whyldkratts:

2. “Hey, hey, calm down. They can’t hurt you anymore.”

warnings: mentions of child neglect

Martin very nearly jumps out of his skin, neck snapping up to look at Chris, standing in the doorway of the bathroom. He looks almost sheepish, a tinge likes he wishes he could reach out and snatch the words back from the air. Martin stares at him for a moment in the reflection of the bathroom mirror, a rolling wave of emotions mixing and clogging his veins and heart until he forced himself to look away. Instead he looks down at where his hands are wrapped around the edge of the sink, grip so tight his knuckles are the same color as the porcelain. for a moment he thinks, if he squeezes just a bit tighter, the sink with shatter beneath his fingers.

He exhales, and tries to think of a way to describe to Chris what he’s going through, seeing both his parents at the same time, standing together with big smiles and still and empty as plastic.

he turns around, runs a hand through his hair, “They never hurt me.” He says, and it feels woefully inadequate, but it was true. They had never laid a hand on him.

Chris’s hand tightens almost imperceptibly on the door handle, “I’m- Martin, i’m not 6 years old anymore. Ive… noticed a few things. You don’t have to hide this anymore.” He licks his lips, trying to find a way to coerce the truth, gently, from his older brother.

“I promise, Chris- they never hurt me.” Martin moves forward and prays his legs would hold him, even though they felt like jelly. He risks Chris feeling the trembling of his hands to rest them, reassuringly, on his shoulders, “I just… remember the divorce a lot better than you do, and I think i didn’t deal with that very well.” It’s not a lie, at the very least.

Chris searches his eyes, looking for any sort of tell, before he sighs, shoulders sagging. “The way you reacted…” Chris bit his lip, and Martin pulled him into a tight hug.

“The divorce was really hard on me.” He murmurs into Chris’s hair, hoping he accepted the excuse.

They never put their hands on him, but he’ll never forget the years they forced him to be the parent they didn’t want to be. His mother taking off for adventure, his father working late, disappointment in their eyes when his grades slip because he’s up late (too late) trying to stop Chris from crying and waking up early to make him breakfast and walk him to school. The scorn when he was held back a year. Weight loss when he gave up food to feed Chris (because sometimes they forgot they had children- how? how?) The chores stacked impossibly high- the jobs he took to sustain Chris and give him a life- the sacrifices they he’d no problem making, as long as it was at his suspense. He’d seen them, together, and their plastic smiles felt only like Halloween masks hiding their impossible standards and dark eyes.

he loved his parents, he did. There were times where they had… were they had been good.

Chris pulled back and smiled at him, “It’s okay, I’m here for you bro- Just like you always were for me.”

Martin can almost taste the double meaning, and for a moment he wonders if Chris really had figured it all out, but his brothers eyes (a window into his soul, they hide nothing) showed nothing but genuine warmth. No, he had not figured it out.

Martin wasn’t sure he ever wanted him to.

“Thanks, Chris. That means a lot to me.” And it really did.