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The sky was beautiful at night. Ezra had always loved the stars as a child. Before…before mother married into the Lukas family, it had been a comfort. The stars had seemed eternal, never changing. No matter where his mother moved them, who he had been left behind with, or how lonely he felt, the stars were there, even when light pollution prevented them from being visible. He knew that compared to his brothers, he was an outsider, with his fine clothes and "ten dollar words" sticking out like a sore thumb on the ranch, but growing up, it was the homes on the outskirts of civilization that he had loved the most. Getting his hands dirty had been worth seeing those tiny pinpricks of light in the night. He might not have gotten along with other children, he might still be a burden, unable to convince his mother to let him stay with her, but when he looked at the sky, it was a constant. The sky felt like stability. Like peace. Like love.
Of course, he knew that was childish foolishness. The night sky was hardly eternal, stars were born and died, and the earth changed its rotation, shifting the sky ever so slightly over thousands of years. The idea of being loved by the sky was a foolish idea, dreamt up by a lonely boy, who had yet to learn how to embrace the quiet. He was lucky the Vast hadn't stolen him away. The idea made him snort. Although his past comfort had similarities to the Awful Deep, it wasn't endlessness that drew him in. He didn't covet the feeling of insignificance, nor did he fear it. He had just been lonely.
When he was at his lowest, Ezra had occasionally wondered what would have happened if he had never met the Lukas'. Would he have still fallen into the Lonely's grip? He wished he could be more confident in saying no.
When he was a boy, he used to resent his mother. Not nearly as much as he missed her, but sometimes, sometimes, he couldn't help it. He has long since left that petty emotion behind; he knew better now, but that doesn't stop him from remembering the ache in his soul that had once throbbed in time with bruises and welts. Every time he found himself locked away, with harsh words and angry fists, by "family" who found themselves tricked by his mother, he had felt a sting of betrayal. But there was no use dwelling on such things. He had since learned where the blame actually lay. The fog had made sure of it.
He thinks he may have been afraid at first. It was hard to remember that period of his life. To his young mind it had just been cold. He had missed the south, missed sweet tea and Georgia peaches. He wasn't born of the Lucases, after all. The cold had not been part of his nature. Not yet at least. But the world had never cared what he wanted before and this time was no different. And so he became a Lukas, irreversibly tied to the family long after his mother had taken him and fled in the night.
The fog taught him many things. Not in a traditional means, but Ezra got the message anyway. It allowed him to see the truth, buried under all those little emotions. It had been him.
He was the common denominator. He was to blame all this time. The broken, unlovable thing, forced on unsuspecting relatives time and time again. Forced upon his mother, who must have recognized the innate wrongness in her child, yet still had provided for him and taught him enough tricks to survive the world.And for that he was grateful, truly. Perhaps she had even been doing him a favor, spending as much time with him as she did. His theory had been proven true when in the months following the escape, he found himself being abandoned more and more, and the distance between his mother and him grew further.
He was no longer a child. He now knew the truth and she had nothing to protect him from. She didn't have to keep up the facade of love. She still returned for him occasionally when he could be useful to her. And he helped her because he loved her. After all, he owed it to her for what kindness she had been able to offer to him in his youth.
Perhaps this realization should have upset him, but the fog had taken care of that, surrounding him in gentle apathy, any potential fears or pain washed away in the mist. It allowed him to look with clarity for the first time.
It has been many years since he had that realization forced upon him. In some regards, he is grateful it happened when it did. Even wished it had happened earlier to relieve his poor mother of the burden of his naivety. But sometimes, sometimes, he wished for that ignorance back. It was selfish. He knew it was selfish, that he was selfish, and that good people wouldn't wish for others to suffer just for their peace of mind, but it was his nature. He wondered how his life would have turned out if he still had that faint, tiny hope that maybe one day he could be loved. That he might one day deserve love if he worked hard enough, or was quiet enough, or-
But those were dreams of a child. And he had long since accepted his fate. If he could go back in time, he wasn’t sure he would change anything, except perhaps to tell his younger self to enjoy the Georgia sun while he still could. England had been so wet and dreary, and by the time he would return to the land of his birth, not even the hottest day could penetrate the chill in his bones.
But he kept on living, even on days when he wasn't sure it was quite worth it. He perfected his trade and learned how to use his newfound abilities. It was hardly a safe line of work, and he occasionally ran into other avatars who he, let's just say, disagreed with. Still, he had learned to embrace the pain and found the burn of fresh wounds to be an excellent way of confirming one was still alive after venturing too deep into the fog.
To his…delight is a bit strong of a word, but to his satisfaction, he found that even while not actively using his powers, he still somewhat fades into the background. It was quite useful when trying to avoid detection. His words similarly seemed to slip from people's minds. A helpful trick when trying to scam people out of their money without getting caught.
For so long, the universe told him that he was different. That there was something wrong with him, that he was not worthy of the love that everyone else seemed to be able to receive with no effort on their part. He embraced this, internalized it, and found comfort in it. Had used it to his advantage time and time again. But here he is. On the roof of his brother's home, his home, no longer a child locked out of a stranger's house trying to survive, but instead a man, staring at the sky just like he did all those years ago, wishing for answers because he is lost in unfamiliar territory and he is afraid . His brothers are good people. Better than he deserves. They are filled to the brim with kindness, understanding, and love, and he is so afraid of what he will do when they realize he is not worthy of this care. Afraid that they already know and are offering it anyway.
He doesn't want to hurt them, but how can he not when he's rotten to the core? He had accepted the offer to live with them on a whim. Had seen it as an opportunity for easy money. He had not foreseen actually growing to care for these men, his brothers. He did not anticipate them trying to learn about him in turn, and he ran like a coward the second he realized what they were doing.
It had been a long time since his birthday was recognized. It had been even longer since it had been celebrated. He should have been grateful, and yet he couldn't stop the feeling of being cornered from bearing down on him. He had seen the excitement in his brother's eyes fade to concern, even as he tried to smile and deflect. The party was…exhausting. He felt horrible after all the hard work the others must have put into arranging this, but there was no other word to describe it. Once the festivities faded, he made his excuses and slipped out. The Lonely welcomed him to its realm. It was bliss. He slowly walked the achingly familiar streets of the little Western town, closing his eyes as he listened to the faint indistinguishable sounds of the wisps chatting. He wasn't sure why his realm looked like it did or what influences affected its shape, but the little town had long since become comforting in its own way.
It wasn't until what must have been hours later that he forced himself back to reality. The return of the exhaustion and other similarly unpleasant emotions was unwelcome but not unexpected. He checked his phone and sighed as he saw the texts from his family. He hadn't meant for his disappearance to cause a fuss.
Ezra quickly skimmed the messages, trying not to let the guilt in his chest take root. The earliest ones seemed to be from about an hour into his disappearance, containing thinly veiled worry, and offers to join him on his walk from Josiah, Buck, Nathan, and JD, and promises to leave him be as long as he answers his damn phone from Vin and Cris. The worry became less thinly veiled, and the threats became angrier as time passed, including threats of tracking his ass down and dragging him home, possibly followed by him having his ass kicked for causing Cris to gray prematurely. The final text was from 10pm, and it was from Vin.
It simply read, "Convinced others to give you space. They’re worried. Return soon." Checking the clock, he saw it was now around 11pm. He grimaced at the thought of returning to the house, especially since he didn't wanna risk running into anyone. Yet returning to his domain was hardly an option; he couldn't risk losing track of time again; Vin's reassurances would only go so far once Cris was properly riled up. There was always the barn, but he couldn't, wouldn't subject his beloved mount nor the mounts of his brothers to his presence. He wasn't sure how much his fog affected animals, he tried his best to keep it away from them, but tonight he didn't have the energy to stay on guard.
The roof felt like a fair compromise. He shot off a quick text to Vin, trusting him to pass on the message in the morning, informing him that he was quite alright, the cell reception was quite terrible on his walk, and he apologized for the inconvenience he caused. There. Now perhaps he could be left alone.
"Well if it isn't our lost sheep, having returned to us safe and sound from the pasture." Or not.