weep little lion man | teddy, tate, teva & tripp

When I was thirteen I lost my mother. Four, long years ago she was shot on a stage, torn away from me and my brothers and we'd never see her again. And I held my baby brother while she died, bled out on a stage. He sunk his teeth into my flesh and tried to rip himself away. He tried so hard to join mother on her deathbed I should have known he would eventually succeed.

Mother was taken to the detention center too. I don't know what they did to her there, I never got to talk to her afterwards. But I waited. I promise I did. My bed was cold for the long weeks she was away. Because I had to lock the door every night but I had to be there just in case mother came home. I couldn't let her sit out in the cold all night. Because I was her little boy and she was going to need me when she came back. 

And she would come back. She had to. 

Teddy didn't come back. It's been months and I've given up hope. I don't think he's alive but I can't admit to myself that he's dead. Because I held him too tight and I ended up pushing him away. Teddy is dead and I know he's not coming back. Because life isn't a fairy tale. Because there are no such things as happy endings. Not like the ones that mother used to read to me. Sleep was but a fable unless mother wove beautiful tales of prince charmings and knights in shining armor. Of princesses killing dragons and winning the tournament.

I found a prince myself. And he's home right now, with a family who stuck a needle through his skin. The prince who cares enough to save me but not enough to save himself as if he doesn't know that hurts me worse than the metal shoved five times over into my abdomen. Or maybe he just doesn't care.

I have a hard time accepting things, I guess. And that's why for months my bed has been thick wooden planks. In case Teddy comes home because I can't let him sit out in the cold all night. Because I know he's dead but I don't want to know. So I don't. Because I've washed his sheets and made his bed at least a hundred times over because when he came home I didn't want him to think we forgot about him.

(We didn't. We didn't. We never will.) 

And there is fresh lavender sitting on the windowsill. Because when Teddy's heart acts up it's good for getting him to relax. 

Every single part of the house is prepped for the return of a dead boy. I would die if it wasn't. I'd have thrown myself off a railing and felt my lungs flood with familiar nothing a long while ago. Because I lost mom and I pushed Teddy away and Nemo might die and Teva yells and Tripp is too quiet. And I'm shit at trying to sew a smile upon my lips but I'm trying my hardest not to show the chinks in my shining armor because I'm going to be strong for Mom. Because she probably hates me, wherever she is, for annoying Teva and for failing to protect Teddy.

...I was always supposed to protect Teddy. 

"And you couldn't even get that right!" (mother often visits me in my dreams.) 

The wounds on my stomach are red and puffy, just starting to scar over. And soon they'll turn into white, translucent skin raised just above the others. And sleeping on the floor while they are still raw is not an easy task because I have to be there because I can't leave Teddy out in the-

There's a loud thump from outside, sending the whole of my body upright. The hair on my arms stands on end, spiders crawling down the length of my spine as shaking fingers find the locks upon the door. And they unravel in mere seconds but the pounding of my heart makes the seconds last hours. 

Because in these long, long months years without Teddy I've never heard it once. This thick thud. Not even the skitter of raccoon claws against wood, falling against the porch sounded similar. ( And I checked after every single animal pounding across the wood fuelled by false hope and lost dreams.)

And although sleep lingers in my eyes, I can tell someone has left a dead body upon our porch. It's emaciated and small, thick brown sack covering the poor thing's face and I wonder if the other gangs have found out where we live and I wonder if my death is impending. Because they could linger in the darkness, behind the fence, waiting for my inevitable approach because I'm still yearning for my safety.

All it takes is for a shaking hand to pull the sack off of his head for the whole of my world to shatter. A bullet through a statue made of ice and fear. "...teddy." My hands press against his forehead, fingers finding the faintest pulse hiding beneath his skin. 

Alive. 

Barely.

But alive.

"Teddy!" It's more of strangled scream that escapes me this time, followed by heavy, grieving sobs as I pull my brother into my chest, pressing my lips into his hair and falling through the threshold. I can't think through the panic weaving its way through my mind. "IT'S HIM." And I'm screaming and crying and laughing. I'm rocking my brother within my arms because I'm flying and falling at the same time because I didn't leave him out in the cold.

"TEVA. TRIPP. IT'S HIM. IT'S HIM."

And I want to say that I always knew he'd come home.

But that'd be a lie.

you told me not to cry
while you were gone
but the feeling's overwhelming
it's much too s t r o n g

I should be happy. That's all I can think as I wind my fingers through my brother's messy hair and as I look up at my twins with swollen, shocked eyes, left an unravelled mess upon the floor. I should be happy that Teddy is here and that he's breathing. And he's reaching out for Teva and Tripp and that we're all connected by the gentle tug of out little brother again. My safety is back home and I should be happy. 

But all I can see is exposed nail beds, raw and red. All I can see is the blood upon my brother's skin and the bags under his eyes. The way his skin clings to his bones and how he feels like nothing within my arms. And I want to be happy but all I can feel is guilt. Because Teddy is dead and it's all my fault. (I can see the decaying innocence he brought within his gaze.)

"I'm so sorry..." I manage through the hysteria raining onto my lap. "Teddy I'm so sorry." The words are quiet, barely more than a deep rumble in my throat and I don't think that Teddy can hear them but that's okay because I'll say it again. (and again and again.)  I pull him close instead, revelling in the feeling of his beating heart against my palm and I can barely breathe I'm so relieved.

And I should have known that he'd come home because he's a Seraphim and so much stronger than I've ever given him credit for. I'm often selfish like that. I didn't keep Teddy blind for his sake, no matter how hard I try to convince myself that I wanted to give him a choice by taking it away. I like to keep my dear things close and safe. (My brothers, my clever little mechanic, my safety.) And sometimes I don't care how they feel because I'm so sure I know best. 

But I didn't. 

I still don't. 

When Teddy clears his throat the world goes quiet. A symphony hushed by a small, crying boy. And I hope that Teddy knows of the power he holds within his palms. But I don't think he does because he's crying and holding onto my brothers with tears rolling down his cheeks because he thinks we're dead. I wonder if the Capitol somehow found out that I got stabbed and Teva got shot, I wonder if they used us against him.

And just like that a fire starts in the pit of my stomach. Hot and angry, flames licking at my throat as I pull Teddy as close as I can bear, shaking lungs quieting sobs for a single minute as I press my forehead against his and I bite my lip so hard that metal has begun to seep onto my tongue.

"Listen, Teddy, what happened to us we're not-" And the words dissolve into the air so I try again. "You're not dead. Teddy you're not dead. You're alive. Here. With your brothers. You're here with Tate and Teva and Tripp and whatever they told you it was all a lie because we're fine. We're fine so please don't worry about us." the words are low and feirce, near incomprehensible before tears force their way down the corner of my eyes and onto my chin. The staples I'd used to stitch myself back together falling apart on the floor again. 

I lean back, allowing my head to fall against the couch as I sink my teeth into my forearm stifling the sobs bubbling up from my lungs. And had I not been holding my brother, my legs would have carried me across the district. Carried me down to the slums and to the door of a boy who could help lift a thousand pounds off of my shoulders with his crooked smile and his eyes like stars. And I guess I take after my dad because when things get rough that is all I want to do.

Run. And Run. And Run.

Because Teddy is home but I don't know if he hates me or if he's even the same kid as he was all those months ago. Everything is changing too much, every single familiarity I took comfort in ripped from my palms, leaving the skin bleeding and raw. 

Because I think Tripp is still mad at me for yelling at him although I was just trying to help but I'm so scared of losing him that I fucked that up too. 

Because Mom probably hates me and because I'm pretty sure Teva definitely does. 

Maybe. 

I can't be sure of anything when the room is spinning like this. World tilted on an axis and all I need is a strong pair of arms around me to anchor me to this world because things are upside down and my nails might fall off from how hard I'm digging them into the wood because I don't want to fall off. 

I want to stay here with Teddy and Teva and Tripp and I want to forget everything.

But I can't.

you told me not to cry
while you were gone
but the feeling's overwhelming
it's much too s t r o n g

Teva's arm wraps around my shoulder,, pulling me into him and Teddy's hand cups my cheek. Breathe. Teva tells me. Oh right. I think I forgot how because every inhale is devastating, an earthquake racking my lungs and burning my throat. I rest my head against Teva's shoulder, trying to ground myself as emotions run rampant. My brothers are strong, they are solid and so real in these moments that I can feel my heart rate slow as long centuries drag on. 

I never thought I'd see him again. I was so fucking sure I'd never see him again that this all feels like a sort of dream. A terrible, wonderful dream. We're all in shock, breaths held collectively as we wait for the broken little boy in my lap to speak. 

His words bring a wave of pain so thick that I must bury my face in the fabric of Teva's shirt to keep from screaming. "It's my fault you're dead." He tells us, taking the brunt of the blame when we all knew that was my job. Sometimes my little brother takes after me in the worst ways possible. 

"Don't." My voice is smooth, calmer thanks to the strong arm around my shoulder. Because Teva knows how to calm me down almost as well as he knows how to rile me up. I'll tell him that later, I think, because he'll get a stupid grin on his face and I love my brother's smiles as much as I love a certain crooked one. 'Teddy fucking Seraphim don't. I lean down, pressing my forehead to his and bracing his cheeks with my palms. "None of this is your fault and I won't hear a single word of it, alright? Or you'll be eating cranberries for breakfast forever." 

I put them in a meal once and I haven't heard the end of it, my brothers have the terrible habit of holding a grudge. But I'm a man of my word and I'm certain they all know that. 

An uncertain smile lights my cheeks as I lean back, caressing the apple of his cheek with my thumb absentmindedly, trying to wipe away the stubborn tears washing over it. 

I try not to think about how certain Teddy is of our deaths. The wounds on my stomach ache, sudden cold shooting up my spine as though slick silver has torn through my abdomen once more. I pull at the loose shirt that had rest somewhere above my navel moments before, revealing two puffy scars that I'd rather Teddy not lay his eyes upon. It's important not to let him know how his absence tore a hole through all of us, how we became less than brothers for a long time. It'd tear him apart. Break him into smaller pieces than he already was. And I cannot stand to do that.

Now that he's back I'll protect Teddy or die trying. There won't be an in between. Not this time.

"And I'm not dead. Teva is not dead. Tripp is not dead. You are not dead." I press my forefinger to his nose gently, accenting every statement. "You know damn well Cal would kill us if we even tried." 

The panic has not vanished, really, just become bearable. White hot flames simmering to a searing blue and breath coming in sharper gasps. This is what I'm best at, pretending. Pretending I'm okay when I'm falling to pieces because Teva and Tripp and Teddy are more important than anything I'm feeling. They're more important to me than anything in the world. 

And I'd die to keep them safe.

Sometimes I think I already have.

you told me not to cry
while you were gone