep, child, I've got you."

In this turbulent, unrelenting daze, sleep will not take you.

You lie for hours, just listening to Kankri's light breaths and the soft, staticky radio. You're shaken, you'll admit, by the nightmare - these are not typical-Karkat-nightmares. They're those rare ones that you get when you're scared of something, or when you're skeptical of something you really want to believe is true. You believe the responsibility of this lies on your father cleaning up his act, but you aren't entirely sure. It could just be your father in general. Either way, you let Kankri hold onto you through the night, dreading the morning because he'll have to let go.

Two days later, you'd get a swift reminder that there are worse things than a nightmare.