Blood of my Brother

Moving Beyond

Therapy, anyone?

Sorry, this chapter was supposed to go up yesterday. School and work means I don't get home until very late and then I have to do homework, so it was almost midnight before I remembered.

Trigger warnings: mentions of EXTREME violent injuries, self-deprecation, nightmare

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"Teach me to fight."

Hector looked up from where he was skinning the deer he'd killed. "What?"

"Teach me to fight." Varian set his book down. Hector had insisted on taking care of everything that night due to Varian's injuries, meaning he hadn't been allowed to tend to the fire or get water or anything. Of course, Varian's injuries were the reason his request was probably ill-timed. "I want to learn to fight the way you did today."

"Kid, that kind of combat takes years."

"Yeah, and you said you started as a kid. Will you teach me?"

The warrior looked at him skeptically, but Varian could see the light in his eyes and knew he had piqued his interest. The kid had always been good at analyzing people, and he knew there was no way Hector would be able to resist.

Sure enough, he answered, "'Kay. Why not? After you get better."

"Yes! Thank you."

He nodded. "We'll get you a staff in a bit. That's where you need to start."

"Got it." He nodded eagerly.

Hector raised an eyebrow. "I mean it. You don't try anything until I say so. You need to rest still."

"Yes sir." A sharp breeze blew through the woods, sending the child snuggling further into his cloak and hugging Ruddiger close to him. Hector didn't seem bothered in the least by the cool air. He continued cleaning the animal, and Varian returned to his book. He didn't need to pass out at the sight if he was going to convince Hector he was up to fighting.

It had only been a few hours since the rescue, and Varian wasn't sure how to handle the situation. Half his mind still screamed at him not to let his guard down. It was only a waiting game until Hector decided he was no good. The other part of him craved to trust Hector's words from earlier and to stop worrying. He would not leave. He loved Varian.

He waited with bated breath for Hector to tell him it had all been an elaborate trick and to throw him back to the soldiers. But it didn't happen. The warrior had simply packed up their campsite and moved the party on to the next stopping point. In a show of trust, Varian had chosen to ride on Riki with Hector rather than with Kiki, even when Hector had assured Varian the bearcat was well enough to carry him.

Before leaving, Varian had gone back to the alchemy shop and spoken to the very concerned proprietor. The man had bought back the supplies and wished Varian a speedy recovery. Varian had tried to give the money back to Hector, but the warrior insisted he keep it since it was supposed to have been his present. Varian wasn't sure if he would ever get over his aversion to alchemy, but leaving the shop had still ached. He longed for that hole, one of many in his heart, to be filled; the absence killed him, but the thought of embracing it once more terrified him.

The one hole that had no way to be filled, however, was the absence of his father.

"Uncle Hector?" he whispered.

"Yeah, kiddo?"

"How do you get over losing someone?"

Hector placed his knife down and stared with unfocused eyes off into the distance. "You don't," he finally answered. "I don't think anyone ever truly does. It hurts less as time goes on, but you never get over it. There's always a part of you that holds on to whatever's left and won't let you go on."