salvation sequel [rafe x barry]

bad rafe cameron

Your princes are rebels and companions of thieves. Everyone loves a bribe and runs after gifts.
Jesaiah 1:23

Ward was the kind of father that told stories to fall asleep to. Maybe because bedtime was about the only time he got to spend with his kids during the work week, after long days at the office. Back when it was just Rafe and Sarah, it had been all cool, although the stories shifted more and more to center around princesses and fairies, the older Sarah got, and when Wheez was there and the girls shared a room for the first few years, that was the story room. Rafe didn't think it, Ward just said that he probably wasn't interested in fairies and princesses anyways, and now he was even a big boy, learning to read.

Reading was bullshit but the TV in Rafe's room good enough to watch 1000 ways to die at 10, porn at 12 and Wolf of the Wallstreet at 14. Money doesn't just buy you a better life, better food, better cars, better pussy, it also makes you a better person. Kept him entertained fine enough, and once their mother dipped, Ward stopped with the bedtime routine anyways, had to turn his entire life around, single father, single CEO, must've sure been hard, but that was Ward Cameron, nothing was ever hard for him.

"Good night, Princess", Barry said, kissing Rafes temples before he rolled over in the bed, showing Rafe his back. Night, yeah. Good, no.

Sleep was like turning the wheel of fortune for Rafe, or maybe more so, the wheel of substance and every night a surprise. Would his thoughts be killing him, the wish to pass out not granted? Would guilt eat at his heart again, or fear of the next day, or even the night to come, images that shouldn't scare him, he'd enjoyed them im movies way younger than now.

"Still remember the first guy you killed?", Rafe asked, staring at the ceiling.

Barry sighed, not even opening his eyes. "No", he said, pretending to go back to sleep.

"Yeah you fucking do", Rafe spat, leaning over him. "You just dont wanna tell me about it, bitch"

"Well, that shit's not exactly a sweet bedtime story to tell, is it, Country Club?", Barry said, softly pushing him off. "Try and sleep, alright"

"Nah", Rafe insisted, crossing his arms. "I wanna hear it, bro"

Barry sighed, before he turned onto his back. "I ain't never killed no one directly, okay, there's nothing to tell", he explained, in foolish hope he could go back to sleep after.

"What?", Rafe breathed. He shifted up on the bed, heart heavy to lift with his body.

"I never killed anyone like that, bro", Barry repeated.

"Yes you did", Rafe insisted, and Barry wished he had just ignored him earlier pretending to sleep, the weakness in Rafes voice breaking his goddamn heart. "You...you fucking said you did. When I-"

"I said I'd probably done worse than you, bro, not that I killed someone, alright", Barry clarified.

"What do you mean", Rafe emptily stated. It wasn't a question, because there was nothing to ask, it was just the first sentence that came to mind to acknowledge the confusion he felt, although confusion was too nice a word to describe his thoughts having a god damn street fight in his head, and somehow he was the bitch on the floor, skull kissing hard concrete.

Rafe shook his head mechanically, in short, spastic movement. "All this time you had me believe you were a murderer?", he asked, nodded, shook his head.

Normal people don't exactly have to clarify they're not. And Barry didn't know how to, not after Rafe broke down on his porch crying about something horrible he did, most definitely not after he broke down in his arms, saying Barry was the only one who could ever understand, how glad he was not to be alone, all that kinda shit.