The Stage is Set

A Brother's Call pt.3

Rescue me - OneRepublic

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There hasn't been any sound from that kitchen. Nothing to tell him that they're home. That he's home. His home isn't here, they're gone; they are gone and out of his reach. He's searched for them for so long. He can't hear them. He can't feel them. He can't see them. He doesn't know where his chicks are. Where are his chicks? He wraps his wings around himself for warmth, but it isn't the same. It hasn't been the same since the day they went missing. It isn't the same as Cross holding him from behind, nuzzling his wings for warmth as he falls asleep on Reaper's back. The sleepy warmth that Reaper would carry on his back as he would fly them home. Not the same way that Ink would move to hold him. Clinging onto Reaper like a koala, he drifted in and out of sleep after a nightmare. It isn't the warmth of Ink moving to cradle Reaper's skull against his ribcage as he hums a song to him. That comfortable warmth would remind Reaper of a parent. The same that would make Reaper tell his brother how he would be a wonderful parent. Those secret times of Ink crying about how the creators would take his kids, that he would never have a kid if it meant they wouldn't live past their fourth birthday. The warmth he felt when Ink would come to him for comfort. It's not the same warmth of Cross resting his skull in Reaper's lap to nap.

He wants them back. It's painful without his chicks. He wants them back where he can hold and touch them, even if it's a brief touch on the shoulder. He needs to hear them talk to him one more time. To listen to them call his name and shout with embarrassment as he teases them, for them to yell or throw something at him as he interrupts things. To sing those cheesy songs together as they cook. To sing along off-beat with them. To hold him, cling to him for comfort he can't seem to give to himself. He wants to see them smile one more time. To see Cross go purple in the face as he tries to increase his spice tolerance. To see him in the garden showing off his plants to the others, showing his prized plants off to Farmer and Blue with pride. To see Ink make him little things to hold onto, to make him new things that he knows will never fail him. His chicks. His baby brothers. His youngest. He needs them home. He needs them back.

To cry, scream, anything. To hear anything other than the heartbreak he has to listen to in the silence. To hear anything to show that they are still here, that they are still with him. He wants their voice, any little recording. Anything that holds those loud laughs, rippled with snorts from Ink as Cross cackles in the background. He wants them back. Anything of them back. Even if it's a small thing, he wants to be selfish. The little things he already has isn't enough and never will be. He wants more. He'll always want more. Reaper asks for one thing and wants more. He wants everything that Ink and Cross have to offer, even if it's a goodbye. He wants anything they can give him. Anything is better than the nothing he has now. He'd pray to the creators who abandoned his brothers for them to give them back.

Give his chicks back.

It's been months. It's been months and how much longer does he have to wait until they return to him? How much longer does he have to wait? He isn't patient. He can't wait. He doesn't want to. He wants them now. He wants to hold their hands, brush his hands against their faces until they wiggle away, and then do it again. He wants to see them again, to sit and stare at them. To memorize their looks into his soul. In his mind, he can never forget them. Their expressions, their quirks. Everything that he can look at, he wants to look at. He wants to memorize the texture of Cross's scars, Ink's tattoos, and scars. He wants to hold onto them and memorize their scent. One of paint, the other of cookies and chocolate. He wants to preen them even if they have no wings. He wants to hop around them as they sleep on the couch. He wants to wrestle with Cross over the last cookie as Ink makes more.

He wants them back.

He wants them back. He wants to be the one to bring them back. He knows they would never leave the others behind, so to find them is to bring everyone home. They'll be able to work through everything after they come home. He'll be here to help. He'll be there to help them find help. Be there when days are hard. To celebrate the steps of recovery. He won't ever be gone to lose them again. He can't, not again. He needs to be the one to find them, to hold them as he tucks them away from all the pain in the world. And isn't that funny? Him, the one who brings nothing but pain–nothing but death–wanting to hide away people from that pain? Nobody loves him. Geno's the exception, and his brothers, but that's it. No one else trusts him. No one else wants him around.

He can't have chicks of his own. Death is not allowed such gifts of life. Life is not allowed to have her creations feel the rest of death. He can't have chicks, for they would die before they were conceived. He can't have his own nor can he adopt any. They would die by his touch. He cannot live with that guilt. He can't bear the pain and continue for the millennia that this Multiverse will continue to thrive. His younger brothers are enough, they have to be. They are enough to fill that hole where his desire for chicks sits. Now they were taken away from him, taken from his domain. Where are they? Won't the creators take pity on their creations and give Reaper back his chicks? They have been gone from his nest far too long. Reaper wasn't ready yet. He wasn't prepared for the anguish that hit him.

He sees how the others look at him. They're scared he's only going to kill them. Touch them without his gloves and kill them. Steal them away from life. Reaper hears what the others say about him, how they stare, and how they run away. He can't do this without his brothers. His brothers have never looked at him with anything but love. Who had never expected anything back from him. Who have loved him with every piece of soul they had to offer. Who has never shied away from hugs, holding his hands, from him. They always looked forward to seeing him, even if it took a while due to his job. Who were always proud of him no matter what. Who always looked happy to see him even if it was only a few hours since they last saw him. The brothers would find him asleep on the couch, cover him with a blanket, and give him a glass of water. Who would wait for him to come home after a long day at work. His chicks were the first to celebrate him and Geno getting together. To celebrate their soul bonding with a feast and party as if they had gotten married too. He wants to be the one to help them home. He's a crow, he's a reaper, he's Death, he's a guide. It's his job to help guide people.

He takes another bite.

Reaper tries to swallow what's in his mouth as it fights to move past the lump already taking up space in his throat. He scrubs at his face as he hunches in on himself. He needs to eat. He has to. He needs to be there for his brothers, this hunger strike is not helping anyone. It proves nothing but weakness. It shows to others that he is weak without his brothers, that he is nothing but a selfish god. He needs to step up, he needs to get his act together. He needs to be strong. Stronger than before. Stronger than Ink. He will be the one to protect them once he finds them. He can't do this to himself and expect the best. He can't guide anyone home if he can't stop this pity party. He can grieve when they come home. He can grieve and feel joy once more. He takes a bigger bite, swallowing the dull flavors he loved in the past. He moves to grab the water bottle, he needs water too. He needs to stay alive. Guilt won't fill him. It can't nourish him. Grief can't give him strength. It can't help him fly. Monsters are made of love, that is the core of their being.

Reaper is no different.

As he eats, he can almost hear Ink and Cross criticize him for not caring for himself, scolding him for not eating. For not sleeping. For neglecting his wings. He is still a skeleton, he is still made of love and dust. A god of Death, but that is no excuse. He sobs into the muffin before finishing it off. It was made with so much care that he felt himself gaining back the strength he lost over these past months, gaining the energy back. It's not enough to heal the damage completely, but it's enough of a start. He licks the crumbs off his fingertips. He drinks the rest of his water. His soul still aches in a way he can't describe and he knows that he'll end up crying again later. It seems to be a pattern nowadays.

"Reaper?"