Of Dragons and Poets

Wreckage

And I hope you like your pictures facing down,
as even broken hearts may have their doubts.

You shake - or, rather, Nepeta tells you that you're shaking. You can't tell, you don't care to. You don't even recognize it when you're home; you have to be nudged and coaxed by your sisters, and even then you barely get out of the vehicle on your own. Once you're inside, however, if only takes you ten seconds to leave them and start towards the stairs, towards Kankri's room. You need to be alone. You need something to tell you he isn't totally gone, that he never left you in the first place.
You refuse to let Kankri become a was. It makes you so angry to hear Nepeta lament as you move up the stairs that you were so protective of him. You still are, you're defending his memory.
You're supposed to be collecting your things so you go to your room and get your backpack, along with a drawstring bag. You carelessly pour your school things into the drawstring - an MIT bag, you realize, your and Kankri's college of choice - before beginning to pack. You put your laptop and its respective cables in the bottom, then cover it with six neatly-folded changes of clothes. One for each day of the week, counting what you're wearing now. Along with this, you lack your prismacolors and your sketchbook.
You surprise yourself; you know exactly what you're looking for when you step into Kankri's room, and there's three specific things. The old sweater on the back of his chair, the onyx rosary he wore constantly (and now rather sorrowfully sat on his dresser), and the picture on his nightstand that it always hurt you to look at. In it reside you, your sisters, Kankri, Mother, and Sik'is. You can't help but smile sadly. You miss them - the old them; your sober, God-fearing father, your vibrant, amazing mother, and your wise-cracking but studious brother. Your anchor, your joy, and your safe place. Settling into the bed, you stare at it. You remember that day. You'd gone to church and gotten stuck up a tree. Kankri had had to climb up with you and convince you to jump down because the ten feet to the ground was rather ominous when you were four feet tall and you argued that it was 14. He pointed out it was 15 and a half for him, and so you grudgingly agreed to jump down together. Your father doted over you for the rest of the week, and Meulin bravely chased away anyone who laughed at you.
It's at this that you realize you're crying yet again, silent tears hitting the glass pane that cover it with soft plinks. You're glad for it. The picture would be ruined otherwise. "Thank you," you whisper. Your eyes slip shut once again and you swallow hard. "Thank you."
A hand settles on your shoulder, and your sisters drop down beside you. It feels wrong, like neither of them should be there, but you need them do you don't say anything apart from a choked greeting.
They understand. You can see that from the way they look at you, expressions soft and pitying. Oh, how you despise that look. "He told me to tell you he loves you," Nepeta whispers, crawling into your lap as she did when she was a kid and reaching back to set the photo in your backpack. You force a smile so you don't have to choke back a sob. "Thanks Nepeta." She smiles, but it falters as Meulin speaks, her voice jolting you so your head whips in her direction with surprising speed. "Can we ask you something?" You cock your head warily, looking towards Meulin. "Sure?"
She tenses. You know it'll be a bombshell, because Meu is never tense. "What did ... What has Sik'is done to you?"
You frown. Address it. Power the fuck through it. "Besides warring with eachother? Nothing." You remember countless arguments, both physical and vocal, and you only really hesitate when Nepeta says, "... And Kankri?"
You want to scream. You want to yell, to scream WHAT DO YOU CARE? YOU LEFT US HERE. HE ISN'T YOUR BUSINESS. However, you find it in you to give only the mightiest of sighs and tell the truth.
"He made Kankri afraid of people. Kankri ... He got quieter, you know? It was gradual at first, nobody noticed, but then one day he just ... Stopped talking. And nobody understood why but me. He said he was drowning, in fear and guilt and anger, and just - he hated it. He hated himself. I didn't understand why until a couple of days ago. He was mad at himself because he never stopped Dad and I did. He only spoke freely at home, and we used to sleep in my room because he had nightmares otherwise."
You look up and see that they're horrified, but you'll lose your nerve if you stop now. "And Sik'is just ... Abused him. He beat the hell out of Kankri almost on the daily. It was brutal. Most of the time I could pull him off, but Kankri always hated confrontation and he couldn't help me. I didn't mind. So long as Sik'is never set a finger on him, he could hit me all he wants."
Nepeta stares at you, stupefied. Meulin rubs your shoulder. "You didn't deserve that."
"Doesn't matter," you shrug, although you're trembling, "happened anyways. Gotta put your best foot forwards and smile like you mean it." You remember Kankri saying that constantly, always trying to boost morale, but it only makes you more upset now.
Meu tells you to come down when you're ready; you'll never be. Instead you curl up under Kankri's bed and try to get all your crying done.
You never will.
He's your brother and you need him. I still have him, you think, slipping his rosary beads over your head.it's cold against your skin, smooth, jet black rock against skin the color of coffee with milk. You hope whatever he believed in us taking care of him now. It makes you shudder, the thought of his marred corpse in the hospital bed.
You'd seen some of the damage; bones stabbed through flesh, broken, bloody, bruised. He'd been in so much pain, torn and battered. Shards of glass had buried deep into his cheeks and temple and forehead, and the necklace he'd been wearing ( a but not intricate) had cut into his neck, left a scary red line across his dark skin. His sternum had been pierced, his legs broken, and his face set in a grimace.
The worst thought crosses your mind; he'll never smile again.

As you head out to the car with your backpack and your drawstring you think of his bright, beautiful smile. He used to be so happy, and the image reminds you of better days, puts a sad smile on your lips.
It's raining.