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Nick was burning up.
He’d been walking with Glenn in a field, the grass the bright shade of green he’d only ever seen in the Realms. Nick was drenched in sweat, fevered, but he didn’t want to tell his dad and bother him. Gotta keep that shit to yourself, right.
But he couldn’t play it cool when his entire forearm lit up with flame.
Glenn looked over and cried out his name before Nick could say anything. He started using his hands to blot the flames, slapping at the fire to save him but Glenn’s hands only came away bloodied and blistered, the fire undeterred.
“Stop it, it’s ok,” Nick shouted, “Dad, your hands—!”
But Glenn kept at it until the fire crawled onto his body too. He staggered back and cried out, “Kill me, kill me—”
His eye burned out of his head, flaming licking up the side of his face.
Nick threw himself at Glenn, wrapping his arms around him to stop the fire but it just made it worse. He tried to scream but flames crawled out of his mouth instead of sound. He skewed his eyes shut, he couldn’t see this, couldn’t see this happen—
“It’s ok, son. You’re safe.”
Not Glenn’s voice. Whose arms were around him? Pointless to ask; he knew. He was held, embraced fully, a hand cradling the back of his head.
“You’re safe now, Nicholas, I promise.”
You’re not my dad, he wanted to say, but he didn’t, he was happy, he was safe, right where he belonged, alight, ablaze—
“Nick, Nick—”
The arms around him were comforting until they weren’t, then they were too tight and no matter how he struggled, he was confined. He flailed and his palm made contact with someone, something, but it didn’t matter.
He was trapped, he was hot, he was burning—
And he woke up.
A shout strangled its way out of his mouth. He was drenched in sweat, caught in his sleeping bag and a pair of strong arms.
“Get the fuck off of me!” he gasped.
“Alright, I’m letting go,” a low, cautious voice said, placating him. TJ? “You’re ok.”
Then the embrace around him was gone and Nick kicked out and tumbled away, squirming out of his sleeping bag and crawling backward until he rested against something firm, a couch?
His eyes were blurred with tears, it was dark, he couldn’t see, where were they—
“You’re ok, Nick,” another voice repeated.
“I can’t see—” he cried out. Someone lit up their phone flashlight and flipped it to reflect on the ceiling so the room was bathed in weird, white light.
All of the other boys were around him, a few feet back, expressions solemn and grim, lit from below.
They weren’t in the Omega Daddies’ lair. They weren’t in Hell.
They were in the Stamplers’ living room.
TJ was still holding a hand out towards Nick, gently, carefully, the way you motioned to a spooked animal. Grant held his lip, blood dribbling down his chin.
“What happened to you?” Nick choked out.
“It’s no big deal.”
“What happened?"
“You kinda smacked me, but—”
“Fuck, I’m sorry—”
“Nah, it’s fine, dude, really—”
But Nick couldn’t stop. “I’m sorry,” he gasped, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”
Who was he saying it to? Glenn, who he’d already forgotten once before? Jodie, the father he’d abandoned in hellfire?
He couldn’t stop mumbling apologies and he couldn’t catch his breath— it felt like his lungs had seized up and abandoned him. He could vaguely hear voices around him but couldn’t make them out over the thundering of his heartbeat, the throbbing in his temple. He pulled his knees up to his chest and huddled into a ball, making himself as small as he could.
Nick started to go lightheaded, huffing out little breaths, unable to get a lungful of air—
“Nick,” a soft voice cut through the buzzing in his head. ”Breathe in through your nose and then out through your mouth.”
“Can’t—” Nick wheezed. He felt a hand on his knee.
“What if I do it with you? Would that be helpful?”
He opened his eyes; Sparrow was crouched before him, his dark eyes wet with tears of his own.
“Why’re you crying?” he managed to ask.
“I’m sad you’re sad,” Sparrow said simply. It made something new crack open in Nick— he caught his breath only to lose it to a sob. Another hand joined Sparrow’s; Lark was there as well, frowning hard but mimicking the comforting gestures of his brother.
“You are far more powerful than whatever is bothering you, Nick,” he said with a cautious pat.
“I’m not,” he choked out, then he was lost. Nick put his face in his hands and wept, shoulders heaving. Sparrow and Lark both kept their hands on him.
“I'm gonna get my mom,” he heard TJ say from somewhere outside of himself. “She might be able to help—”
Nick shook his head in protest but that only meant his tears fell more quickly. He tried to mirror the carefully measured breaths Sparrow was taking and skewed his eyes shut tight. Just like his dream.
“I’ll talk to him,” he heard Grant say. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Nick, look at me.” Grant was sitting cross-legged before him, face heavy with concern. “You’re ok. We’re in California. We’re safe. You’re safe.”
“My dad—” he wheezed. He realized with a start that he didn’t know who he was referring to.
“Your dad is fine,” Grant said firmly. Glenn, then. “He’s with my dad. They’re ok. If they weren’t, we would know.”
“How?”
“We would know,” Grant repeated. He hesitated and then reached out to brush Nick’s bangs off of his forehead. It was the gesture of a parent, not a thirteen-year-old. It made Nick cry harder.
“Do you wanna call him?” Grant continued, hand moving back to Nick’s shoulder. “I know he won’t mind.”
“N-no,” Nick sobbed, scrubbing at his face with his palm. “It’ll freak him out.”
“You’re freaked out,” TJ pointed out.
Nick shook his head and heaved out an exhale.
“That’s better,” Lark said, voice so gentle he thought it was Sparrow again. “You’re alright, Nick.”
I’m not, he wanted to say, I’m fucked, I’m never gonna be ok again. But he didn’t say anything. What was the point?
The twins kept their hands on his knees and Grant wrapped his arm around his shoulders, scooting beside him. Nick put his head in his hands and cried.
He heard movement and made himself heave in another breath, wiping his face. When he looked up, he was sure he’d see Mrs. Stampler in the room but instead he saw TJ re-enter holding a small circular lamp.
“Hang on,” he called over, “It’ll be cool.” After a second fiddling with the plug, he straightened and said, “Here we go!” triumphantly.
Suddenly, the room was washed in pinpricks of light, stars spinning and projected across the ceiling.
“Nightlight,” TJ said, sitting beside Grant. “My mom was cool about it after my dad died. Said she knew I was interested in astronomy but she knew I kept the lights on for a while.”
“It’s cool,” Nick echoed, peeking over at him. “Thanks, it...it helps. I’m worried—”
“Worried what?” TJ asked after a moment.
Nick chewed on his lip and forced the words out; “I’m worried I’ll...change, again. Every time I go to bed, I think I might.”
The other boys didn’t ask him what that meant like his therapist would. TJ didn’t look wracked with guilt like his dad did any time Nick told the fucking truth. He just nodded. He got it.
“Lemme grab more stuff,” he said, and he got to his feet and ducked out of the room. They all stayed huddled and silent for a moment until he was back, barely visible over a pile of quilts and blankets.
“Here,” he said, tossing Nick a bottle of water. “Drink that.” Then TJ began to lay out the bedding in a big pile, tossing his pillow in there.
Nick chugged the water and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “What’re you doing?”
“Making it comfy,” TJ said decisively before flopping down. “C’mere.”
He didn’t need to tell Lark or Sparrow twice; they both launched into the pile of blankets. Grant stood and offered a hand to Nick.
He recognized what they were doing immediately; they’d taken to huddling for warmth in the Omega Daddies lair and then later on the road with Walter, not for warmth so much as for comfort. They never talked about it when they got home.
“We don’t have to,” Nick started. His face was hot with tears, with embarrassment, with shame for how badly he needed this.
“We don’t have to,” TJ agreed. He didn’t argue the point, just stretched out on his back beside the twins, arms over his head.
“It’s alright, dude,” Grant said softly, hand still extended. “C’mon.”
Nick choked back another sob and took his hand, getting to his feet. Grant looked relieved.
They both settled down into the pile of quilts and blankets, Grant next to TJ and Nick next to him. Sparrow immediately scooted to Nick’s side and grabbed his arm, looping his own around it and holding him tight. “Mama calls this a snug,” he said. “We are snugging.”
Nick laughed at that, surprising himself, but Sparrow had just said it in such a straightforward way. He was just like that, he supposed. “Snugging, huh.”
“Yes,” Sparrow said. He started to speak but stopped himself, then murmured something to Lark in Spanish with a question in his voice.
“Y’all know we’re all taking Spanish next year,” TJ chimed in. “Can’t keep that up forever. We’re gonna know what you’re talking about soon.”
Lark made a disgruntled noise but said, “Adelántate.”
Sparrow took a deep breath then said, “We both have nightmares. I have bad dreams about our grandfather. Hurting Lark. You all weren’t there, but he— Lark died. For a bit.”
“What?!” The other boys said at the same time. Rage shot through Nick, hot in his gut.
“It wasn't me,” Lark cut in, “It was my homunculus. I was fine.”
“It didn't feel fine,” Sparrow said softly. His voice broke. “I watched you go.”
They were all quiet after that. The anger in Nick’s gut curled into something small and sad, the grief they all shared— they didn’t often talk about their times apart, Nick least of all, so there were gaps in what they knew about each other’s individual experiences with their grandfathers.
He gently untangled his arm from Sparrow’s grasp and wrapped it around the smaller boy’s shoulders instead, holding him tight. Sparrow hiccuped with a sudden sob and pressed into him.
“I’m sorry, Sparrow,” TJ said, voice heavy. “You too, Lark. Fuck that. I’m really sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m only sorry I didn’t get to kill that motherfucker. ”
Lark’s voice was as quiet as his brother’s had been but there was so much bitterness in it that it took Nick’s breath away. He looked at him over Sparrow’s curly head; Lark was staring up at the ceiling, face washed with stars from the projector. Nick could see his jaw working.
“Barry?” he asked.
Lark looked back at him and Nick swore he saw something shift in his eyes; for a split second, they blurred with static, going strange and grey. But he blinked and it was gone and Lark looked like himself, freckled and fierce and angry.
“Yes,” he whispered. “He hurt Sparrow. And Father. And Grandma. I hate him.”
“I hate him too,” Nick said. The truth. He hated all of them.
Lark nodded and looked back up at the ceiling. Nick saw him extend a hand to rest between his brother’s shoulder blades.
“You guys know when I was in the hospital?” Grant said tentatively. “In December?”
Something had happened over winter break last year but Grant never talked about how he got the whorled knot of scar tissue on his forearm. No one asked.
“You fell off your bike?” Nick said cautiously. “Right? And cut your arm?”
“I cut my arm, but, not...I did it.”
Nick’s stomach lurched with dread.
“I thought I was going crazy,” Grant continued, “Thought I— didn’t think I was still here. So I did something to check if I was and I had to go to the hospital.” Grant’s voice was flat as he said it. He had sounded like this all the time in the Realms.
Sparrow sobbed again and Lark propped himself up by an elbow to look at Grant, brow furrowed.
Nick looked at him too. “Fuck, dude. Are you ok?”
“It’s ok now,” Grant replied hoarsely, skewing his eyes shut, “I’m fine, it was stupid. I’m in therapy and shit. I’m not telling you to like, to make you feel bad for me—”
Nick reached out to squeeze his hand because it felt like the right thing to do. The other boy made a noise in the back of his throat and squeezed back, eyes still closed.
“We know, Grant,” TJ said quietly. “It’s good, dude. We get it.”
He didn’t sound surprised, not how the rest of them were— Nick wondered if Grant had told him before. A flare of jealousy roiled through him, strange and out of place for a moment like this.
Those two were close, Nick knew that, closer than anyone in the group besides the twins. Leaving Nick on the outs.
But he wasn’t on the outs, he countered to himself, they were here, together, sharing for him, being honest for him—
“Yeah,” Grant replied gratefully, “That’s what I meant. We get it. We all get it. We’re the only ones who will get it.” He squeezed Nick’s hand again before letting go.
“It was fucked up,” Sparrow chimed in, voice watery with tears, his little singsong cadence so at odds with the frankness of his words that it made Nick chuckle.
The other boy peeked up at him, “What, Nick?”
“It’s just...heh, it was,” Nick sputtered, still laughing. “It was really fucked up.”
Another laugh to his right, from Lark, of all people. “It was,” he giggled. “It still is.”
Nick laughed again and didn’t stop, pressing a hand to his face to wipe at the tears still lingering in his eyes. “It’s so stupid—“ he choked out. What happened to us. To our dads. And our moms. What’s still happening.
Senseless, pointless, suddenly hilarious. Stupid.
“It is,” Grant agreed, and then he snorted, his dorky-ass laugh that always cracked Nick up. He laughed harder in response and then they were all laughing, Sparrow, shaking in his arms with mirth, TJ cackling as well. Tears reformed in his eyes but from laughter this time, he couldn’t help it.
It felt like a long time before they were all quiet; just as they stopped, someone would start laughing again and set them all off. No one said anything when they stopped laughing. No one had to.
Sparrow was the first one to drop off, still clinging to Nick, snoring gently against him. Lark followed his brother, curling against him in his sleep, his small arm wrapped around Sparrow, hand resting on Nick’s stomach. It should have been weird, probably, but it wasn’t. It was nice.
TJ started snoring a while after and it was just Nick and Grant still up.
“Can’t sleep?” Nick whispered, peeking over at him. Grant was staring up at the ceiling. The split in his lip had clotted with blood. He’d gone to cradle his arm without thinking, thumbing at the fabric of his hoodie where it covered the scar. Nick swallowed hard and looked away, hoping Grant didn’t see him notice.
“Just waiting for everyone else,” Grant replied quietly. “S’probably silly but I try to. I did that back there.”
“Why?”
“Felt like the right thing to do,” Grant said with a shrug.
“You sound like your dad,” Nick said before he realized he would. Grant’s eyes closed at that, not in a flinch but in some kind of a reaction that Nick couldn’t read.
“Sorry,” he said quickly, “Didn’t mean—”
“It’s ok,” Grant cut him off.
They were quiet again, long enough that Nick thought Grant had fallen asleep. But then the other boy said, so faintly Nick barely heard, “You’re worried about being someone else?”
Nick’s chest got tight. “Yeah, like...yeah. I still remember Nicholas, but I don’t...don’t feel like him. Until I do.”
“I wish I was anyone else,” Grant said quietly.
“I don’t,” Nick replied quickly, “We need you as you.”
“That’s nice of you to say.”
“I’m not blowin’ smoke up your ass. It’s true.”
“Thanks, dude. Go to sleep, I got it. It’s ok.”
“Do you think it can be?”
It felt unfair to ask but Nick wanted an answer, the need to know so sudden and sharp it hurt in his chest.
“I think so,” Grant said. Nick couldn’t tell if he was lying, but he appreciated it either way. He moved his arm over to rest against Grant’s, the movement so slight Grant could shift and brush him off if he wanted to.
But he didn’t.
And Nick fell asleep. He didn’t dream again.