*Memories* (P2)
"Come on, hand me the lure."
Porco-with Marcel, it's always Porco, the only person who's ever been allowed to call him that-reaches into the tackle box, knowing almost without looking where everything is. Erwin has always been fastidious with his tools and tackle, and everything is neatly labeled and in its right place. He finds the lure he knows Marcel likes, and hands it over.
"Thanks."
Porco frowns as Marcel's fingers brush against his; they're in the middle of the lake, with the sun beating down around them, reflecting off the still water and bouncing back in their faces, and yet Marcel's fingers are cool across his palm as he takes the lure, and strangely insubstantial, almost like a whisper of mist. He looks up, trying to see his brother's face, but the glare off the water is too much, and Marcel's head looks like it's trapped in a corona of light, his face too bright to see.
So Porco focuses on his brother's hands, and the deft, natural way he threads the lure onto the fishing line, and it's okay again. The weird unease leaves him, and he looks for his own rod.
It isn't in the boat.
"Hey, where's my stuff?"
"Somewhere else." Marcel casts, the reel whispering as it plays out the line, and Porco realizes that his brother is wearing a sand-colored camouflage jacket. That brings all the dread, all the unease, right back into his chest, and Porco starts looking frantically around the bass boat, suddenly desperate to find his rod and reel.
"We have to go back and get it!"
"Nah." Marcel's hook lands in the water, and he starts slowly, leisurely reeling it back in, sending bright little V shapes across the water that hurt Porco's eyes to watch. "There's no time."
"What are you talking about?" Porco shades his eyes, looking at the lake's shoreline, trying to spot Erwin's truck, but the shoreline is weirdly blurred, everything running together like paint, and he can't find Erwin's truck. "You're just fishing, we've got plenty of time."
Marcel chuckles, quiet and deep in his chest, and Porco whips back around. He can feel panic mounting in his throat, tasting like steel and hard candies gone rank and spoiled, and he starts to move forward, wanting to shake Marcel and make him stop acting so weird. As soon as he moves, the boat rocks, tipping and turning far more than Porco's movement should have caused, and he sits back down. He can't remember a time when he didn't know how to swim, can't remember a time when he wasn't intimately familiar with this lake and all its waves and holes and swampy bottom, but he's suddenly afraid of that dark, opaque water and what might be hiding underneath. "Marcel!"
"Porco." Marcel's voice is mellow and even, a tone Porco recognizes from childhood-it's the voice Marcel always used when Porco was riled up and angry about something, the voice that, outside of Erwin's, was frequently the only thing that could get him to calm down. Even now, in this bizarre, shifting world, the voice works, and Porco sits still, focusing all his attention on his brother.
"What?"
"Porco." Marcel repeats his name again, and from the shoreline, Sarge starts barking. It's a sound just as intimately familiar as his brother's voice, but Porco ignores the dog for now, leaning forward and hanging on Marcel's every word.
"Porco." It's the third time, and Marcel's voice is filled with so much love, so much simple, genuine affection, that Porco's throat starts to close up on him, and he reaches his hand across the boat.
"Please." Porco whispers it, his voice unable to do anything louder, cracking and straining around the edges just with that single word. Sarge keeps barking from the shore, loud and joyful, and Porco can just imagine how his tail is wagging and how he's jumping up and down, and that makes him sad and he doesn't know why, but he needs Marcel to answer him. "Marcel, please..."
"Gali."
The world starts to blur around the edges, and Sarge's barking fills Porco's ears, and even as he watches, the light around Marcel's head starts to brighten, starts to melt away the outline of his features.
"No!"
Porco stands up then, and tries to lunge across the boat, tries to catch Marcel around the waist and keep him here, keep him in the boat, out of the light that Porco is suddenly sure only exists to take him away.
"Don't leave me!"
"Gali?"
"No!"
Porco flings himself across the boat, even as the light behind Marcel threatens to burn the world to cinders and as Sarge's barking deafens him, but Marcel dissolves like mist in his hands, and Galliard jolts awake with a gasp.
"Gali?"
It's Reiner, Reiner crouched next to Galliard's bed, his hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him awake. His brow is knit down over his eyes, his lips pursed in concern, and Galliard goggles at him, still caught between sleep and consciousness.
For a moment there, he thought it was Marcel, coming to wake him.
"Gali, are you okay?" Now that he's awake, Reiner stops shaking him, and instead moves his hand to the small of Galliard's back, rubbing in small, soothing circles. "You were moving and making noise, and I thought you were having a nightmare, so I woke you up."
Reiner bites his lower lip, uncharacteristically uncertain but so damn concerned that he just had to do something, and Galliard almost gasps as a sudden, nearly overwhelming rush of heat fills his chest. Reiner can't know this, but Galliard used to suffer from nightmares as a child, terrible dreams with shouting, furious shadows that were always almost in the shape of his father, and his whining and thrashing would wake up Marcel. And then he'd come to little Porco's bed, and wake him up, and then it would all be okay for awhile.
With a sudden snort, Galliard shoots his arms out, grabbing Reiner around his shoulders and hauling him forward. Reiner squawks gracelessly and doesn't move, but Galliard spends large parts of his week at the gym and is no slouch in the strength-building department. He heaves again, and with a faint, token protest, Reiner climbs up onto the bed with him.
The bed, built for a teenaged boy, squalls and creaks under their combined weight, but its craftsman built it with love and it holds. Reiner tries to turn on his side, to maximize the limited space they've got, but Galliard is having none of that. He manhandles Reiner around until he's sprawled out on top of him, Reiner's weight pressing Galliard into the mattress, and he turns his cheek to Reiner's chest and keeps his arms cinched around his back.
Reiner hovers above Galliard for a moment, clearly taken aback by the new position, but then he lowers himself down, his weight spreading out and pinning Galliard down. He lifts one hand and strokes it through Galliard's hair, and Galliard hates how good that feels, how soothing.
"I was dreaming about my brother."
"Oh." Reiner's hand falters for a moment, then resumes the same slow, gentle strokes. "I'm sorry."
"No, it was... I haven't dreamed about him in years." Galliard doesn't dream at all, normally. He's usually too exhausted and desperate for whatever sleep he can grab to dream. For the first dream in a long time, this wasn't a terrible one, at least not until it got weird.
Reiner moves his other arm around, tucking it in close to Galliard's side. "Did you used to?"
"Sometimes." And those had been bad dreams, the shadows of Galliard's early life replaced with Marcel, and Marcel dying. In every dream, he'd been dying, over and over again, and there hadn't been anything Galliard could do to save him. The deaths had been varied and unique, each one hideous and violent, each one with Marcel begging someone, anyone, to save him, and in each one, Galliard had been helpless, mute and made of stone, with that horrible logic of dreams. Your brother is dying, therefore you are completely unable to help him. "This one... it wasn't so bad. It got weird at the end, but it wasn't bad."
Comparatively, it was positively pleasant.
"Mmmm." Reiner shifts on top of him, uncomfortable, and after a moment's hesitation, Galliard pulls his knees apart. Reiner drops between his legs with a surprised oof, and then there he is, his hips slotted between Galliard's thighs, their chests pressed together, Reiner propping himself up on his elbows so he can look down at Galliard.
They've never been with each other like this. Galliard has never wanted to, has never wanted to concede the control that this position demands. He had thought, foolishly, that if he never gave himself up to Reiner, then it wouldn't hurt when Reiner leaves. He'd thought that if he'd always kept Reiner at an arm's length, then he'd never find himself in this position, he'd never be in a place where he could get hurt. But now, under Reiner, and with Reiner's concerned, beautiful face looking down at him, that rush of heat fills Galliard's chest again, and he knows. God help him, he knows.
This guy. This fucking guy.
Somewhere along the way, Galliard had fallen head over heels for Reiner Braun. Reiner Thirsty Bitch Braun, Reiner fucking Braun, Reiner Adam Braun, with his perfect apartment and his expensive clothes and his kind, wounded eyes and his hands that are always so gentle. Fuck Galliard's life, he's in love with Reiner Braun.
Fuck.
Reiner's forehead creases. "You okay?"
"Yeah." Galliard lets go of Reiner's waist to cup both hands around his face, and gently steer him down for a kiss. "Thanks for waking me up."
"Uh... you're welcome?" Reiner still looks confused, but he has no problem returning Galliard's kiss, and Galliard knows that if this goes on much longer, it's going to reach a point of no return, and he can't do that in his uncle's house.
Reluctantly, Galliard keeps the kiss brief, but leaves his hands on Reiner's face. "Why'd you come up here?"
"Oh!" Reiner brightens, and just for a moment, Galliard basks in his light. "Erwin is grilling. He said to come down."
~*~
The smell of cooking meat hits Galliard's nose as soon as he steps out into the hallway, Reiner close at his heels, and the scent is so evocative, so full of memories, that it almost floors him. Rather than be full of pain, though, it sends nostalgia flooding through him; he couldn't count the times he and Marcel stayed here growing up, and how often Erwin would use his grill to cook them an enormous feast, more food in one meal than they would get in two or three days at home, and how no steak or rack of ribs has ever tasted as good, has ever satisfied his hunger the way Erwin's simple, lightly-seasoned creations do. The smell chases the last shadows of his dream away, and Galliard glances over his shoulder at Reiner, finding that he hasn't completely forgotten how to smile.
"You're in for a treat. No one can grill like Erwin can."
Reiner pouts for a moment, but his eyes are twinkling, clearly happy to see Galliard smiling again. "Better than me?"
Galliard reaches back and puts a hand on Reiner's shoulder. "Yes."
Reiner's eyes widen slightly, but then he grins. "Guess I'll have to hassle him for all his secrets."
Galliard is about to answer, but then someone looms up beside them, a presence as familiar as Erwin's, and he turns into what he knows is coming. A split second later, he's enveloped in a massive bear hug, smothered in warm flannel and the smell of sunshine, and he can't get his arms up to hug back but that's okay. Erwin had seemed smaller, when Galliard had spotted him in the airport, diminished and weathered with age; it's a great relief to find that this, at least, this hug, feels exactly the same as Galliard remembers.
Reiner makes a concerned sound behind Galliard, taken aback by the sudden assault, and the arms around Galliard loosen, allowing him to step back and look up into a bearded, smiling face.
"Mike!"
"Porkchop." He says it quietly, calmly, his thick, drawling twang from an area far west of Liberio musical, and pats Galliard on the shoulders. "Been a long time."
"I know." To avoid that particular topic, Galliard turns and gestures to Reiner, who is awkwardly shifting from foot to foot, but no longer looking worried. "Reiner, this is Mike. Mike, this is Reiner."
Reiner steps forward, offering his hand to shake. "A pleasure to meet you, sir."
Mike shakes Reiner's hand, thankfully not pulling him into an embrace the way Erwin had done. He sizes Reiner up, looking him up and down, and Galliard is fascinated to discover that Mike is taller than Reiner by a good couple of inches. Mike has always seemed like a soft-spoken, benevolent giant in his memories, but it's still strange to see that confirmed in real life.
Mike eventually finishes his assessment of Reiner, and drops his hand. "Pleasure to meet you too. Thanks for bringing our boy home."
Galliard can see the question in Reiner's eyes, the question he's dying to ask but too polite to blurt out, and so he answers it for him. "Mike's is Erwin's partner. He's my other uncle."
Reiner's eyes go wide, and Galliard recognizes a flash of hurt there, deep in their centers, and it makes guilt rise in the back of his throat. Reiner stifles it quickly though, and simply smiles at Mike, pumping his hand one more time before dropping it. "Galliard never told me he had two uncles."
Mike glances at Galliard, then back at Reiner and shrugs. "Our boy likes his secrets."
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A/N:
Hi everyone 👋
Sorry for the short chapter 😬, I'm so busy right now but I'll make it up next chapter
Vote and comment 😘