Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Deckard was eighteen years old when the Cat Cafe had its grand opening under the proud ownership of a twenty-two year old Howell (with admittedly a ton of monetary support from a thirty-two year old Merlin).

Deckard almost couldn’t believe that they had been on the island for only six years now. It felt like he had lived here his whole life! Cas would roll her eyes if she heard him say that, but the memories from before he was ten felt so insignificant compared to his life now.

He even made his first ever friend here: Bee. Not to say that Cas wasn’t still his closest friend, but they were kinda stuck with each other since birth. Bee was the first person that seemed to like him for who he was outside of his siblings, which was a breath of fresh air when you’re the youngest of seven.

Deckard fluttered around the cafe’s kitchen, finishing up the last of the prepwork as the others set up the party in the dining area. He could hear muffled speech and laughter through the closed swinging doors, though he couldn’t see them. Everything had been a bit chaotic lately, but now that the finish line was right around the corner, Deckard could finally step back and breathe a sigh of relief and pride.

When Howell, in his normal brazen way, approached him to help out in the cafe, Deckard was both flattered and extremely nervous. He had been working on his cooking skills for a few years now, with the encouragement of Bee and Cas, but to think he was good enough to cook for actual customers…He was barely out of highschool himself!

So. Deckard was gearing up for his first real day of (unpaid) work tomorrow. For this “opening” day they were actually just going to have a small celebration on location. Joining them would be all the cats Howell somehow managed to collect over the years, as well as the assortment of fish and “art” that always seemed to be left behind here, courtesy of Wesley and Crispin.

Deckard had some pretty eccentric older brothers, didn’t he?

Though, it honestly wasn’t going to be much of a party since it would just be with the people he saw everyday anyway. It would be more like a family gathering plus Bee, who already knew all of them pretty well by now.

And minus their parents, though Deckard wasn’t exactly holding out any hope when Merlin sent a tentative invite, with Howell’s permission. It never received an answer.

Cleaning up the old building they rented took a lot of work, but even though the counter was now spotless, Deckard found himself wiping it down over and over again.

His mind tried to avoid his nerves like the plague, but he always circled back to his worries and questions, such as how bad it would be if one of the kittens snuck into the kitchen while he was busy cooking, or if one of the customers, who would secretly be a food critic, hated his food so much they shut the place down…

Thankfully, Cas came in through the door, interrupting his train of thought. Her usually cross face softened when she saw the cleaning rag unconsciously bunched around his hands. “You still nervous?”

“Yeah,” Deckard sighed. “I can’t help it.”

Cas hopped up and sat down on the counter. Deckard suppressed a winced. He had just wiped that, too.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Cas said, squinting at the light overhead like she wanted to blind herself. Deckard figured she felt awkward. “You already know that Bee and the rest of us love your cooking, so you just have to trust that everyone else here will like it too. Everyone will come here for the cats, anyway, so your food will be like an added bonus, y’know?”

Was that supposed to be encouragement? “Um. I guess that makes me feel better?”

Cas slapped his back roughly with a smirk. “Then let’s get out of here and into the party! You’re going to spend more than enough time back here tomorrow, no need to sulk,” and then she dragged him out the swinging doors and into the dining area.

Cats were milling about every which way, tearing down whatever of the newly put up decorations they could reach. Ah, all that effort meant nothing in the face of feline curiosity. Deckard could see Howell pinching his nose in disappointment while Crispin snickered at the sight, sitting around one of the tables. The others were nowhere in sight.

“Ah, there’s my little chef,” Howell cooed when he caught sight of him, ignoring Cas’ aggressive eye-roll. “And here I thought I’d have to shoo you out of the kitchen myself.”

Deckard gave a wobbly smile in return, trying not to laugh at the mimed gagging Crispin was doing behind Howell’s back. “Where are the others?”

“Bee won’t be here for another half hour or so,” said Crispin, scratching his nose and trying to act natural when Howell turned around to look at him. “Something about her toilet getting clogged with food…”

Deckard didn’t really want to hear how that happened (again), but Howell thankfully cut him off. “Wes and Tim are outside getting the last of the food, and Merlin went to the bathroom.”

Deckard felt a bit bad for Merlin. The bathroom was where Wesley stored his fish, and they always seemed to look right at Deckard every time he tried to use the bathroom. Deckard wished a quick godspeed to his most normal older brother, and looked back at Howell to ask a question he had been thinking about all day.

“How did you know you wanted to open a cat cafe in the first place?”

Howell blinked in surprise. Deckard didn’t blame him; it was a weird question to suddenly ask after the months of planning and working the whole family just did.

Deckard always knew about Howell’s obsession with cats—an obsession probably older than Deckard himself—but it didn’t occur to him until recently that he had no idea why Howell chose to open a cat cafe instead of some other path in life.

How was he able to figure out his dream? While Deckard liked cooking, he couldn’t see a fulfilling future for himself that would give him the same passion and happiness that the cat cafe gave Howell.

Howell took out his hand mirror and checked his styled hair, which had grown to an impressive length over the last few years. “I didn’t really. I knew I wanted something cat themed, and this was the natural conclusion.”

“Being a bit too frivolous with our money there,” Crispin called out, slouching across the table. Cas nodded sagely.

Seeing them agree on something for once brought a proud tear to Deckard’s eye. And Cas thought she’d never get along with Crispin. Howell was decidedly less impressed.

He tutted loudly. “If you really must know, there were some other factors in play other than the inherent superiority of cats. There are too many strays here, they need a place to call home.” He averted his eyes in embarrassment.

That was more meaningful than Deckard expected. He was proud to be a part of Howell’s dream, more proud than he was nervous. It would be a disservice to hole himself up and stress about the quality of his food when he could always improve if he worked hard enough.

He gave Howell a large smile. Crispin, however, reached an arm over to ruffle Howell’s hair completely out of place. Deckard winced.

“My little brother is growing a heart,” Crispin gloated over Howell’s squawk of despair. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“I’ll go see how Wesley and Tim are holding up,” Deckard hurriedly cut in, as Cas joined in on the malicious(?) hair-ruffling. He needed to get out of the disaster-zone before Howell predictably blew up on them.

As Deckard walked out the front door, he heard Crispin say But seriously, I’m proud of you and a suspiciously emotional sniff from Howell, which made the smile grow wider on his face.

It was starting to get late, so the sky had a warm orange tint and the breeze was pleasantly cooling at the end of the hot summer day. Deckard took in a deep breath through his nose. He didn’t want to disappoint Howell or cause any trouble on his first day of work tomorrow, but he knew that the more he worried about it the more likely that would happen.

Best to put it out of mind.

“Hey, Deckard,” called out Wesley. He was standing at the trunk of the beat up red family car. “Family car” was admittedly a bit of an exaggeration, as only Wesley and Crispin learned to drive. Merlin had a fear of driving and Tim surprisingly had pretty bad road rage. Deckard and Cas never bothered because Crispin was always willing to drive them wherever they wanted.

“Can you give us a hand?” Wesley asked. “The cake got a bit squashed on the way here.”

Deckard raised his eyebrows. What in the world did that even mean? Wesley looked completely calm, but when Deckard craned his neck around his tall form he could see Tim with a nauseous expression curled over a beat up white box. Oh dear.

His brothers shuffled aside to let Deckard look over the cake. Squashed was the right term for it; the pink icing was cracked and folded all across the top of the cake, and the lettering got jumbled from “Congratulations Howell!” to a gibberish that somehow had the word “slut” in it. Deckard’s hand twitched towards his phone.

“I already took a picture of it,” said Wesley, pretty much reading his mind.

“Howell is gonna be so mad…,” mumbled Tim, who was biting his fingers.

Wesley sighed and held Tim’s wrist, gently pulling it away from his mouth. “Cake is cake. Even Howell can’t get that mad over cake.”

Deckard didn’t believe that, but he was wise enough to keep that thought to himself for Tim’s sake.

He couldn’t help the slight flare of familiar jealousy that roared inside him as he watched Wesley and Tim work so well in sync. Deckard was honestly not very close to most of his older siblings besides Cas. They all doted on him as the youngest, but they all were so busy with their own lives that he felt like a burden even when they willingly spent time with him.

Sometimes, his oldest brothers felt more like parents than siblings. It was hard to be relaxed around Merlin, Crispin, or Wesley, because they tend to fuss and worry and be overbearing if he showed even the slightest discomfort. The ten year age gap between him and them felt obvious with the way they treated him.

Deckard liked Howell, but he never shared the close, if volatile, relationship Cas and Howell had. And as for Tim…

Once, he tried to bring Tim closer to him, to hang out with him in the same way he did with Cas. It seemed like a good idea at the time, since Tim was only a year older, but Tim always avoided him and eventually he stopped asking. After needling Cas about it, she reluctantly admitted that Tim was probably overwhelmed by him, which made Deckard feel horrible.

Maybe that was why he was so nervous about this job with Howell. This was his chance to form a close bond with one of his older brothers. He didn’t want to mess it up.

“Do you think you can fix it?” asked Wesley, breaking Deckard out of his thoughts. Oh right. The cake.

“I can try?” Deckard stuttered out. He had never tried his hand at baking before, but it shouldn’t be too hard to adjust some of the icing. Probably.

Wesley gave a soft smile and lightly pushed Tim towards him. “Tim will help you in the kitchen, then. I’ll get the rest of the boxes from the truck.”

“You sure you won’t need help?” Deckard asked, hefting the box into arms. Wesley only waved them off before sticking his head back into the car’s trunk.

Deckard made sure to go through the back entrance so Howell wouldn’t get a chance to look at the cake yet. Tim trailed behind him quietly. Deckard didn’t really know what to say to him; they don’t exactly find themselves alone together very often, after all.

He ended up saying nothing at all.

The cake didn’t look too bad now that it was out of the box and on the counter. The top of it was admittedly pretty messed up, but the sides still had a uniform pink layer, and the white piping at the bottom was intact as well. He would be able to move the lettering back in the right order, but how would he deal with the cracks…

Deckard sighed. “Maybe I should have learned the basics of baking before the cafe opened.” They didn’t have any pastries on the menu, but it would have been a good idea to try to build up some skills in case they wanted to down the road. It sure would have been helpful to have those skills on hand now.

“It’s not too late to try,” Tim mumbled. Deckard had to suppress a jolt of surprise, lest he scare him into silence again. “Baking, that is. I think you would be good at it.”

Deckard blinked, feeling warm from Tim’s encouragement. “Maybe I will.” His mind was already racing ahead to the appliances and ingredients he’d need, oh maybe a cookbook too.

“But,” Deckard scratched his cheek, “that doesn’t exactly help me right now.”

Another glance at that unfortunate looking cake. It stood rather sad against the pristine marble counter. Tim scuffed his foot on the floor.

“Maybe we can put something on top of it?” Tim suggested. “To hide everything. Like a decoration?”

Deckard slammed his fist in his hand. “Oh! We also got cake pops in the same order. We could stick a bunch on top of the cake, and blame the cracks on the sticks running through it. Great idea! I’ll be right back.”

He high-fived a bewildered Tim and rushed back out into the dining area, trying not to feel like he was running in circles. The cafe was a little more filled out than last time he was here. Wesley had finished bringing in the rest of the boxes, and was now talking to a newly-arrived Bee near the entrance. Deckard wanted to greet her, but he had a job to do.

Glancing around the room, he saw that pretty much everyone was distracted with conversation except for Merlin, who was unboxing the last of the desserts. That included the cake pops! Deckard sped-walked his way over there, trying not to cause a scene.

Merlin raised an eyebrow at his awkward gait as he approached. “Do you need the bathroom or something? Just a warning, Cris had put up some more of his art in there.”

“Thanks for the heads up, but I need some of these cake pops. It’s an emergency.”

Merlin opened and closed his mouth a few times. “You know what, I’m not going to ask this time. Take as many as you need.” Merlin reached across the table to muss up Deckard’s white hair. Deckard pouted. His poor hair must look like a cloud right now.

Merlin laughed at his expression. “If you don’t like your hair that much you should get a haircut. Cris always says that you’d look good in an undercut.”

Deckard ran his hand through his hair. Maybe he should seriously consider it. “How long until the party starts?”

Merlin hummed and adjusted his glasses. “Everyone is pretty much here, so maybe in ten minutes?”

Deckard sputtered and grabbed as many cake pops as he could, nodding at Merlin’s good luck! and hurrying back to the kitchen.

Deckard and Tim haphazardly carefully stuck the cake pops into the cake. It ended up looking really ugly because of the clashing colors, but the brothers shared a triumphant look over their completed work.

Crispin poked his head through the door and gaped. “That can’t be what that’s supposed to look like.”

“It came just like this,” Tim deadpanned. Deckard gave him a thumbs up.

Crispin lifted up his phone. “I’ve got to take a picture of this.” Deckard bit back a laugh. Crispin and Wesley were really quite alike.

After doing a few creative poses and selfies around the cake, the three of them finally brought it out to the others. Everyone was silent as they placed it on the wooden table. Bee gave a delighted laugh.

“Um,” said Howell. “Wow.”

“Don’t you like it?” Deckard tried to inject as much innocence into his voice. Tim cleared his throat nervously besides him.

“Yeah Howell,” Crispin said, decidedly less innocent and looming from behind Deckard. The effect was lessened by the fact that Crispin was shorter than him. “You got something to say to our dear baby brother, who worked so hard to get this beautiful cake for you?”

Being the youngest had its perks, sometimes. Howell averted his eyes, sweating, though the frown stayed on his face.

Cas was immune to that tactic. She poked a light green pop, which sagged a little down the cake’s side. “Has anyone seen the cake pops that we also conveniently ordered?”

“I ate them all,” Merlin smiled, the ever reliable older brother. Wesley gave him a nod of respect.

Howell rubbed his temple. “Aren’t you in your 30s? Isn’t that too old to be eating that much sugar?”

The smile fell. “You’ll regret those words when you get to be my age.”

Oh no. A mad Merlin was a scary Merlin. Time to distract everyone.

Deckard clapped his hands together. “How about we eat the cake now?”

Bee, who had been lurking somewhere behind the siblings, immediately reached a hand between Howell and Wesley and yoinked all the chocolate cake pops from the bunch. But those are the best ones! someone yelled amongst the resulting chaos and chasing.

Mission accomplished.

As Tim got to cutting the now pop-less cake with the help of Wesley, Deckard turned to Merlin. “Thanks for the save.”

“Anything for my siblings,” Merlin winked. His eyes then turned soft and his smile bittersweet, but he didn’t elaborate and Deckard didn’t think it was his place to ask.

Deckard understood their rather convoluted family history. Merlin, Wesley, and eventually Crispin told him various versions about how that fateful birthday party went down, though Deckard thought that he would never fully grasp the situation. It was kinda weird that it all happened while he was a baby.

He was pretty happy with how everything turned out in the end, though. It might make him a bad person for thinking that, since it caused his older brothers so much grief over the years, but Deckard liked life on the island a lot better than back on the mainland.

When he was younger, his family was like a mausoleum. Everyone’s happiness felt hollow, and their sadness was all encompassing. Maybe he was being dramatic, but it felt like the world was split between Before-Crispin and After-Crispin, and that he was forever separated from his older siblings.

He didn’t realize how stifling it all was until they moved, and the hole in their lives was filled.

It wasn’t just Crispin himself, though Deckard liked his lively brother and his adventurous spirit, but it was also the way Merlin’s face broke out in a smile more often than not, the way Wesley’s shoulders relaxed in a silent and long breath of relief, the way Howell experimented and flaunted, the way Tim’s eyes sparkled, the way Cas laughed.

Deckard wondered if he changed like that, too. If he became lighter to the others like they did to him. He couldn’t really tell, but he was happy anyway.