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singillatim2025-02-16 08:57 pm
castitas) wrote in singillatim2025-02-16 08:57 pm
closed | you're a lost soul
Who: Kate Marsh + You!
What: February catch-all for Kate: Goodsir's disappearance, Kate running off in search of him and that going so well + her getting sick / Frozen Hearts prompt.
When: The month of February.
Where: Various, Milton area.
Content Warnings: likely to come up in threads are discussions of suicide, discussions of cannibalism; discussions of character death; instances of hypothermia; supernatural afflictions and body horror. More TBA.
closed starters | please contact![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
heolstor / _heolstor on discord for plotting
What: February catch-all for Kate: Goodsir's disappearance, Kate running off in search of him and that going so well + her getting sick / Frozen Hearts prompt.
When: The month of February.
Where: Various, Milton area.
Content Warnings: likely to come up in threads are discussions of suicide, discussions of cannibalism; discussions of character death; instances of hypothermia; supernatural afflictions and body horror. More TBA.
closed starters | please contact
no subject
Girls are just like that sometimes, Tim figures, because he watches the two scenes play out concurrently from where he's standing. He peels his gloves off and sheds his big jacket; Kate is silent for a while but she isn't quiet. Not to someone who is looking for the signs of-- and there it is, that wretched thing.
Heartbreak. Grief.
Tim finds his mouth go dry, even when he has his mouth shape the name: Goodsir...?
No-- but yes, actually, and more likely than Tim would want to think. He had vomited when he had (not) found Damian. And now, Tim feels his legs grow weak again. There's no tremor to his hands that isn't there because of the cold but Tim feels wrong for knowing it exists anyway. And then, very predictably, he feels wrong for feeling wrong because of it. Like something broken, he now thinks there should be a level of stoicism when facing the inevitable of--]
Kate, I'm going to sit next to you.
[He doesn't know if it is or isn't okay, to take space up on her bed. He remembers that one time-- she had a nosebleed-- the cot at the Community Center. How scared she had been, believing he hadn't seen. But it's not a thing that Tim can control, not within her. Not now.
He moves light despite the heaviness- he's not supposed to exist in this room and especially not in this proximity. Then he sits- to Kate's left, elbows on his knees, and he looks to the Dog.
Dog, who lost her person and who doesn't know how not to be a wild wolf. She turns her head and looks up. Past Tim. Toward Kate.
She knows loss, too.
He doesn't point out that, well, yes. The Victorians are all probably dead.
Stunned at losing a friend, he opens and closes his right hand.] He set my arm when it was broken. We spoke a few times. In the church. [Like it helps him make his case that-] I'm sorry.
cw: cannibalism reference
There's a tight, wet swallow and her eyes flutter as she nods. Understanding, acknowledgement. But she doesn't really care all that much. It's fine, whatever. He can sit next to her if he wants.
She flits between something hollow, scraped raw and a overwhelming swell — like a levy about to break but never quite managing. Both feel numbing and she's so tired with it all. She's so tired of living in nightmares.
Tired of living with horror—
Harry Goodsir is a good man. Was a good man. Did they even have the decency to bury him once they were done picking him clean?
Kate listens, still quiet. She stays quiet for a long time after Tim's finished speaking. ]
... I used to think this place was Hell. And it made sense, considering. For him to be here, for me to be here. [ Sometimes she wonders if she already did it and she doesn't remember it. Like she blocked it out somehow. She's already dead, by her own choice. And where else would she go?
But sometimes she doesn't really know for sure. ]
I was wrong. It's not Hell. I don't know what this place is. Sometimes it feels like it's worse than that.
cw: religion bashing
Goodsir is a good man. [Almost comical to be saying so through the low hiss of grit teeth- a challenge that will go unheard by the One that Tim dares defy-- Kate knows why she said what she did, but Tim is coming up empty.
It's bad enough to need to mourn- grief steals from the physical body in ways only some children might not know. But Tim had thought he'd be a steadfast presence. Something (someone) that he wasnt ever given when the hurt was fresh and the wound was raw- still bleeding. Tim, fearing a misunderstanding, which has got to be a first for him, unfurls his fists.]
We wouldn't know half of what we do about how this world works without his help. The first thing he did was ask for help in setting up his clinic. For everyone. Not just for the people he was friends with.
[Which more than what Tim can say for this man who Kate woke everyone up on Christmas Day singing praises for. But this isn't Kate's fault- it's a faulty, ancient, human thing. To want punishment, penitence.
Tim's seen the same in B--
he turns to her.
Gives her aching body a small shake, hand on her shoulder. She's not allowed to tune him out, the way he had tuned out Dick's voicemails. She gets a real person by her side. Flawed as he may be.
There's panic in his voice- Tim is a computer of sorts- even without meaning to, the questions in his mind turn and churn and his purpose is to find answers. And he thinks-- maybe he's found one.
For the sake of annoying her, he shifts around until one leg is crossed under him on the bed. He paws at her shoulder again. Voice sour, whispered.]
You've done everything you can to bring him back safe. You're always helping others. It's a part of you now. You're a part of so many people here.
Nobody knows what this place is. [It's Canada.] But it would be so much worse without you.
It's not Hell. Neither of you are going to Hell.
cw: suicide ideation; outright suicidal intent
[ He was dying. That's what he'd told her. Even amongst the sorrow and the guilt for having her find out (he'd never meant for her to), he'd given his reasons. I had ... I had very few choices. As good as none. And he'd believed she had more choices than him.
It was before she had that binder turn up. It was before Harry Goodsir had disappeared into nothing, and all the searching in the world couldn't find him. The words were easier, back then. More easy to believe. Hopeful. Harry didn't know the full story. She never got to tell him, couldn't bring herself to. And now he's gone, and he's dead — nothing more than bones on the shale. He was worth so much more than that.
Even the dead don't know peace, not with those choices. And yet sometimes it feels like a risk she's willing to take. What's Hell when you already live it?
Tim's shaking her shoulder and she doesn't react. And he's telling her things, things she's heard before. Lieutenant Little told her about how much worse she has, how much joy and warmth she brings. How the mornings, still in the Community Hall, when she'd play her violin were the best moments of his day.
All of that, and for what? Harry Goodsir did so much good and he still went back and now he's dead. All of the good she does, and—
Tim shakes her again, insistent. Kate's eyes close. ]
What's it matter? I'm still going to kill myself when I get home.
[ Just a few more minutes and then it'd be over. ]
cw suicide, depression, parenting the parents, general grief
Scared because his dad was dead and he had heard him die and had seen him dead and he hadn't known what to do- Dana had been crying, so Tim tells himself this isn't the same. Kate is talking. She's aware of what she's saying and not doing. Tim tells himself this isn't the same.
He's already seen people die and he's already seen dead people- in greater numbers than he would have imagined. He's sat next to a man who was going to jump. And even back then, Tim had known- he can't stop-
he can't stop-
his breath catches in his chest and it's a testament to the self-sabotage called self-control that he swallows down the fear instead of crying out because of it. It's black and it crawls out of everyone he's loved and everyone he hasn't, and there's no stopping it.
His fingers had found her hair,
brushed away a stray blonde few from her face. That was before Tim had remembered being all alone, before he had fallen into the nothingness that feels like the promise that he can never save the people who matter to him the most.
Please-- but Tim can't hear himself. He thinks this is a panic attack because he can't feel anything but the way his heart skips, and it's an uncomfortable and unwelcome reminder that he's alive.
She's closed her eyes.
The pretty girl he kissed not too long ago.
Sometimes, when people die, they look--]
Please don't.
[In some forms of Christianity, suicide is--
Tim can't do anything but be afraid. As afraid as someone who has never seen this before, who has never been able to comprehend this before, who has never been so alone through this before.
He remembers Steph, the girl he loves, and how she had-
and Tim, like a kid who's never had to be alone, throws himself at her.
She's there, still. Her soul. And her body is-- cool, not as warm as it ought to be under so many blankets--
he's scared that--
he holds on because if he isn't grasping at her body, at her back and shoulders and neck, she's never going to be warm again. (His face is an ashen red, not from agitation for his neediness and selfishness but because if he cries out he's going to shout because of the hurt, the pain that is so new despite him knowing it so well, and Kate's never wanted him to-- be loud and--)]
Please.
[Against her blankets, Tim can remember- the training, the logic, how he shouldn't be adding pressure... and he shudders, because it's what his mind latched on to and because he can't do anything else but beg in callused desperation,] I lost my little brother, and my d- and Bruce is gone now too, and I... Kate. [This is everything he's not supposed to do.
So Tim lifts his head and a hand and he braces for a kick or maybe even a shooting, if one of the men wander in and find him all but smothering her with this ill attention; he finds her hair. Cards his fingers through it.
Like that'll help.] Kate.
[His voice is too small, Tim thinks. Not his own.] Kate, no one's going to hurt you again. [In his fear, a stupid thing to promise.
Tim remembers the promise he got, and how it only ever stayed said.
He won't only say the words. He'll keep the promise. He'll...] I promise. I mean it. I promise.
cw: continued discussion of suicide; being roofied; kate's dark room experience; bullying
She wasn't supposed to find out how Harry Goodsir died. She keeps the word he said close to her heart, too: mamianaq. It's such a heavy word, even if she doesn't understand the language — she feels the word. Harry Goodsir did so much good in this place, but now he's gone. Now he's gone, and—
Tim's throwing himself at her and she visibly jumps, body tense and stiff. Her face scrunches up, eyes squeezing tight enough she can see speckles of stars in the blackness she creates. She hates it. She hates how it causes so much pain, because she can never keep it to herself. It always hurts everyone else around her.
She hurt her family, her dad—
please, Tim begs.
mamianaq, Kate thinks.
She doesn't kick him. She's a tight ball of nerves and sorrow. She doesn't kick him, doesn't shove him away or yell at him to get off of her. He's reaching for her, his fingers through her hair. She's sorry. She's tired, and she's sorry. ]
What if it's too late? What if it doesn't matter? They already hurt me.
[ Hurt enough, hurt too much. Promises of never being hurt again don't matter when someone's been hurt too much. But he's still promising, he means it. And it's— it's so sweet it makes her heart swell. But even Kate knows it's a promise that can't be kept. ]
I tried— I tried to ask. [ For help. For someone to believe her. No one believed her. They only saw what they saw and they laughed. Like she wasn't even a person to them. ] My teacher called me brittle, he said to 'stop with the martyr crap'.
[ It's the last thing she's ever going to remember, she realises. If she leaves this place and goes home. If she goes home, she won't remember Tim's promise that no one'll ever hurt her again. It'll be accused of brittleness and martyrdom. ]
I just wanted to make friends. I went to that stupid party because I thought it's a new school and maybe I could make some friends. [ She didn't want to tell him. She didn't want Tim to know because she doesn't want to know how he's going to look at her afterwards. But her mouth keeps moving and the words keep pouring out. ]
And they put something in my drink and filmed what I did and put it online.
[ If she doesn't open her eyes, she doesn't have to see him. ]
And when I got sick and dizzy, Nathan said he'd take me to the hospital but he didn't. He hurt me and now there's photos of me— they tied me up and did what they wanted and they took photos.
[ Somehow he knows, somehow he knows what's hidden under her bed and she doesn't know how. Part of her's scared he's looked at them. But if she keeps her eyes closed because that way she doesn't have to see how Tim's face looks. ]
I woke up outside my dorm room and I felt so gross, and no one believes me and they just keep hurting me and I don't know why— [ She bites down, grits her teeth. Tries to hold back the tears and the sob that bubbles up from her chest. She shakes, fights it back. Rage and sorrow with nowhere to go. She just wants to sleep forever. ] I was about to do it, before I got here. I was going to the roof.
If Harry went back, he still dies. If I go back I still die, too.
no subject
Was the school a lottery?
Tim brushes aside the white-hot rage like he does the fact that he's made her uncomfortable with touch. She's moving. And talking. And Tim is as well. Talking in low murmurs, at an even pitch and pace. Just to fill in silence.
Silence is nothing, and Nothing is the enemy. Nothing and darkness are things that breed with time. Tim swallows thick, and doesn't stall the touch.] Everything is competitive. And... you were new. You must have worked so hard for the chance to even be there and you wanted to make new friends. There's nothing wrong with that. You didn't do anything wrong. [He would have done the same, he wants to say. Had done. Several times over, never staying in one campus for longer than a single semester.
It can all backfire so easily when someone interjects an I when all you feel like doing is never waking up.
His heart breaks, and so Tim knows he has one still. He never thought he'd be robbed of the words I've got you. But that's just another thing of many that Batman won't let him do now. Tim feels distinctly here and not; he combs her hair back again, and this time he makes himself sit. Now he's close to her but not on her, and Tim doesn't let his hands rest.
He can do a 3-strand braid.
With a section of her hair, he begins.
It's about division. Dividing segments of hair, coaxing strands out from under her weight. Dividing the hate of them all, of all the people he knows and wants dead and the ones he doesn't. Dividing victories in small, minuscule things- Kate is alive, not dead. Fact. She's not dead.
Yet.
This can't be happening.]
You never did anything wrong, Kate. And evil people still hurt you. You can cry. It's okay to cry.
[It's not the thing he means to say but apart from wanting to sink into the pillowtop of the bedding, like he had so many years ago with no one's arms around him, it's the only thing that springs to mind. Not the words, but (again) the need to speak. Speaking feels like tasting broken glass, and like hot smoke choking him when he tasted fire, and was alone. No. That's his thought: No... it is happening.] I hate them, Kate. I hate all of them.
They hurt people just because they can. They drugged and used you. They're bastards. They're cowards.
[ I'll kill them.]
But you... look at you. Look at everything that you've done. So many people whose lives you've been a part of. Who you've helped survive despite everything.
[The cold.
The dark.
The evil.
Tim wets his lips. He can't breathe. But he goes on. Thinks he has...
a terrible idea of how to braid hair, actually...]
There's people who believe you. Who hate what happened... and what happens to good people.
We can find them.
[There's... good people. And there's a roaring, desolate rage against injustice. And... and another dip of her bed that she's bound to feel, eyes screwed shut or otherwise. Damian's wolfdog, the girl dog, leaping on with a grace that's nearly inconceivable with her size, the size of the paws she arranges under herself to keep from stepping on anyone else.
To Tim, a sign to stop his playing with Kate's hair. To Tim, a reminder that-- if Damian's not dead yet he will be soon- their job is to die so others can live- ] You know I [--god damn it, dog-] Dog- Dog, get down-- [but despite his fingers on her scruff, the pup lowers her head and curls herself into a ball somewhere around Kate's midsection.
Tim breathes out- hot and short and only once.
Another failure come to gloat.]
no subject
[ She thought a lot of things. She'd been so excited to be accepted, so excited to do something new. Make friends, learn at such a prestigious place like Blackwell. Kate exhales sharply, shaking her head into the pillow. It's stupid, it feels so stupid. She was so stupid.
She was lonely. And it only made her feel more alone, wondering what she'd done wrong to deserve it.
Tim says she didn't do anything wrong. She really wants to believe it, and sometimes she does. But sometimes she can't help but wonder what she did. He never asks more than one can bear. But why does this always feel like it's too much to bear?
But Tim's shifting around her, moving off of her. His fingers are still in her hair. She doesn't remember the last time someone played with her. Or she can't think of who it was. Was it her mother? Her sisters? That would be so long ago now. Maybe Wynonna? Threading her fingers through her hair, scrunching her nose up and pressing a kiss to her head. She isn't sure, like she can't pull up the memory of it.
It gives her shivers, those weird little tingles that aren't totally unpleasant. It makes her face scrunch up less, her breaths shaky as she's trying to work out what he's doing.
He's— braiding. Her hair. ]
They're not worth the hate. [ Her words are soft. ] It just makes you tired. I want Nathan punished for what he did, but I'm just— I'm so tired of it. I'm so tired of crying. Of... everything.
[ It feels like such a strange thing. He says he hates them, and she knows he means it. And meanwhile he's coaxing her hair back, pulling and turning it one way then another as he weaves the braid. It's not fair— ]
I wish people back home could believe me. It's like in this place, it's everything I wished I could have had back home. [ It's not fair. She has friends. People who treat her kindly, gently. ] I told Lieutenant Little when he stopped me jumping from the Basin. I told Wynonna when we ended up in like... I don't know. A memory of the party. They believed me, without question.
[ Tim believes her, too. Tim's not even an adult, either. Tim's her own age. He believes her. Tim treats her gently. He's braiding her hair and his kisses are patient and gentle—
It's not Merry that jumps on the bed and curls up beside her, but the other dog she doesn't know. A second wolf-pup that Tim's ended up in her room with. She's soft and warm against her, but Kate still feels cold. She's too scared to open her eyes. ]
I'm sorry. I didn't want you to know. [ Her inhale catches with a sob. She can't take it back now. ] I didn't wanna burden you with it, or— I didn't want anything to be different if you knew.
I'm sorry.
no subject
he'll fix it.
Your parents must have been so proud of you- but he doesn't know. In his mind, initiative and the maturity to juggle school and her other commitments would make them proud. But he doesn't know.
Hatred, he knows. Anger and how to angle it and spear it right through the guts of waking nightmares.
(If he can keep her talking then she can't die. Because she's talking. Conversing. Horrible logic but logic all the same. And hate, and talking about hate, make her tired.)]
Kate... if Nathan and the people who follow him aren't worth the hate... their actions are. They're not going to stop at you.
[What a terrible thing to say.
Tim, again, only despises men and the thought of them.
Little- and how he had stopped her from ju--
jumping--
Tim hadn't known she had wanted--
the man is spared the loathing. If only because Tim wouldn't know what to do with so much incompetence nagging his every thought all at once and so all of a sudden. So many people who have failed this girl, and one hell of a Savior. It's just not fair.
It's his voice and not; it's low and stern and even a touch gravelly. There's hate in it. A tempered, protective sort.
The girl he loves is crying and has every right to be so brokenhearted.]
We're going to find people... that will help you. That will believe you. [Her folder-
the pictures-
the process.]
You already... [He's no good at this, Tim figures. Her 3-strand braid now has 5 strands woven together. A goddamn mess. He's...] Kate, don't you see? You're not alone. Not here. Not back home. [...trying.] It's not about your word versus the word of that scum. You have proof. Of a crime. Against you. You're tired. You've been through so much. And none of it is your fault. There are people who won't stand for it. So you can rest. So you can heal. So they won't hurt women like this again.
no subject
Her father— she has the postcard here. It's in a desk drawer: Katie, you'll always be my brightest light against the dark. Hugs n' love, Pop. She hurt him so much it makes her want to scream. ]
You don't know Nathan. [ And she's so weary with it, even as the disgust curls bitterly around in her stomach. ] His family practically owns the town. Owns the school. People like Nathan Prescott get away with anything.
[ To Nathan's family, Kate is a problem. An inconvenience. Something to be made to go away. Nathan isn't shy about voicing how his dad owns Arcadia Bay, and how that makes him untouchable. She'd gone to the police, like Max had agreed with her — and even if she'd felt better saying something... she knows fine well it's going to be nothing in the face of it all.
She wants to believe it, she really does. But it all feels so hopeless. It won't even matter. What if she doesn't remember? What if she ends up back home and she doesn't remember any of this? Or she goes home and she doesn't take it with her? Harry left everything behind, his home and clinic left untouched.
But Tim's trying. He really is. Like he knows what he's talking about, has to confidence to say it, the way to explain it in a way she couldn't. Like he's fighting for her, trying to. It makes her heart ache in an odd way, and she inhales shakily.
This place has people who would fight for her. She can't say the same for back home, no matter what Tim says. It's not fair. ]
I wish... if I went home— you could come with me.
no subject
[And he'll laugh that airy, fleeting high society laugh at someone who brags that their family owns one school. One town, off in some hidden and small West Coast corner of their country. He'll laugh at how pathetic it is.
And that night he'll break every one of Nathan Prescott's teeth, and it'll be unfortunate that no one will ever know how it happened. But knowing it sounds strange and faraway and knowing he can ask Booster Gold- Zatanna- Flash-- one of those fucking Time Lords a favor- Tim sighs out a shaky breath.] You might have to wait for me. But I'll go.
[Who can say what happens after the Aurora eats them, only that their bodies aren't left behind like when the Darkwalker does the same.
Tim abandons his work of her hair.
He doesn't know what to do.
He's fallen with every intention to hit cold solid ground, too.]
I want you to know it's okay to be tired. To have other people fight against what's wrong. I'll do it. But I know there's others who will do the same. You're worth fighting for, Kate. [The back of his hand brushes against her cheek and she's still cold and he still hasn't seen her eyes.
Irrational, Tim wonders if she's already gone.
Then--] You've fought for others.
[And,] I'll be here. Girl- the dog... Kate, do you want me to find you another blanket? The dog's not moving. She won't hurt you but she doesn't like me. I don't want to move her again. [--] I'll be here, though. It's- it's not bad. To learn about the people you love.
no subject
[ It's bittersweet. He'll come with her, but she'll have to wait. She doesn't know if she has enough time. But that part goes unsaid.
It's okay to be tired, to let others fight for her. It's a strange feeling, knowing he and others would fight for her when no one would fight for her back home. She never wanted any of this, though. The fact that people have to fight for her.
Tim's hand is warm against her cheek.
Her hand shifts, and she reaches until her fingers find fur — the strange mix of soft and coarse that's just like Merry's. Pale like Merry, too. But with smudges of grey, compared to her brother's soft biscuit colouring that covers most of his coat. She's careful with her touch, doesn't push too far — the gentlest of acknowledgements. ]
She's a good girl.
[ She doesn't know where she's come from, or how Tim ends up with random wolf-pups from Diefenbaker and Scout's litter. At this point, she doesn't know if she wants to ask but just... well, it just is what it is. She's okay with the dog not moving. Merry's close by. He doesn't jump on the bed, but he wanders over and lifts his head to rest it upon the mattress — staring carefully at Kate with big eyes.
It's- it's not bad. To learn about the people you love.
Her eyes open, but for a long moment she doesn't breathe. She's frozen for a long moment, just staring off into space with parted lips as if she's trying to work out what he's said. How to— process. She inhales, exhales. Staggered, unsteady. Her expression working through it. Did he just— ]
Tim— [ She turns her head a fraction, not to look at him directly — it'll give them both away if she looks at him. Did he just admit he—
She doesn't know what her heart or her mind's doing right now. There's a long silence, like she doesn't want to say something and mess it up. But she's said something and she works her jaw— ]
Can— can you lie with me? I don't want another blanket, I— [ Her chest feels too full, and she's fighting to get words out. ] I just want—
[ You. ]
For a little while.
no subject
his hands aren't wandering.
His heart's in his throat and to lie down makes him want to move away. But Girl Dog's ears are soft, and Tim boops her nose, and Girl doesn't snap at his hand. She's a good dog.]
I'll find you. [The truth, difficult and thorny, in this moment is easy to handle.] I work... with teams of detectives. It's what I do. [--] You know. [A clumsy attempt at levity:] In my free time.
[He'll continue burning that candle at both ends. When had he stopped caring about being reduced to a puddle instead of burning bright? Tim blanks at the answer, so it can't have been important anyway.
He lays his head on one arm, bent up over one pillow. The hand that had been fluttering across Girl (and poking at Merry too) retreats. Tim finds a soft grip on the comforter and pulls it a little higher over Kate. She's so cold.
He needs to get someone, he realizes. He should have listened and left- and fetched Wynonna from somewhere in this cabin or even one of the men- (no).
Girl Dog buries her nose in the crook of Kate's elbow, apparently feeling a little cold too. Tim, miserable and idiotic, points out bluntly,] I don't know her name. I called her Dog. But then I learned she was a girl.
So I've been calling her Girl Dog.
no subject
You're so— [ She isn't sure what word to use. For a long time there's silence, and she's frowning as she stares off for a long moment. ] I don't know. ... Different. Like your life's a whole bunch of different pieces of a patchwork quilt.
[ Arranged in a pattern that doesn't make sense to her. The things she's learned about him, all the different pieces. But maybe that's on her. They might make sense to him, they just don't always make sense to her. Evil men in another country. Teams of detectives. The Neon Knights. Being brave enough to go running into burning houses where the flames are just an illusion.
It's no wonder she always had such a hard time trying to understand him. But that's just— Tim. That's who he is. And she's probably a patchwork quilt of her own, just as difficult for him to piece together and make sense of. It's not a bad thing.
She's cold, but Tim's warm. The blanket and the wolf-dog curled in beside her are both warm. She reaches for the dog again, her fingers gently brushing against her muzzle (Merry huffs a little, his tail wagging at Tim's fussing). ]
You can't just... call her 'Girl Dog', she needs a real name.
[ Sure, she's one of Merry's littermates, but she isn't sure just who she belongs to. Like when Tim brought another one of the wolf-dogs to her room, the night they— ]
Who's dog is she?
no subject
Chaotic, broken lives.
Yeah, Tim means to convey with the matching silence. It drives him crazy too. Life and how hectic it is and how many people are in it, and how he's past the point of being a boy- past having the ability to ask for another road to take.
Girl Dog lifts her head. In Tim's uneducated opinion, she's more wolf than dog in a way that defies the pedigree percentages. No doubt that's why the Prince chose her, picked her out of the litter.] Huh?
[Tim had thought he'd told her.
But thinking back, his- everything had been sloppy, hurried and incomplete. With the mortification of damning the family he loves (and hates), Tim makes the choice to keep Kate-- here. Here, where her body now is next to his. Connected, kind of. Not away.]
My little brother's.
[The words are rough. Not because of sentiment. Because of disuse. They're foreign.
Yeah, Tim hates how complicated everything had to become too.
If he were whole... he would have loved a brother, of course. An imp of a little brother. Tim swallows, and explains the wolf on her bed.]
He probably had a... an important name for her. Something pretty. I don't know.
[Something Arabic, maybe. Elegant but strong.
Tim defends himself by mumbling,]
Siblings, huh. Always picking up after'm.
no subject
He'd said it, she didn't register it, in amongst all the mess of everything else: Tim's babbling, her sorrow and just wanting to disappear. As much as she wants to disappear, she still cares. Maybe just not so much about herself.
That's her all over, isn't it? Feeling and unfeeling. Sick and tired of everything, and yet she still cares about others.
Tim lost a brother. Kate did too.
It's hard to define what Harry Goodsir was to her, but brother might have been close to it. She never had a brother before. ]
You... you didn't say you had a brother here.
[ Never told her. There was one here. Specifically. She peers at him over her shoulder, back twisting towards him to look at him as much as she can without disturbing the wolf-dog.
Her face is red and tear-stained. She looks tired. She is tired.
She doesn't know what to say. Except— ]
I'm sorry.