Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Merlin was fourteen when his youngest siblings were born. To everyone's surprise, they were twins.

To be honest, as he was already the older brother to four other siblings, getting the news that he was going to be a big brother again wasn’t all that exciting anymore. It was actually starting to get a bit annoying. Though, he had learned not to say so around Mother after Father gave him the most frightening glare he’d ever seen in his life.

Merlin just didn’t get it, his parents already had a baby. Tim was barely one, why do they need two more babies to take up all their time? Merlin couldn’t remember the last time his father came to his school events, or when his mother took him out for one-on-one activities. They were always busy with the others or too tired for him specifically. It wasn’t fair.

When Merlin was still in middle school last year, Wesley would show up for some of those events, in his own silent way. It was nice to have his support, and Merlin found comfort in his silence when everything else in his life was becoming too loud. However, this year, Merlin was alone in his new high school and nothing ever seemed to go right, and he thought—no he knew—it was his siblings fault that his parents had started to love him less.

He didn’t want any more siblings! Maybe that was a bit presumptuous of him to demand, but he felt like his thoughts on the family should at least matter a bit to his parents. He was their first child, after all.

Sure, Wesley was nice company to have around, but Howell was only four and boy was he loud, and Tim was even smaller and louder. Adding more loud babies was ridiculous.

Even Crispin had been getting on the wrong side of his ire recently. Merlin was always closest with Wesley, since they were only a year apart, but he and Crispin used to get along pretty well when they were younger too. Before Howell (a time Merlin now misses), Crispin had been his youngest sibling, even if he was only two years younger. He was actually a bit cute; he used to follow Merlin around, excited to share stuff with him and always admiring him.

Merlin didn’t understand why things had to change. It was like Crispin had become a stranger overnight. It seemed that every time they interacted, Crispin would find a way to make fun of him, or play with his feelings. Merlin tried to shake it off, but it was like being a lone rock against a turbulent scathing sea. It was giving him a headache just thinking about it.

Nowadays, instead of actually talking to him like he used to, Crispin would hide all his art from him as if he thought Merlin would make fun of him. It was oddly humiliating to be thought the worst of when he did nothing to deserve that. Crispin had also taken to kicking him out of their shared room for the fun of it, and wouldn’t let him back in even if Merlin had left his homework or clothes in there.

Their only interactions led to merciless teasing, and all Merlin could do was take it because, according to his parents, it was his duty as “the older brother.”

Wesley didn’t see the problem, but Merlin felt it chipping away at him every day. He tried so hard again and again to bond with Crispin, only to be ignored and mocked. It got worse when Howell and then Tim were born. He knew Crispin saw how the little kids would get on his nerves and cause him headaches, and he would do his hardest to encourage them to frustrate Merlin even more.

He tried not to lose his temper, but he felt rage bubble up more and more as the months passed. Every day felt like a step closer to eruption.

It was overwhelming, he couldn’t stop thinking about his anger every time he saw Crispin or Howell or Tim or even Wesley sometimes, but his parents always gave him a disappointed look if he even tried to hint at any of these feelings. Merlin didn’t want them to ignore him even more because he was a bad kid, so he shoved all his feelings deep down and sealed them off with duct tape.

Merlin prided himself on being the smartest in his class, and he knew how to look at things logically. There was only so much love and attention his parents could give, so naturally it was divided smaller and smaller with each new kid. Merlin feared that getting not one but two new kids at once would diminish his share of love down to zero. He would try to preserve as much of his parents' love as he could in the face of it all.

Now, sitting on a plastic chair, sandwiched between Crispin and his elderly grandmother who he only sees at births in the waiting room, he resolved to hate his new siblings for what they were about to steal from him. He hadn’t even seen them yet, and he knew it to be true.

Howell was kicking his right leg repeatedly from where he was sitting on the ground, babbling random thoughts and spitting in his face, and Tim was crying on their grandmother’s lap, and Crispin’s sharp elbow kept digging into Merlin’s side no matter how many times he moved it away. His headache came in at full force now, which left him pinching the bridge of his nose.

Wesley was staring at him from the seat across, maybe trying to catch his eye or maybe for no reason at all, but Merlin ignored him. Crispin always complained about how weird Wesley was, and how hard it was to know what he was thinking, but Merlin disagreed. Wesley understood him without having to explain himself and vice versa, and he was blissfully quiet unlike the rest of his brothers.

But Merlin didn’t want to talk about anything right now. He wanted to hold onto his hatred, stew in it so that when he first lays eyes on the twins he would remember their inherent faults and feel vindicated.

His tired and stone-faced father finally came to the group, telling them that the twins were ready to see them now. Crispin ran towards the room that held their mother—what he was so excited about Merlin didn’t know—and an equally happy Howell bumbled after him. His father took Tim from his grandmother and they followed after, but Wesley waited until Merlin reluctantly got up before joining them.

Merlin slowly shuffled down the hallway, his headache making it hard to care about how childish he looked. He peeked inside the room from the hallway, feeling like an outsider to the lively chatter inside. From this angle, he could only see the back of his grandmother’s gray hair and the slight smile on Wesley’s face, which felt like a betrayal. He could hear a baby's cry soar over the noise.

But it was the cry of only one baby.

Merlin’s brows furrowed, and he unconsciously clenched his fist around the doorknob. They were supposed to be twins, right? Don’t all babies cry when they were born? Howell and Tim certainly did, but he was too young to remember Crispin and Wesley’s births. He gulped and felt his hands clam up.

He took a deep breath. Logic, he told himself. You’re smart. There is a logical reason for this. That's true for everything. It wasn’t working. All he could hear was one crying voice. Where was the other one? He couldn’t bring himself to go in. His feet were glued to the clean hospital floor.

This time he didn’t look away when Wesley made eye contact. Merlin wasn’t sure what was on his face, but Wesley merely rolled his eyes at his distress and gestured for him to come inside.

Merlin’s feet moved without his consent and he slipped into the room unnoticed by most of the family. His eyes zeroed in on his mother. To his surprise, an immense relief washed through him when he saw two small babies in her arms. One was screaming and the other silent, but both had a healthy flush on their tan faces.

He drifted closer to the silent baby, slipping in next to his father. It was sleeping peacefully, a little tuft of white hair sticking out from the blanket it was swaddled in.

“Do you want to hold him?” his mother asked, an exhausted look in her eye.

Merlin nodded numbly and his father helped maneuver the baby into his arms. The baby’s eyes lazily opened, and Merlin noted with fascination the two different eye colors. He’s never seen or heard of that before. Maybe he should ask his science teacher next time he sees her. The weight was familiar in his arms, but he wasn’t sure what to name the roiling tumble of emotion inside of him.

“His name is Deckard,” his father said, arm going around his shoulders. “And your new sister’s name is Castaspella.”

Merlin’s eyes snapped to the other baby as Crispin and Howell gasped in surprise.

“A sister!? Does that mean she gets her own room?” shouted Crispin, who was definitely sick of sharing one with Merlin and Wesley.

“Do I have to share my dolls with her?” whined Howell, who owned a concerning amount of gaudily dressed ones.

“Hm,” grunted Wesley. Merlin could tell he was shocked.

It's not like they didn’t want a sister, but after five boys a sister didn’t seem like a real possibility. Merlin thought about his classmates that had sisters. They mostly complained about them, whether they be older or younger, but Merlin thought it would be a nice change of pace considering he would be stuck with so many little siblings anyway.

Merlin shook his head, trying to remind himself of his earlier resentment and everything his brothers had done to wrong him. He listened to Howell’s screechy voice which always caused his increasingly frequent headaches, and he imagined Crispin’s smug, mocking face that haunted him every day. He gave his all into pretending that the weight of Deckard in his arms was really an extra burden he would have to carry for the rest of his life. It was pretty much the truth, afterall.

He breathed deeply, trying to grasp that slippery hatred even if a part of him rebelled against himself. Wesley was trying to catch his eye again. The sounds of joy echoed around him. His father took Deckard from his arms to hand him to their grandmother.

It was all too much. He closed his eyes. His head pounded. He didn’t want to think anymore.

He was allowed to hate them. He needed someone to blame, even if it made him a horrible person. It was too much.

…

Wesley didn’t find much interest in anything. Not like Merlin, who loved school too much for a normal teenager and kept a steadily growing plant collection, or Crispin, who drew every second of his free time whether it be on his homework or on the walls, or even Howell, who loved to style his dolls with a passion that resembled fashion experts (admittedly only in attitude rather than talent).

Wesley just existed, sometimes around them and sometimes not.

He was kind of like Tim in that way, except Tim was only one and would probably grow up and leave him behind in this limbo of not having any hobby at all. It was only a matter of time before Tim found his true passion in running or something. Mother said he should start walking soon, so it wasn’t completely out of the question.

It wasn’t like he hated it. Just existing. It was nice to be around the others. They were so full of life that it made up for him being nothing. Wesley liked them, even if they were too loud sometimes. He didn’t understand the weird moods Merlin increasingly fell into. To Wesley, their family was perfect, flaws and all. As long as one of them was around, he felt warm and safe.

Unfortunately, being the world’s most boring thirteen year old meant that he was alone in school. It was manageable when Merlin was there, because he let him spend their lunch breaks together, and in return Wesley would stick around to walk home with Merlin after one of his many after-school clubs. Merlin wasn’t exactly talkative, but he had a lively energy around him in everything he did. He always wanted to be better, to grow. Wesley admired that.

But Merlin was in highschool now, and even though Crispin still went to the same middle school as him, it wasn’t the same.

Where Merlin was like a calm and rejuvenating spring, Crispin was an overwhelmingly bright star. It was hard to keep up with him, and it was worse when they were in school rather than at home.

Crispin was always surrounded by his classmates, laughing about games and shows that Wesley couldn’t even begin to understand. They thought it was weird for an eighth grader to hang out with a group of seventh graders, and when they were with him, Crispin tended to ignore Wesley more often than not.

Wesley stopped seeking Crispin out not too long into the new school year. Wesley wondered if Merlin felt this lonely in his new school, too.

Wesley looked forward to going home everyday, though it had gotten a bit chaotic with the new babies. Howell spent most of his time watching the twins, fascinated by them, though Wesley suspected he would grow bored soon and go back to tearing up the toy room again. Wesley decided to leave him to it.

Wesley missed Crispin, but he didn’t want to bother him or hold him back. Crispin always went straight to their room after school, and he didn’t like people looking at him when he drew, so it was probably best to give him space.

It was fine, Merlin was more than enough company when they were home. Wesley would even call Merlin his best friend, but his classmates teased him when he said that during an ice-breaker at the beginning of the semester, so maybe he shouldn’t. It was kinda corny to have your brother be your best friend.

For now, Wesley hung out with Tim while waiting for Merlin to come home, watching him crawl and attempt to stand. Wesley appreciated the company, and he hoped Tim appreciated it back. It was hard to tell. He was still a toddler.

On this particular day, Tim really wanted to go into the nursery. He kept pulling at Wesley’s shirt as they sat on the lumpy couch in the living room. It was dangerous to ignore a needy Tim, because eventually he would start to pull on your hair, and Wesley’s hair was already a mess without a toddler’s hands all over it.

“CAS,” Tim shouted, unfortunately right into his ear, pointing at the nursery room. “CAS, CAS, CAS!”

Tim didn’t know a lot of words yet, but “Cas” seemed to be his favorite one. “Castaspella” was too hard for him, but his new nickname for her quickly became a family favorite and now only their father still stuck to the full name, a little upset that everyone else had abandoned it.

Tim hadn’t even come close to pronouncing Deckard’s name yet, and had taken him to calling him “Cas” as well. Their mother was exasperated, but Crispin found it hilarious. Wesley thought it was cute.

Wesley picked up Tim and held him close before walking over to the nursery. He saw that Howell had somehow climbed up the side of the crib and was now poking a squirming Deckard on the cheek.

“Howell,” Wesley called, as stern as he could muster, but Howell didn't listen to authority as their parents learned the hard way, so he continued to bother poor Deckard. Wesley knew he should scold him, but honestly he admired the nerve and resolved to keep an eye on them and let them be.

Tim was waving his arms towards Cas’ crib nearby. Wesley was getting a bit tired of carrying him, so he placed him next to Cas, who was shoving the arm of a stuffed bear into her mouth. It was kind of gross, but in a cute way, if that made sense. Tim started petting her hair and made cooing noises, and Cas gazed at him with large, bright eyes.

Cool.

A bunch of little kids didn’t exactly substitute for Merlin or even Crispin’s company, but Wesley felt the same kind of peace ground him in reality when he usually was untethered and lost. He never lost sight of his fondness for them even at their worst moments.

He had a feeling Merlin got lost in his emotions when trying to do the same, but he didn’t know how to help. It wasn’t like he didn’t understand where Merlin was coming from, but he didn’t want to make Merlin more upset while trying to help him, so he stayed quiet. He hoped the problem would resolve on its own and everything would become normal and peaceful again. Just thinking about it made him pick at his skin.

Deckard suddenly let out a large cry. Wesley whipped his head around to see Howell pulling at Deckard’s face a bit too aggressively. Hm. Maybe he should stop Howell before he poked Deckard in the eye.

Before he could say anything, Merlin walked in, fresh from school and annoyed. He paused at the scene. “Howell, stop that.”

The four-year-old gave an impressively nasty side eye and stuck his tongue out. Merlin sighed and physically picked Howell up, narrowly missing a flying fist that nearly broke his brand new glasses. That didn’t gel well with Merlin’s short temper and soon the two of them were wrestling on the ground and shouting, much to the kids’ delights and Wesley’s exasperation.

“Are we fighting now?” Crispin’s smiling head appeared at the door, inherently attracted to chaos. He immediately started inching towards Deckard’s crib, where Merlin was somehow getting beat by a kid ten years younger than him.

“Go away Crispin,” grunted Merlin, an angry furrow to his brow and his glasses askew. “You’ll only make this worse.”

Crispin pouted. “But you guys look like you’re having so much fun! Maybe Howell will grow up to be a wrestler.”

“DIE!” screamed Howell, before biting down on Merlin’s arm. Wesley winced at Merlin’s yelp, though Crispin started to laugh hysterically.

Normally, this would all be good fun. Wesley could imagine it now: Merlin huffing, setting Howell down, and lightly scolding the both of them before sighing and laughing himself. But Wesley instinctively knew something was different this time by the way Merlin’s scowl twisted his face. Tim could sense it, too, and hunched over Cas as if trying to shield her.

Merlin grunted and shoved Howell to the ground hard enough to make a loud thunk echo across the room. Howell gasped and sat there with his mouth wide open. He was too shocked to even cry, staring unblinkingly up at Merlin, who had gone red. Wesley cringed back, preparing for the worst.

Crispin’s snickering tapered off, and the smile on his face froze in confusion.

“Stop it!” screeched Merlin, glaring at the ground. “Why don’t you ever listen to me? Why do you always make things harder? Everything would be easier if you just stopped!”

“Howell was just playing,” said Crispin, his face blank.

“I’m not talking about Howell, I’m talking about you! It's always you!”

“What are you talking about? I didn’t even do anything.” Crispin’s voice pitched higher.

“Shut up!” Merlin started pulling at his dark hair, and Wesley could see tears pool around his eyes and his glasses fog up. Distantly, Wesley remembered Merlin’s recent problem with headaches.

Wesley wanted to help but he didn’t know what to do. Merlin had a hard time saying how he felt, and Crispin never tried to understand him, and all Wesley could do was watch them hurt each other from the outside like he was a stranger.

“What’s wrong with you,” Crispin scoffed and crossed his arms. His eyes were dark. Wesley couldn’t decipher what that meant.

Merlin stormed out of the room without a glance to anyone, making sure to shove Crispin out of the doorway. The door slammed behind him. The silence left behind was uncomfortable.

“That was weird, right?” Crispin said, but Wesley couldn’t bring himself to look at him. Instead, he looked at Howell who was still sitting and staring at the closed door, at Deckard whose eyes were wide and confused, at Tim to his right whose mouth was wobbling uncontrollably, and at little Cas who somehow slept through it all. Wesley felt like he was overheating and he wanted to sink through the floor.

From the corner of his eye he saw Crispin’s worn sneakers shift around, and then heard his light footsteps as he shuffled out of the room.

Wesley let out a breath of relief, ashamed of himself for it. If he was a good brother he would have said something. If he was a good brother he would say something now to Tim and Howell, something to comfort them and tell them that they didn’t do anything wrong. But all he did was wrap his arms around himself and sit in silence.

…

Crispin’s twelfth birthday was going to be on Saturday, and he was beyond excited. Or, he was until his friends said they wouldn’t be coming.

“Sorry man,” Ethan said, unchaining his bike as they prepared to leave at the end of the school day. James and Sam were next to him, having just finished complaining about their math teacher for the fifth time that day. Ethan’s eyes were bright but distracted. “I’ll probably be busy. You know, with chores and stuff.”

Sam nodded in agreement, hiking up his backpack covered with pins. “You’ve got a bunch of siblings, don’t you? You don’t really need us to have a party. You’re getting too old for birthday parties, anyway.”

Crispin opened his mouth, but under Sam’s suspicious stare closed it again. Just last month Sam had a large birthday party that half the class was invited to that Ethan had no problem attending, but Sam didn’t like it when people tried to argue with him. He was usually right anyway.

“I guess,” admitted Crispin. “But I don’t really get along with my older brothers”—more like they don’t really like me—”and everyone is focused on the new babies anyway, so it wouldn’t be as fun without you.”

Sam rolled his eyes and Crispin felt his face heat up against his will. James snickered on Crispin’s right. “Don’t be so girly, Cris. You’re just turning twelve, we all did it already.”

“Well, why won’t you come?” Crispin shot back, and immediately regretted it.

James stared back, his brown eyes wide, then started laughing in disbelief. “This will be like the first nice weekend of the semester. Why would I waste it?”

Crispin felt heat pool around his eyes but forced it back, coughing out a laugh. “I get that man, don’t worry about it,” but James was already making his way to the bus.

Sam also left, after giving a pointed look at Crispin’s flushed face. Ethan got on his bike but paused, looking back. “It isn’t a big deal, we’re just busy, is all. It’s just a birthday.” A beat of awkward silence passed before Ethan biked away.

Crispin looked around at the now vacant lawn in front of the school and tried to push down the swell of sadness welling up. He didn’t really know what he was feeling, but he refused to let it show on his face, even though his friends had already left and won’t make fun of him anymore.

The walk home was slightly chilly, and he was focused on his feet, trying not to slip on the leftover hardened snow on the ground. He wished he could draw as he walked to distract himself. He didn’t like being alone, contrary to what Merlin would snidely remark when Crispin holed himself up in their room.

When he was drawing it was different. His art was his friend, so he was never lonely even when he sat in silence. But now, the quiet just makes him uncomfortable.

Despite it all, he still took the long way home instead of a shortcut. He kept misplacing his bus pass deep into his bag anyway, and it wasn’t like his brothers would want to talk to him after that…incident in the nursery. At least no one told Mom and Dad about what happened, so their parents remained blissfully unaware of the frozen air between them all. He needed every minute outside to breathe before going back into that tundra.

The musing about his family was sidetracked when he saw a glimpse of color among dullness in the corner of his eye. He blinked his eyes, a little dazed, and realized that he was next to the town’s large park. He more often spent his time at the indoor mall instead of this part of town, but he had been here a few times when one of James’ multitude of favorite bands performed in the park’s venue.

But even then, with the bands performing in their leather jackets and searing lights and blazing guitars, Crispin thought that they didn’t hold a candle to the color and beauty he was seeing in front of him. Now he really wished he had his sketchbook to draw.

Performers of every size and dressed in every color glided on top of the dead cold grass, overwhelming the winter chill with their vibrancy. Some had what seemed to be fuzzy bathrobes on, others refined suits with patterned ties, and one was wearing what Crispin assumed must be the only neon pink jumpsuit on this side of the ocean. They were setting up tents all over the park with the help of town officials he recognized from the many school assemblies they presented in.

Several were unloading boxes upon boxes of materials from nearby parked vans. None of the cardboard boxes had labels on them, but they all seemed to know where each one belonged. Crispin saw one bursting with headdresses, and another with masks, but they were too far away to see details from this side of the fence. He wanted to run closer and take one in his hands, to feel its weight and see its craft and believe in it.

A car door slammed on the street next to him, which made Crispin jump and almost slip on the ice below him. He turned to see an older woman and a middle-aged man step out of a small yellow taxi. They looked startlingly normal compared to the people in the park, but the confident and mysterious way they carried themselves made it clear to Crispin that they belonged to that sea of color.

The man, who had crooked glasses and a thick mustache, went to unload the taxi with the driver, but the woman’s eyes zeroed in on Crispin, like his oversized red hoodie was a target to shoot. Wrinkles were set around her eyes and her body was heavy in age, but her eyes were sharp and small and Crispin was starting to get nervous just looking at her.

“Hey John,” she called out to the man, her eyes not leaving Crispin. “Did we pick up a new kid between Seattle and here?”

The man just grunted and didn’t even bother to look up.

“Er,” started Crispin. “I was just looking.” He hoped he wasn’t doing something illegal. Mom and Dad’s disappointed glares were nerve wracking.

The woman raised an eyebrow and grinned. “Want to take a closer look?”

Crispin nodded his head before he even had time to think.

The rest of the afternoon went by in a joyful blur. The woman, who he soon learned was named Lisa, was pleased in showing off what was apparently the traveling circus. John trailed behind dutifully, occasionally clarifying Lisa’s wild ramblings with his own quiet voice.

The more Crispin saw, the more his hands itched for a pencil and paper. Lisa’s sharp eyes noticed his distraction and gave a sharp smile. “You have something to say, kid?”

“Oh, I wanted to draw some of this stuff, but I forgot my sketchbook at home,” Cirspin confessed. He stared at his feet, annoyed by his shyness around them but unable to summon his usual confidence.

Lisa guffawed, reaching her arm around and slapping John rather violently on the back. “Did you hear that? He’s a little artist, like you.”

Crispin glanced up in surprise. “The circus needs artists?”

John’s eyes sparkled, looking interested for the first time since Crispin met him. “Everyone who performs here is an artist, but what she’s saying is that I’m the creatin’ type.”

“What does that mean?”

Lisa groaned. “Lord, don’t get him started again.” Everyone ignored her.

“Well, I support all the other performers here by makin’ the props and paintin’ the backgrounds. You seen these, yeah?” John pointed to the elaborate masks Crispin had spotted earlier. They were even more intricate up close. “I made most of them. Musta saved this place a fortune with all my hard work.”

Crispin couldn’t contain his excitement and shouted, “Can I hold one?”

John puffed up like a bird, back straight in pride, and carefully handed Crispin one of the masks from the box. Lisa mimed retching behind his back, but she had a fond look in her eye.

“Well, you two have fun now, I’m going to help with the prep,” she said, leaving the two.

All Crispin knew of art were the pencils, pens, and markers that were readily available throughout the house. Even his sketchbook was really just a lined school notebook he repurposed for his drawings. For some reason, it never occurred to him that art could take on so many different and beautiful forms.

As John continued to show him his masks, and mentioned all the other stuff he did for the circus, Cirspin felt like the whole world became clearer and brighter. He didn’t know art could be both delicate and bold, to be admired and used and lived in all at the same time.

John became more and more animated as he brought them around to different tents, which were now in various states of construction as the afternoon waned into twilight. Crispin didn’t want to stop him, but his parents usually do a head count at dinner and he would get in trouble if he wasn’t home soon.

Thankfully, John noticed his distraction and settled back down into his quiet demeanor, though now he had a soft smile. “I’ve been keepin’ you here long enough, son. Best you run along home.”

“Can I come back tomorrow?”

“Yeah, we’ll be here a while so come back as much as you want.” John let out a rare chuckle, “Be sure to bring your sketchbook next time, too.”

Crispin couldn’t stop the smile from splitting his face as he started his mad rush home.

Chapter Text

It was stupid, how the biggest mistake of Merlin’s life happened and he wasn’t even aware of it. It would be a mistake he would regret for years afterwards, and probably for the rest of his life.

It would not be the first, nor the last, but it would be the biggest single instance of Merlin’s failure as the eldest brother. He would only learn that later, and it would absolutely gut him.

It started on a seemingly average Saturday. Merlin was merely annoyed when he walked into the bedroom and found Crispin still sleeping even though it was pushing noon.

Merlin wrenched the sheet off of Crispin with little sympathy. “Get up,” he hissed, “You’re supposed to be helping with the chores today.” He would rather not be talking to Crispin at all, but he’d be damned if he had to clean the ungodly amount of dishes by himself.

Surprisingly, Crispin perked up rather quickly instead of snapping and grumbling like he usually did. That immediately put Merlin on edge.

“Can we go visit the circus that's in town today? It’s their last day here,” Crispin asked, oddly shy.

“No,” snapped Merlin on instinct. A small stab of guilt hit him, but he was in too much of a bad mood to give it much thought. It wasn’t like Crispin ever apologized to him, so why should he?

“Oh,” Cirpsin’s face fell, but only for a moment. “So we have something else planned for the day?”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Yes. The chores.”

Crispin scoffed. “Do I seriously have to do them today?”

Merlin frowned, his annoyance warring with his growing bemusement. Crispin would usually either be moody or have already capitulated by now. Maybe he was getting sick?

…or maybe he was trying to make him angry again like last time, Merlin thought as he watched Crispin sink back down under the covers.

“Whatever, stay in here all day and see if I care,” Merlin grumbled, and with that, he left the room without a second glance. He did the dishes as quickly as he could, then angrily biked his way to the library to cool off, hoping another headache wouldn’t surface again.

Merlin thought Crispin would stay in his room and draw like the sulky pre-teen he was for the rest of the day, but according to a text from Wesley that came in while Merlin was browsing the botany section, he had been following Mother and Father around the house almost all day. He didn’t even go out to spend the day like he usually did…somewhere?

Huh, Merlin didn’t actually know where Crispin had been spending most of his free time this past week when he wasn’t at school. He knew it wasn’t with his school friends, since Wesley mentioned yesterday that they hadn’t been hanging around as much as usual recently.

Wesley did that often. That is, watching over Crispin. He did that with everyone, granted, but ever since the Merlin’s embarrassing blow up in the nursery, he had been keeping a special eye on Crispin.

Merlin wished he kept a lid on his own emotions, but everyone now saw what he always attempted to keep hidden. He tried not to think about it.

Wesley had also taken up reporting stuff about Crispin back to Merlin. Merlin suspected that Wesley was trying to bridge the gap between the three eldest brothers, but Merlin thought that effort was hopeless. You can’t fix something that doesn’t want to be fixed, and it's not like Crispin ever reached out to them in anything but meanness.

The sooner Wesley realized that the better, and Merlin was too exhausted with the whole situation to do him the kindness of explaining that.

The rest of the day flew by in the library as he read whatever he could get his hands on. While he loved science, especially biology, it wasn’t the only subject he was interested in. Reading about subjects like gardening and history and sculpture satisfied his curiosity, so Merlin tried to go to the library as often as he could

Even if Crispin made fun of him for being a nerd with no friends which was more true than he wanted to admit.

Merlin biked home just in time to catch dinner with the family. He missed lunch, and his stomach grumbled uncomfortably in rebellion. His parents looked more tired than usual, probably from Crispin following them around and bothering them all day.

As for Crispin, he seemed pretty wound up, with his eyes darting to everyone's faces in a mixture of confusion and something Merlin couldn’t identify. He remained quiet throughout the meal.

Wesley had a furrow between his brows, but everyone else was their usual selves, from Cas’ wailing to Howell’s babbling.

Merlin went to bed annoyed, completely unaware of what was to come.

When he woke up the next morning, Crispin’s bed was empty. A little odd, but not an impossible occurrence. Merlin went back to the library again and picked up where he left off in the pottery section, feeling a bit better than yesterday. He came home for dinner, this time comfortably early, and saw a face missing from the dinner table.

Hm. That was definitely strange. Crispin loved food too much to miss a meal, even if he was in a foul mood.

Merlin looked to his parents, but they didn’t pay much mind. Mother was staring off into space as she ate, while Father was already finishing up his plate in order to head back into his study. Merlin for once willingly made eye contact with Wesley, who raised a brow in confusion.

Crispin wasn’t in bed when they went into their room for the night, and Merlin was suddenly struck with the realization that he couldn’t recall if he saw Crispin at all after dinner yesterday.

Something unpleasant coiled in his gut. He didn’t know what to do.

It didn’t take Merlin and Wesley long to realize that Crispin had run away, and they learned very soon after that their parents knew he had done so the night he did.

Apparently, while the children had gone to bed none the wiser, their parents had gotten a call from a man named John, who told them that Crispin was with him at the traveling circus. They had already hit the road by the time they realized he had snuck into one of their carts.

Merlin was having a hard time wrapping his head around the whole situation. How was it possible that one day Crispin was here and the next he was crossing state lines with people Merlin had never met before?

Father told Merlin that he tried to convince Crispin to come home the best he could, and Mother nodded in agreement beside him. Merlin believed them, even though Wesley gave them all a hard look.

But what was done was done. This John guy reassured their parents that they would look out for Crispin and make sure he was safe, and for some reason their parents just took his word for it.

Merlin couldn’t understand how this was even allowed. What about school? What about Crispin’s friends? Did Crispin hate him so much that he would rather leave than see his face again?

“I don’t understand,” muttered Wesley. “Why did he leave?”

“We forgot his birthday,” Father answered, then left to continue his work back in his office.

Oh. That explained the way Crispin was acting that day. Wesley looked crushed, staring after Father with an uncomfortably vulnerable expression, but all Merlin could feel was building anger. That was why Crispin left?! For such a stupid, childish reason?

Sure, they had never forgotten a birthday before, but it was bound to happen at some point, as their family kept growing and growing, right? Crispin overreacted, Merlin decided, and stamped out the wisps of guilt trying to settle on his heart. He would probably realize how silly he was and run back home in less than a week.

But that didn’t happen.

It quickly became clear that Crispin didn’t want to come home anytime soon. Merlin knew that his parents called John every so often to check in, but Crispin himself never came to the phone. The family had to learn how to adjust with one less family member.

It was an odd sight, to see the family shrink instead of grow.

Wesley withdrew from everyone, becoming even quieter than before. He took it much harder than Merlin did, and seemed to blame himself for Crispin’s selfish tantrum. He had stopped talking to Merlin at all these days, and Merlin didn’t know what to do about it.

He hadn’t realized how much he relied on Wesley’s silent support until it was gone.

However, even if Merlin couldn’t help Wesley, at least his reaction was predictable. Of course Wesley would be torn up about it, he cared a lot about all of them even if he usually kept to himself.

No, what really was giving Merlin trouble were the younger kids.

Howell somehow got more rambunctious and bratty than before. Unlike the other kids who were too young to fully comprehend it, Howell knew that Crispin had left them and wasn’t going to come back.

After the first few days of asking again and again about where he was, he started kicking over things and attacking any passerby’s legs in a whirlwind of energy. The chaos was making Merlin’s frequent headaches even more of a pain to deal with, but he tried to have more patience with him than usual.

Howell and Crispin weren’t particularly close, what with the eight year age gap between them, but they were always on the same wavelength energy-wise. Howell probably saw Crispin as the fun brother, while Wesley was standoffish and Merlin could admittedly be a bit mean.

Merlin wasn’t dumb. He knew he wasn’t the nicest person to be around sometimes.

He didn’t want to be this way, but everytime he tried to control his anger and annoyance he only became exhausted and everything became so much worse. His headaches had been making his temper even shorter these past few months, but his parents always brushed it aside, saying that he just needed to control his mood swings better.

He felt tired all the time, except for when he was angry. He wished he could be somebody else, someone who could have friends and be nice without feeling like he was faking it. Maybe that person wouldn’t have forgotten Crispin’s birthday in the first place and they could have avoided this whole mess.

Tim, Deckard, and Cas proved to be a different situation. Their parents elected not to tell them anything, saying that they were “too young” and that they probably wouldn’t care anyway, but even without Wesley’s insights, Merlin knew that all three of them realized something important was missing.

Tim spent most of his days as usual, playing with his toys and crawling around the house. He was starting to string more words together, and he was making motions to learn how to walk.

But sometimes, Tim would sit still and stare off into the distance. He would call out, saying “Cris,” sounding more sullen than Merlin had ever heard him before. Afterwards, he would return to normal, seemingly forgetting his own odd behavior and Crispin entirely.

As for the twins, Cas cried more, if that was even possible, while Deckard became quieter. His two different eye colors would observe the room around him, as if looking for something, but never reacted when he couldn’t find it.

So, as much as their parents insisted that the younger kids were fine, Merlin knew otherwise.

Time seemed to stall and speed up at the same time. Days and weeks started to pass, then the first month, then the second, but everyday Merlin would be reminded of Crispin by the empty bed in the room they shared, by the clothes and trash he left behind, by the empty seat at the dinner table and the bigger portion of leftovers after every meal.

Merlin felt like he was the only one who thought about Crispin constantly anymore. Howell stopped throwing tantrums about Crispin and started throwing them over his dolls again, Tim settled back into his usual self, if a bit quieter, and Crispin might as well not have existed for all that Cas and Deckard knew. Wesley kept his silence.

Merlin had never felt more trapped in his own mind. He couldn’t stop thinking about Crispin, but he deserved to be forgotten! He left them behind without even a word, and even now he still refused to talk to any of them.

Merlin didn’t know whether he wanted to drag Crispin home by the ear or to erase him from his mind forever. Merlin didn’t know which would make him happier, or if he was doomed to be miserable no matter what.

The anger bleeding from Merlin was noticeable even in school, and he had been pulled aside twice by teachers to cool off when he snapped at his classmates a bit too much.

Howell, who already had been meeker than usual around him because of the nursery incident, started to outright avoid him entirely. Merlin also spent little time with the twins, as the nursery reminded him too much of Crispin.

He could feel Wesley’s judging stare on him sometimes. It wasn’t that Wesley blocked him out entirely, he still responded when Merlin called out to him, but Merlin could tell he was colder than he used to be.

Five months after Crispin left, with Merlin freshly fifteen and no calmer, Wesley picked up a new hobby: fishing.

Probably the first hobby that he was actually into, if Merlin thought about it a bit more, and still one more than Merlin currently had. Merlin had stopped going to the library and got rid of his plants months ago, only shuffling his way between school, academic clubs, and home.

Merlin probably should have been proud of his brother for expanding his interests, but all he felt was burning jealousy. Father wholeheartedly supported Wesley’s exploration in fishing, and often joined him and even rented out a boat for him to use. It was more attention than Father had shown anything Merlin or the others did, which made something twist painfully inside of him.

What made Merlin livid, however, was that Wesley rejected Father’s love and attention. Merlin wasn’t there when the supposed fight went down, but he definitely saw the new resentful looks at the dinner table, which now resembled a battleground more than a family gathering, and it wasn’t hard to connect the dots when Father refused to accompany Wesley anymore.

It was surprisingly hard, but Merlin eventually was able to corner Wesley just outside the front door before he left for his now daily trip to the lake. Wesley tensed when he saw Merlin approached, but Merlin ignored that and forged on.

“Why did you do that?” Merlin said, looking Wesley straight in the eyes. He didn’t mean for it to come out like that, but he had been turning the question over and over again in his head and nothing else seemed right.

“What do you mean?” Wesley asked. His eyes bounced around nervously, so Merlin knew he was playing dumb.

“Father. Why did you get rid of him? Don’t you understand how lucky you are?”

Wesley bit his lip, but then squared his shoulders. “We didn’t agree on what to do with the fish after we caught them.”

“What? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“He wanted to kill the fish we caught. I wanted to keep them alive. That’s all.”

Merlin felt a frown set deep into his face. For once in his life, he couldn’t read Wesley’s expression. It might have been concern, or disdain, or apathy.

“Why are you so mad about it?” asked Wesley.

“I’m not mad.” The words felt like ash on his tongue and stood alone in the air between them. Wesley could obviously see right through him, and they stood in a standstill.

After a beat, Wesley tentatively said, “This isn’t about the fish, is it?”

Merlin opened his mouth, but then closed it without saying anything.

“It’s ok to be mad, y’know,” Wesley continues, “It’s been tough, with Crispin gone.”

This was the first time they talked about Crispin since they found out he left. “Fine. I am mad.”

“At who?” Wesley prompted.

It all came tumbling out without Merlin meaning to. “I’m mad at you. And Crispin. And Howell and even Tim. I’m so fucking—” Merlin breathed in harshly through his nose, his eyes tearing up as it did every time he couldn’t control himself, “—livid at everyone. At me, too! And Mother and Father—” and he froze.

He vaguely saw Wesley raising his eyebrows in front of him, but all he could focus on were his words. Mother and Father, Father and Mother. He never realized how much of his rage was directed towards them until he said it out loud. But the whole thing wasn’t their fault, it was Crispin’s.

“I didn’t mean that,” Merlin hurried to correct himself. “I swear I didn’t. They did their best, what Crispin did wasn’t their fault.”

Confusion and concern bloomed more obviously across Wesley’s face, and he put a slightly trembling hand on Merlin’s shoulder. They had consistently been the same height for years, which was always a bit taller than Crispin. They used to tease him about it.

“It’s ok to be mad at them too,” Wesley said, hesitating over his next words, which struck Merlin as odd. Wesley chose his words carefully, but he never hesitated. “They make mistakes, and sometimes it sucks.”

“I just don’t get it,” choked out Merlin, his tears finally tears betraying him. “Crispin gets all this attention and he still won’t come home. He got everything. Does he hate me that much?”

Wesley tensed up, then firmly squeezed his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For not realizing this is how you feel. I guess I…misunderstood.”

Merlin suddenly felt out of place. He wasn’t sure why Wesley looked relaxed. Shouldn’t he be mad? What did he mean by “misunderstood”?

“Nevermind,” Wesley dismissed when he saw the confusion on his face. “Look. I do actually have to go now, and I can’t bring you with me.” Wesley’s eyebrows furrowed in genuine regret. It was the first real interaction they’ve had in months.

“Hey, can you do me a favor?” Wesley asked, his eyes brightening with the tell-tale sign of an idea. The change of topics caught Merlin off guard.

Wesley continues, “Howell wanted to go to the park today, something about visiting his friends, but I’m too busy to go. Can you take him out instead? Just until I come back.”

“Um. Sure?” Merlin was too confused to protest.

“Great.” Wesley gave a rare smile, then darted back into the house to get Howell. Merlin sat down on the front steps in a daze. He felt a bit lighter after talking with Wesley, but he still felt overwhelmed. When did Wesley get so mature? Merlin certainly wasn’t when he was thirteen. He wasn’t even that mature at fifteen.

“—here,” said Wesley. Merlin twisted around and saw him emerging from the door with Howell holding his hand. “Be good, alright?” That was directed at both of them.

“Ok!” Howell smiled up at Wesley, but then gave Merlin an apprehensive look.

“See you,” said Wesley casually, but his eyes found Merlin when he said, “I’ll talk to you later,” then he was off in a rush. Merlin winced. He must have been running very late.

Howell sniffed his snot filled nose next to him and kicked a pebble. Oh yeah. Maybe this was a bad idea, but it was too late to back out now. Wesley asked this of him, and Merlin knew that this is the one time not to ignore that.

“Come on,” Merlin stood up with a grunt. “Let’s go to the park.”

The walk there was filled with silence. It was probably the most awkward 30 minutes of his life, but still slightly better than if they waited for the bus. It was a pleasantly breezy day, and as they got closer to the park, now long devoid of the circus and free to children once more, Howell got a skip in his step and a smile widening back over his face.

Howell grabbed Merlin’s hand in excitement once they saw the gate, seemingly forgetting that he was upset with Merlin in the first place, and led him into the hilly section of the park next to a gathering of trees. There was no one else around.

“Aren’t we going to see your friends?” Merlin asked, trying to adjust the glasses on his face.

“Yup, right here!”

Merlin saw nothing. Howell grumbled and tugged on his hand rather harshly, pointing to the base of a large tree. It was only then did Merlin notice the multiple cat heads with varying eye colors peeking out from behind the tree. Oh.

“Don’ be shy,” stated Howell. “‘Is just my stupid big brother.”

Howell started crawling on the ground towards them, trying to coax the cats to come out. Surprisingly, some came out to be pet by him, though most seemed to be too afraid of Merlin to move. Merlin sighed and sat down, and Howell sent a smug and approving look back at him. Merlin bit down a chuckle at the sight.

Most of the cats had warmed up to Merlin by the afternoon, with one even crawling into his lap and purring. A small part of his brain was screaming about wild cats and fungus, but for the most part this had been the most relaxed Merlin felt since…long before Crispin even left, if he was being honest.

Howell babbled about the cats, happy that someone was listening to him. “This one is Mindy. Her ear is gone but she still looks nice. This is her sister Sarah. See, you can tell they’re sisters ‘cause they have the same eyes.”

Merlin looked down at the green eyes of Mindy and the blue eyes of Sarah, but kept his comments to himself, hiding a snort behind his hand.

Howell fell quiet and turned to look at him with an intense gaze, which made Merlin’s smile fall straight from his face. An image of Howell’s distressed face on the floor of the nursery came to the forefront of his mind, and he hated his past self for it.

“I forgive you,” Howell interrupted Merlin’s spiraling thoughts. There was a finality to his words that Merlin couldn’t bring himself to argue against. Merlin suddenly felt bad, as apologizing hadn’t even crossed his mind.

Merlin belatedly attempted, “I’m sor—”

“Nu-uh. No sorries.” Howell shook his head, his hair wildly flying to and fro.

Well.

“So,” Merlin started eloquently. “You visit these cats often?”

“Only when Wes takes me. Mommy doesn’t like to take me to the park ‘cause I get dirty an’ she said that’s annoying an’ also she don’t like cats.” Howell pouted, then went back to valiantly attempting to pet several different cats at once.

That….did sound like Mother. “What about Father?” Merlin asked, though he already knew the answer in the back of his head.

Howell just shrugged, and for the first time, Merlin didn’t blame Crispin for running away.

And time kept running forward.

Merlin finally grew calmer as the weeks, then months, then years ticked by. He still couldn’t say he liked spending that much time with little kids, but he took the time out of his day to check up on them and sometimes play with them, to Wesley’s approval.

Merlin was surprised at how quickly Howell became attached to him, considering everything. Once, when he was six, Howell loudly proclaimed that Merlin was his favorite older brother at the breakfast table with no prompting, much to their parents' annoyance. Merlin was flattered, but the familiar pang of Crispin’s absence lingered.

Crispin would have been Howell’s favorite if he had stayed, Merlin was sure of it.

It was Merlin who Howell dragged to the park to see the cats, to the mall to buy hair accessories and clothes, and to the new cat cafe that Howell was absolutely entranced with that opened when he was seven. Sometimes, Howell was still too much for Merlin and would cause him those damn headaches, and Merlin would snap at him unfairly, but they learn to be mindful and forgive together.

Tim drifted more towards Wesley as he grew up. Merlin thought it was because they were both so quiet. Merlin couldn’t say he was close to Tim, even after all this time, but he made sure to always give a listening ear when Tim wanted to show him something, or when he wanted to play with him.

Cas and Deckard grew up fast before Merlin’s eyes. It felt like they learned to walk and talk in no time, but despite knowing them literally their whole lives, Merlin couldn’t find a way to connect with them.

They tended to spend time only with each other, their connection as twins deeper than Merlin could understand. Deckard was shyer and followed Cas around like a lost duckling, but even Cas kept to herself. It must be tough being the youngest, Merlin thought.

His parents have been putting more and more pressure on him to become a doctor. It wasn’t that Merlin hated the idea, but the situation made things startlingly clear. His life was never about him when it came to Mother and Father. He didn’t know what to do with his future with every coming birthday, and they decided to plan it all out for him.

They were finally paying more attention to him, but Merlin now realized that that was never a good thing.

The night before Merlin’s eighteenth birthday, Wesley, sixteen and in possession of an excessive amount of fish that cycles between their still-shared-room and the lake, pulled him aside for what he called a “secret gift.”

“The phone in the office rang while Mother and Father were both away,” Wesley said, his eyes uncharacteristically wide and sparkling, “and Father forgot to lock the door this time.”

He held out a piece of scrap paper with a phone number on it clenched between his fingers. “It was John. They gave Crispin his own phone on his birthday. I thought you should be the first to…” He trailed off, hopeful.

Merlin’s shaking hands grabbed the paper, and only an hour later those same hands were twisted around the hems of his jacket and fussing over his new glasses as he listened to the ringtone of the house phone. Wesley got everyone to vacate the kitchen, though he only had a limited amount of time before Father came home.

Finally, a click. “Hello?”

Merlin gasped. Even after four years and through the distortion of the phone, his voice still felt like home.

“It's nice to hear you again, Crispin.”

“...Merlin?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh wow. Um. How have you been? No wait, that's dumb. Happy Birthday? God, that's even worse—”

Merlin couldn’t stop the smile from splitting his face. “You remembered?”

“‘Course. You’re my brother. And. About all that stuff before I left, it’s, like, fine now. Fuck, sorry, you’d think I’d be prepared for this after all this time.“ Crispin let out a nervous laugh, and Merlin almost cried just from hearing it again.

“You’re good, Cris, it’s fine. Look, I didn’t know if you ever wanted to talk to me again—”

“NO! …I mean, I never meant to cut contact like that. At first, I was like that, but I was just being a brat. I missed you after the first week, but I couldn’t bring myself to reach out.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I thought you hated me. It was pretty stupid to run away over a birthday. I mean, it’s been four years!”

Merlin sniffled. “I guess we’re both idiots.”

“Shut up, man,” Crispin laughed, more relaxed this time but with a stuffy tinge. Merlin was glad he wasn’t the only one crying. This was going better than he ever hoped.

But before he even put in the number, he knew there were two things he had to ask, so he gathered his courage.

“Why didn’t you come back?”

There was silence over the line. Merlin couldn’t take back the words.

Then, “Yeah, it makes sense you’d ask that. It’s complicated. I just, couldn’t be back there anymore? Like, once I left, I was free. Sure, it was hard, but the circus has been really special to me. I can’t leave, at least not yet. There is more I have to see and do. I feel more like myself here than I ever did at home.”

Merlin could hear the fondness in his voice, and did his best to drown the bitterness he had towards the circus for being the safe haven he himself failed to be. He decided to rip the other bandage off now: “Was it my fault, that you left?”

A short intake of breath. Merlin wished Crispin was beside him instead of however many miles away. “At first, yeah.” And Merlin’s heart broke.

“Hear me out first, I know that sounded bad. Um, Lucinda, she’s the costume designer here—Howell would like her—has been helping me work through my thoughts, so I think I can explain this. It's just, we never were as close as we used to be, right? And all that plus the fight plus the forgetting all kinda combined and it was bad. So at the moment it was mostly you.

“But I forgave you after a week because I missed you so much, and I realized a few things along the way. I’m sorry I never told you that.”

Merlin couldn’t believe his ears. He sunk down to the floor and sat down, his back to the wall, feeling so lost yet so relieved.

“Again, I was pretty dumb. It didn’t take me long to realize that not everything was your fault, and that I wasn’t exactly the kindest to you. I must’ve made your headaches awful, huh? I never really thought about how debilitating that must’ve been. I’m sorry for that, too.”

“God, Cris,” Merlin choked out. “You really have changed. You’ve even beaten me to an apology.”

“Merlin, I’m pretty sure leaving you high and dry for four years is way worse than being a bitchy fourteen year old to me. John and Lisa always tell me I was a nightmare when I was fourteen.”

“Aren’t you fifteen? Maybe you’re still a nightmare.”

“Hey! I’m halfway there to sixteen! That’s hella mature.”

Merlin was smiling so widely it hurt, and the chuckles flew easily between them.

“But seriously,” Crispin sobered up. “After a bit I realized that I didn’t really leave because of you. I left because of Mom and Dad.”

“Oh.”

“I was always in the room when John called them. I don’t know what I was expecting, but I can tell when someone doesn’t care. I think I could always tell, I just ignored it.”

“I ignored it, too.”

“You realized as well, huh. I couldn’t stand the thought of being with them again. It was more than just the birthday. All it did was make me open my eyes.”

“I’m glad you’re with them. I’m happy that you’re happy.” Merlin took a deep breath. “Do you think we can keep calling like this? I don’t want to become strangers.”

“For sure! You’ve gotta tell me how the others are doing. Wait, let me remember, Howell should be eight, Tim is…five, and that means little Deck and Cas are four now! Oh, you should put them on the phone when you get the chance. Wesley too. God, it's been so long…Does Howell even remember me anymore?”

“I…don’t know.”

“It’s my fault for that, I know.”

Merlin glanced at the clock. It was almost seven, which meant Father would be home soon. Merlin didn’t know how he would react to him talking to Crispin, so unfortunately he would have to cut the conversation short, but he didn’t want to leave it on a sour note.

“Hey, can I call you tomorrow, sometime around five? Wesley would really like to talk to you. He missed you just as much as I did.”

“Yeah?” Crispin’s voice perked up. “I’d like that.”

Merlin quickly put the phone back in place just as the front door opened and Father’s shadow darkened the wall. All he got was a curious look, and Merlin ran up to his room, for once confident and happy with the way his future was shaping out to be.

Chapter Text

Howell was sixteen when he met his older brother for the first time.

…

Fine, not really, but it sure felt like that.

Howell remembered Crispin…vaguely. If he stretched out his mind as far back as was possible, he could see a brotherly figure playing with him as a child, but that could easily be Wesley or Merlin.

So here is what Howell knew about Crispin: He was twenty-four years old, had an unhealthy obsession with clowns that Howell will forever judge him for, and lived happily with the circus for ten years. That was, until two years ago, which surprised everyone.

Howell learned about this through Merlin, who was in a state of shock when he delivered the news.

It wasn’t that Howell never talked to Crispin himself, but it was hard to grow close to someone over the phone, especially when you could only talk in secret. Cas often complained about that, but Howell understood why their older brothers were so insistent on that rule.

If there was one thing he and his estranged brother had in common, it was being Father’s least favorite children.

Crispin, however, still didn’t come home after leaving the circus, though Howell honestly wasn’t expecting him to. Instead, he moved to an island in the middle of nowhere with some lady named Bee. No matter how much Merlin asked, Crispin wouldn’t say much about her or why he left in the first place. And that was where he had spent the last two years.

Howell was definitely jealous at Crispin living the island life.

Merlin’s distress at the whole situation, even years later, made Howell feel bad for him. Twenty-six years old and in the agonizing trap that is medical school, Merlin’s constant emotional baseline was stress these days. He always used his calls with Crispin as an escape—a clutch, almost—but even Merlin would get worn down after going so long not seeing Crispin in person.

Merlin needed family, which was why he refused to go to a college out of state even when their parents tried to pressure him to go to a better school. It was probably why Wesley didn’t go to college at all, though Father and Mother cared much less about that. Wesley wasn’t “smart” enough for their projections, apparently.

All of that was why Merlin’s offer came as such a surprise.

Merlin approached with an odd expression on his face. Howell was blowing on his freshly painted nails (hot pink and yellow ochre this time—he was experimenting), his makeup rebelliously strewn across the living room for his Mother to shame him about later. Not that he’d listen, of course.

Merlin looked particularly nervous, but Howell tried to not let the concern show on his face and let the question he had fly loose, since Merlin tended to shut down when he pushed too much. Howell is quite the expert at reading Merlin these days, despite the ten year age gap between them. He could give Wesley a run for his money.

“I’m going to move to the island,” Merlin finally confessed.

“Excuse me?” Howell’s jaw dropped. He also accidentally smudged his newly painted nail on the couch he was lounging on. Shit.

Merlin winced. “I’m worried about Crispin. I’ve looked into apartments near Bee, and there is a hospital on the island and if I fast-track my course load this semester I should finally be able to get a residency or an internship, I just wish it hadn’t taken me so long…”

Howell tuned him out. He didn’t mean to, but his own thoughts were growing louder and louder. Merlin was gonna up and leave, just like that? Was Crispin more important to him than the rest of them? Was he more important than Howell? Howell didn’t like the bitter feeling welling up inside of him.

Crispin had been living away from them with his not-girlfriend for two years now, what was Merlin thinking? Crispin obviously didn’t need them, and they didn’t need him either. God.

“—well? Are you ok?” Merlin’s face appeared in front of him.

“Yeah,” Howell snapped, turning away sharply and trying to fix the nail (it was beyond saving).

“Oh. Um, so what do you say? Do you want to come with me?”

…Huh? What? Howell gave him a wide eyed look.

Merlin flushed, “It’s ok if you don’t. I’m going to ask the others too, but I wanted to hear your thoughts first. Mother and Father already gave the ok, as long as I look after you and give updates on my studies.”

Howell’s mind was working a mile a minute, “But you’re like, basically still a kid. You forget to feed yourself all the time.”

“I was hoping Wesley would help me with that…probably should ask him first, though.”

Wesley would help in a heartbeat, Howell knew that for sure. He felt embarrassed for his earlier overeager thoughts, and hoped Merlin couldn’t read any of that on his face.

Howell sat up straighter, and in a meeker voice than he intended, “Mom and Dad really don’t care?”

“Oh, no, they cared a lot,” Merlin chuckled humorously, scratching his cheek. “But don’t worry about them, I took care of that. All that matters now is your choice.”

Howell took a deep breath and tried to think about things objectively. He thought about Father, who ignored his children more than loved them. He thought about Mother, who hated how “girly” he was but harped on Cas for wanting her hair cut short. He thought about school, where people were attracted to him like moths to a flame but never stick around long enough to become a dear friend. He thought about the cats from the park, now long gone because of city ordinances.

But most of all, he thought about how bored he was all the time. Their parents made it hard to do anything fun, and the longer he was in this damn city, the more he wanted to tear his immaculate hair out (not that he’d actually do that, he was trying to grow it out).

That made the decision a lot easier.

“Of course I’m coming with, can’t let Crispin have all the fun,” Howell smirked, but his smile turned more genuine when he saw the utter relief on Merlin’s face. Ah, the things he did for his favorite brother (and himself).

Afterwards, the energy of the house kicked up in a flurry of activity. Wesley was naturally asked next, and gave a more immediate yes than Howell did. Howell thought he saw tears in his eyes, but Wesley was always hard to read, and it got harder now that he was twenty-three and spent most of his time away from home on trips to the shore.

Surprisingly, Tim also agreed, though he had asked for a day to think about it. Howell got along with him pretty well, at least in comparison to Howell’s rather tense relationship with Cas, but Tim wasn’t exactly the most adventurous among them. He wouldn’t give them a reason why he said yes, but he seemed pretty enthusiastic when packing, so they left him to it.

Cas and Deckard were a bit of a problem, though.

“Come on, Castaspella,” Howell whined, ignoring the jab on his side from Wesley and Cas’ angry scowl at using her full name. Who knew twelve year olds could make their faces so sour? “Everyone else is already coming, stop being such a little brat.”

“It’s not just me,” Cas growled (growled!). Honestly, who raised her oh wait. “Deckard doesn’t want to go either.”

“That doesn’t count, Deckard just does whatever you do,” Howell rolled his eyes, briefly seeing that Wesley sent an apologetic look to the twin, who was hiding shyly behind his meaner half.

Merlin tried to salvage the mess. “We’re not trying to pressure you, but it would be really nice if we had everyone together when we…”

Awkward wasn’t much better than fighting, thanks Merlin. But in the silence, a shaky voice rose up.

“I’d like to go,” whispered Deckard, his unique eyes darting between them. Cas sent a betrayed look behind her while Howell fist-bumped the air and suffered another jab on the side, from Merlin this time.

It didn’t take long after that for Cas to put down her defenses and agree. It wasn’t often that Deckard asked for anything, and despite being literal twins, even Cas had a soft spot for their youngest sibling.

Howell bet it didn’t even occur to her that she could have stayed behind anyway if Deckard left. After all, they had been attached since birth and all that.

Howell somehow found himself on the phone with Crispin later that day. Apparently, Merlin forgot to tell Crispin that this was even happening, which led to a rather chaotic phone call. Merlin had then promptly dumped the phone in his hands and rushed to his room, saying something about classes and deadlines.

“So you guys are really doing this, huh,” Crispin’s voice was still filled with awe from the earlier conversation. Howell felt oddly uncomfortable, and tried not to mess with his hair like he usually did when he was nervous.

He wasn’t usually left alone on the phone with Crispin. Usually Merlin or Wesley would come take the phone from him after some awkward greetings.

“Don’t get too flattered,” sighed Howell as dramatically as he could, ignoring how fake it sounded. “I did it for myself, too.”

A laugh. “I’m sure. Hey, now that we’re finally meeting in person, I can finally give y’all those gifts I’ve been saving up.”

Oh? Presents? Howell liked the sound of that.

“I’ve got twelve years worth of gifts for six different people. Some of them were for a five year old you, though, so don’t get too excited.”

“You can’t leave me hanging, Crispin, you’ve got to tell me some details,” Howell settled comfortably against the wall. He was planning on wheedling out info on every single gift and lording it over the rest of them.

“Well, in the troupe we had a costume designer and I knew you liked dolls, so…”

Hm. Perhaps they could get along afterall.

…

Tim was thirteen, almost fourteen years old, when they finally moved in to Apartment 101 on the island that he was pretty sure didn’t even have a name. The move had taken longer than expected, Merlin said, looking more harried and stressed than Tim had ever seen him.

Wesley squeezed Tim’s shoulder, a comforting presence as they stared up at their new home. It was bigger than he expected, and it would take Merlin and Wesley’s conjoined paychecks to keep up with the rent.

Tim felt bad for not being able to do much to help—his brothers were frankly not built to be store clerks like they signed up for—but Wesley reassured him that the situation wasn’t permanent.

Crispin, in their last phone call before the move, said he got an apprenticeship at the local repair shop and would help out where he could. He hadn’t moved in yet, saying that it would be best if he gave them some space to settle in before showing up. Tim appreciated it.

For the first time in their lives, they each had their own room. Howell took great delight in this, and even Deckard seemed pleased, but Tim would miss sharing a room with them.

Cas, who always had her own room, didn’t care much, but she still patted Tim on the back when she passed him by to pick out her new room. He wished his face stopped telling people when he was upset so easily.

“Tim?” Deckard’s shy voice asked from his side. “Do you want to explore a bit together?”

Tim would theoretically like that, except that where Deckard is, Cas follows, and when the twins were together they only talk to each other, and then Tim would get ignored and feel bad and it was better to just avoid all that.

Tim shook his head and looked away from Deckard’s disappointed face.

Tim quickly went inside and picked an empty room from the hallway to hide in. There were still no sheets on the bed, and everything felt much emptier than home. He was pretty excited when he first got the news for the move, but now that he was actually here, he wondered if he had made a mistake.

He shook that idea off of him as soon as it entered his mind. He was being silly, nothing could be worse than being at home with Dad.

He burrowed down into his oversized hoodie and pondered whether or not Howell would let him share a room, just for tonight, even though he was thirteen and Howell said he was too old for that now.

“You good, Tim?” Wesley poked his head around the door frame, his chin already darkening in a five-o-clock shadow despite it being noon.

Tim nodded and felt like a liar, but Wesley merely blinked back at him. Tim couldn’t read his eyes.

“The other and I are going to go shopping, do you want to come along?”

Tim shook his head and Wesley left. He listened to his family’s footsteps fade and saw them leave together through his window. He was both relieved and disappointed.

Tim spent most of his time alone as his siblings got settled into a rhythm in their new environment. After a few days, Crispin moved in with them, showing up at the door with a box filled to the brim with all types of art supplies. Tim stuck to the dark corners of the apartment, watching him smile and laugh with Merlin, Wesley, and even Howell.

Crispin saw him and tried to smile at him too, but Tim would duck out of the room everytime that happened.

It was a bit odd, finally seeing Crispin in person. He wasn’t as tall as Tim was expecting, but he had a loud presence around him that reminded him of Cas, which was intimidating to be around.

Tim ended up spending the following two weeks making himself as scarce as possible, avoiding every attempt the others made to corner him. It wasn’t that hard.

Merlin seemed to be on an unstoppable rollercoaster, bouncing from happiness to wariness as work and studying started to pick up like crazy. Merlin barely had any time to sleep at the rate he was going.

If Tim was in his position he would just crumble to the ground and never get back up. He already had a hard enough time transitioning into his new middle school; he probably wouldn’t survive high school, much less college.

Wesley often gave Tim concerned glances, but was hesitant to corner him. Tim didn’t know how to deal with himself, either. Merlin needed Wesley’s comforting presence more than Tim did anyway.

Howell and Cas seemed to be in their own separate worlds, far away from Tim and honestly each other.

Howell especially took to Crispin, and they often talked loudly in the hallway that led to all the bedrooms. Cas, on the other hand, would have arguments with Crispin in the same hallway. Especially when Tim was trying to sleep, not that he’d ever confront them over it.

Deckard kept trying to corner him, wanting to spend time together, but Tim couldn’t bring himself to reciprocate no matter how bad rejecting Deckard made him feel. If he wasn’t trying to hide from Crispin, he was hiding from Deckard, and didn’t that make him feel like a horrible person.

All of this led him to currently hunkering down in the shared bathroom, hiding like he always did. His nicest, coziest blanket was around his shoulders as he sat on top of the closed toilet, hugging his knees. Merlin would scold him if he found out he brought a blanket to the bathroom, but he and Wesley were at work right now.

Crispin was home for the day, however, so Tim kept his silence.

Tim attempted to make himself comfortable sitting on top of the toilet lid, but made the grave mistake of looking to the left towards the sink. Sitting there were three of the most terrifying sculptures he had ever seen; grotesque monsters with the most wretched grins on their faces, with eyes carved deep into their face that bored down on Tim.

Tim couldn’t stop the scream that left his mouth as he tumbled from the toilet and lay flat on the floor. He immediately got tangled in his blanket and flailed around. He hadn't even managed to sit up before the door slammed open to reveal Crispin’s startled face, followed closely behind by the panicked twins.

“What happened?” Crispin shouted, scanning the room and waving the baseball bat in his hands around.

Tim’s eyes blew wide open upon seeing the bat and the scary expression Crispin sported, and he almost choked on his own spit. Tim was struck by the realization that he didn’t really know Crispin at all. For all he knew, Crispin would get made at him for cowering like a baby, like the teachers at school did.

But Crispin could start swinging that bat at him for all he knew. Not to mention those carved monsters, which sent Tim into even worse hyperventilation just recalling them.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cas elbowing Crispin harshly in the side, Put that away, you’re scaring him! and then Deckard’s trembling face filled his vision, what do you need, but Tim flinched away and tried to bury his head underneath the blanket. He focused on the cold floor and tried to disappear.

There were some shuffling and angry whispers, then a door closing and a deep sigh. “Timmy, I’m not going to hurt you, ok? The bat is outside of the room. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Tim slowly lifted the blanket off of his head to confirm his words. Crispin was hunched over, but he made sure Tim could see that his hands were empty.

“Do you want to tell me why you screamed? Or should I guess?” asked Crispin. He had an uncharacteristically sheepish expression, and if Tim wasn’t imaging it, there was some guilt there as well?

Guessing sounded less stressful than trying to explain things to a brother he barely knew. Tim couldn’t bring himself to speak anyway and he was still shaking like a leaf. He ended up giving a wobbly thumbs up, which Crispin thankfully understood.

“Ok, well…was it my art,” Crispin said. It was more of a statement than a question, like he already knew the answer.

Tim felt a bit lost. What did he mean?

“The sculptures I made from soap that are sitting on the counter,” Crispin clarified.

Crispin was scarily good at reading his face. Tim nodded.

Crispin cringed and ran his hand through his dark green hair. “Oh man, I’m really sorry about that. I got a bit carried away and I forgot to move them to my room. I think Howell is getting a bit sick of me using all the soap, too.”

Tim risked a glance at the monsters, but they didn’t seem as scary now that he knew they were made of soap. But, they still looked a bit…grotesque.

Crispin walked over and grabbed one of the uglier ones with unnecessarily sharp teeth. “I’m pretty proud of this one. I was trying to go for a vampire-clown look, y’think I got it down?”

Honestly? Tim nodded, subconsciously uncurling from the blanket and sitting up properly. He started to feel a bit embarrassed for acting like such a baby, like he always did.

Crispin gathered the rest of the sculptures in his arms and made his way back out into the hall, saying, “You don’t have to, but do you want to come to my room? It'll be less scary if you see what I make now instead of getting surprised later. Maybe.” A belated chuckle.

That sounded like a bad idea—and a lot of effort—but Tim recognized that awkward smile Crispin had, and the lack of eye contact, and the shifting feet as he waited by the door. It reminded him of himself, and for the first time since he came here, Tim got the urge to get to know his brother better.

So Tim got up and followed Crispin down the hall.

The room was, unsurprisingly, filled with even more disturbing clown art, but it was also filled with pretty blues and oranges and reds. Tim was stuck between being impressed and wanting to run back to the bathroom. He shivered when he made eye contact with a particularly large clown painting with blood-red lips. Be brave, it’s ok…

“So,” Crispin announced, sitting on his equally colorful bed with a little bounce, “Ask me questions about anything. I won’t get offended if you don’t like something, I swear.”

That was surprisingly sweet. Tim finally found his voice, “You yelled at Cas yesterday for making fun of your clown-shaped sandwich.”

Crispin huffed. “Cas is a brat. You’re a nice kid.”

A thump came from outside the room, followed by a muffled I heard that! And why is he even in your room?? It was ignored.

They spent the rest of the afternoon touring Crispin’s room. Every time Tim thought he had seen it all, the room produced more visual “masterpieces.” He didn’t think he would ever get Crispin’s clown obsession, but even he had to admit his earlier fear was long forgotten. It was hard to be scared about the art anymore when he now had an image of Crispin singing praises about the circus with every piece.

It must have been getting pretty late because Merlin knocked and popped his head through the door with a fond smile. “This is the first time Cris has let anyone in his room. Glad to see you two getting along.”

Crispin slammed the door in his face, whining, “You’re still not allowed in here, Mer!” They could still hear Merlin’s laugh as he walked away. Tim felt giddy.

“So Timmy,” Crispin turned to face him, “What do you want to do now?”

Tim almost breathed a sigh of relief. He was finally exposed to all of Crispin’s art, no more lurking in the woodworks waiting to frighten him. He didn’t want to stop hanging out with Crispin, which surprised him. But what to do now…

His mind jumped to the game console that had laid untouched since they moved. “Um…Do you want to play Mario Kart?”

Crispin smirked, “Sure, but get ready to be beat! I was always the best at Mario games.”

(He lost every match)

…

Castaspella, twelve years old and definitely cooler than all her brothers, felt like she was the last bastion of common sense left among them.

She didn’t understand why everyone was so happy living here on the island, with a brother who abandoned them twelve years ago and refused to visit them, in a place that didn’t feel like home at all. Crispin made them uproot their entire lives to come here, and she was shocked that everyone accepted him back, just like that.

For all her life, she had five brothers, not six. Crispin was never a part of that. Nothing would ever change that fact, and she was sick that they were all pretending to be a complete and happy family while they were away from their parents. Even Tim warmed up to Crispin, which sucked because she thought they were on the same side!

Cas missed Mom so much it hurt. She didn’t realize how much so until she overheard Merlin talking to her over the phone last week. It was something about his studies, but Cas’ ear zeroed in on Mom’s voice, which she hadn't heard in so long, and it almost brought her to tears on the spot.

She missed not being the only girl in the house. She missed the outings she had with her mom, and how she combed and braided her long teal hair every morning before school. Hell, she missed her old school and classmates as well, even if she wasn’t close to any of them. She missed the house, the old park, the apple tree on the walk to the store, and sure, maybe this island had all those things too but it wasn’t the same!

She tried to subtly approach Deckard about these feelings, asking him if he ever missed home or regretted leaving or if he wanted to go back, but he just shook his head.

“I really like our new neighbor,” Deckard confessed, with a soft smile that Cas only rarely saw on his face. “The one that Crispin lived with. She knows a lot of things and she doesn’t mind showing me around. You should join us, actually, there are some pretty cool things out here…”

He was a lost cause, Cas decided, trying to tamp down the spring of betrayal in her heart. This was the first time they disagreed on something major, and her twin didn’t even seem to realize it.

Cas was alone.

Since then, Cas had been spending her mornings glaring at Crispin over the breakfast table, barely able to contain herself from snapping and shouting at him like he deserved for making everything harder.

Crispin, for his part, gave back us good as he got in their daily arguments, but Cas could tell that he didn’t take her seriously, and found her arguments to be amusing more than rightfully intimidating.

Even Cas could admit that the whole thing was getting out of hand. If she didn’t vent to someone soon, she might just explode, but the only people she could go to were the ones making her crazy in the first place!

Merlin was too busy for anybody these days, almost tearing his hair out in stress every time she saw him. Cas rolled her eyes thinking about it. If he hadn’t moved in the first place, he wouldn't have all these stressors about money and exams to begin with! Cas wouldn’t go to him even if she could catch him during one of his breaks.

Wesley had been eyeing her knowingly, which was annoyingly predictable, but he had never been close with either her or Deckard. Wesley was too passive, if she was being honest. Why would she listen to someone who couldn’t even speak up for himself? If she told him her troubles, he’d probably just nod in that stupidly silent way of his, which is so NOT helpful.

As for Tim…well, Cas liked Tim. He was probably the brother she liked the most, besides Deckard. He was frankly less bothersome than the others, but he was a bit of a baby. She wasn’t trying to be mean, but it was true. Anyway, Tim probably wouldn’t be very sympathetic towards her. Even when he was the most nervous around Crispin, Tim would have never moved back home.

Cas got the impression that he was more scared of Dad than he ever was of Crispin.

She tried not to judge him too hard for that. After all, there was a reason she likes Mom more than Dad, too.

That unfortunately left Howell. This brother annoyed her to no end, but at least he wasn’t as awful as Crispin. She stood outside the closed door of his room, second guessing her decision to talk in the first place, but the thought of keeping silent made her sick inside. She took a deep breath and let instinct take over.

“Yo, Howell,” Cas burst into his room (without asking, obviously).

“Ah, Castaspella,” Howell eyed her from his vanity mirror, halfway through his attempt at eyeliner. His irritated eyebrow twitch made Cas pleased despite the use of her corny full name. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Too late to back out now. But how to approach the idea of moving back without getting into another fight?

“I need your perspective or whatever,” Cas grumbled, lying on Howell’s ridiculously soft pink bed despite the glare he sent her way. Getting on his nerves was different than fighting, right?

Howell sighed through his and focused back on his makeup. Cas’ gaze followed the brush. “Well, get on with it dear sister. I don’t have all day.”

Cas crossed her arms. “You literally do. It’s Saturday.”

“Hush.”

A beat of silence. Cas picked up one of Howell’s decorative pillows, hugging it close to herself despite the rough texture.

“Why don’t you hate Crispin?” Cas almost slapped a hand over her mouth. That was not what she meant to say.

The brush almost went straight into Howell’s eye as he sputtered in surprise. “Come again?”

Cas was starting to feel a bit nervous. She hated feeling like that. “I mean, it’s crazy, right? A brother we never knew moves out to the middle of nowhere, and we all follow him just like that? It’s a bit unfair, don’t you think?” Her voice got meeker without her consent.

Howell straightened his shoulders, capped his brush, and set it down on the vanity table with an obnoxious flourish before turning around in his seat and giving her a hard look. “How long have you been feeling like this?”

“Since always?”

Howell groaned and slid a palm down his face, conveniently avoiding the newly applied makeup, “Yeah, we should have expected this.”

Now Cas was really lost, and was starting to regret coming to Howell in the first place. “Will you make sense?” she snapped.

“Never,” Howell shot back, then started to clap his hands. “Now, up up up! We’re going for a walk.”

“Huh?” Cas sputtered, being dragged to her feet by him. “What for?”

“Sibling bonding, or whatever.” Howell airily said, marching right out of the house and down the street.

They found themselves walking along the beach. It was a nice day, despite the awkward silence between them and the deathgrip Howell kept on her wrist. The trees were prettier and wilder than the ones back on the mainland. Cas never took the time to notice that before.

“Cas,” Howell finally broached. For once, he didn’t use her full name. It was a bit freaky. “Why do you hate Crispin?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t it obvious? I kinda just told you.”

“Humor me.”

Cas bit her lip and turned her head up to look at the bright blue sky. “He abandoned us.”

“Do you know why he left?”

“Because we forgot his birthday.”

“Technically yes, but also not really. Half of us were too young to even know it was his birthday, anyway. Crispin was more upset that everyone had forgotten him entirely.”

Cas tilted her head. “That doesn’t make any sense. No one literally forgot he existed that day.”

Howell pinched the bridge of his nose, “Ugh, wait, let me try this another way…Do you know why he never came back?”

“Um,” Cas felt her face turn red and muttered, “I guess he didn’t love us enough?” It was embarrassing to say that aloud, but what other explanation was there? He would have rather spent two years with a random person than come home even after he had left the circus. It was hard to look at the situation any other way.

Howell ticked in disapproval. “Wrong. He loves us a lot.”

“How can you be sure?” Cas once more tried to rip her wrist from Howell’s grip, but he wouldn’t let go.

“If you spent any time with him, you’d know,” Howell said.

Cas scoffed. “I don’t understand where you’re going with this.”

“No, I’m being really smart right now, trust me. Here, I’ll answer your original question. Why don't I hate Crispin? Because I hate our parents instead.”

“What?” Cas’ eyes widened, but Howell just flipped his growing hair daintily without care in the world and scrunched his nose.

“I would’ve hated them even without Crispin’s help. Mother used to yell at me and pull my hair when I dared to leave the house in make-up. Honestly, she was embarrassed of me. I was so jealous of you, she would give you the attention I wished I had.”

Cas didn’t know how to answer that. Shame pooled in her stomach. All those times she reminisced about Mom, Howell was excluded from. She couldn’t imagine a Howell that didn’t spend half the morning in front of the mirror, trying to be the prettiest version of himself he could be. Sure, it was annoying, but it was so very him.

Why would Mom do that?

Something must have shown in her face because Howell just held out a hand and said, “I’m not saying this to make you feel guilty, or to hate Mother for me, but to understand Crispin better. Take Merlin, for example, he has been overworking himself just to bring all of us here, and our parents aren’t making it easy for him. They hound him with call after call all about his grades and his work and they never bother to check in on the rest of us!”

As Howell started to lose his carefully crafted composure, Cas desperately thought back to the last time she had talked to Mom. It was before they had even moved, when Mom had asked her and Deckard to throw out the trash. It was such a stupid memory yet so clearly remembered that tears streamed down Cas’ face before she knew it.

Howell’s eyes blew wide at the sight and he finally let go of her wrist. “Cas?! Fuck, I didn’t mean to make you cry—”

“No, I think I get it now,” Cas sniffled, wiping her eyes with her free sleeve, “Moving here wasn’t really about Crispin at all.”

“...yeah.” Howell scratched his cheek and awkwardly patted Cas on the head, like she was one of his cats. “Good job.”

Cas looked down and kicked some sand, “I still don’t really want to be here, though. I still miss Mom.”

“You’re a handful, you know that?”

Cas kicked him.

“Geez, ok,” Howell grumbled. “Look, how about you go talk to that girl over there and find a reason to stay.” He pointed towards a wooden dock extending from the sand into the sea.

There was a girl, probably around her age, attempting (and failing) to do sit ups, much to her bemusement. Cas shrugged and muttered fine, ignoring Howell’s nod of approval. There was only so long she could stand his presence, after all.

(To everyone’s future misery, that girl was Toast)

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.