a stormy reunion {kou}

{We're everyday robots in control
Or in the process of being sold}

I hate the sound of silence because when it hits I have too much time to reflect.

I would kill to wake up and see my mother's son and my sister's brother. I yearn to see familiar faces smiling up at me and the four of us to look like we did all those ages ago. Forgotten, I'm drenched under the storm of 'should be' and 'could be' and now every inch of my skin is shot through with what feels like unrelenting cold and I shiver. Taurus bit the bullet and died for it, went down in a blaze of glory and gore. His possessions went in a similar fashion, an unrelenting blaze. I don't know what I was thinking, I think part of my hungover self held the rare hope that his phoenix would rise from the ashes and he'd carry on like nothing happened.

I should have known better. I've spent all my life clear-sighted. Overused smokescreens could never blind my path, I always saw right through the bullshit and I never failed to stare down the bitter truth, no matter how harsh it was. I bit the bitter bullet and swallowed it with a smile. The other part of me just needed to escape, torching his things was a sense of escapism that I needed - we all did. But damn the concept, some people had to take it too far. Taurus Hawk was banished to an early grave and escape was the only way to deal with it.

Thunder? I don't talk about Thunder.

I'm drenched in could-bes and should-bes in this empty house. They drip from every inch of my body with every mechanical movement. I drop my duffel bag on my bed and stuff the last of my possessions in it.

I'd like to think I've grown up. I know I've suffered but I don't know if I can give myself the label of grown up yet. I'm still in the same boat as Taurus and my name still sits on death's lap. My beard's grown out so much and my hair's gotten that bit longer and darker. With two less mouths to feed I've gotten a lot more food on my plate; three salaries does a pretty damn good job of that. Because of that I've filled out, work's chiselled my chest broader and my arms moulded thicker. I'm barely teetering on the edge of adulthood.

This room is empty but I really didn't have much to my name. Just a dead brother and two dead cousins. Hawk feels more like a curse at this point than anything. Three brothers, two that lost themselves in the screen of overused, bitter smoke that I kept myself shielded from. The shielding is apparently definitely working, I'm this house because I have to. Every time I pass through the living room I see the stains of crimson from where I cut myself on the glass shards during a stupid drunken stupor. Every time I peer to the back garden the failed phoenix stares back at me.

It's not healthy, every moment spent drifting means the clouds get thicker and I can only see through illusions for so long. Before long I will have lost myself and I'll end up like Thunder, or even worse Taurus.

When I go, I don't want to go lost and stumbling between clouds interwoven with illusions. Shattered worth like the glass bottle is not how anyone should go, not even me, but if I stay here any longer that's how I'll go. My parents agreed it was for the best. 'You just do what you think is right, son,' they told me. No attempt to force guidance down my throat, no attempt to shove the map of righteousness into the palm of my hands. Finally, I knew that they trusted me to see through the screen on my own. I wouldn't get lost like Taurus of Thunder. I can't.

After stuffing the last of my possessions into my duffel bag, I trek down the stairs, the symphony of silence is broken by the creak of the wooden stairs. The house blurs and turns when I make it into the living room, like a twisted grey painting. I can't remember the last time colour was relevant in this house. Mechanical grey is what's dominated this house. It's all what dominated since the moment the plethora of the fifth day's canons sounded. That's all Taurus was in the end, a segment of a symphony of canons.

When I crane my neck and stare out of the back window the failed phoenix's ashes stare back. Through all the rain, the wind and the snow I sometimes see the flecks of black that could only be the remainder of Taurus' memories. When I clearly stare into the corner I can see the stain of red that was my blood when I gashed myself during that stupid drunken stupor. When I inhale the suffocating ashes are evident, I feel like I'm going to suffocate. When the steps stop, it hits me that it's far too silent with the absence of footsteps. Despite my endless introversion, I've never been a big fan of silence - it was always the worst symphony.

It doesn't help than my parents are out working. I don't even know what happened with Aviana and I think Nihilism cut too deep because I've lost the will to care. When they come back I'll be gone, just as we agreed and that will be that. I promised them that I'd visit when I had the chance (as if a promise from me means anything any more) and I hope I get the chance. Boss told me I'd have more responsibility at the Blacksmith and that I need to keep my head on straight - I have to stay focused. A world without colour is too distracting.

Ice pricks my skin and I shiver. Without thinking, I close my eyes and shake my head, as if trying to dry myself from all of the 'should of' and the 'could of' because I can't take that with me to the outside world. It doesn't belong in a world with colour and possibilities. It needs to disappear like Thunder and die along with Taurus.

It doesn't help, I'm still drenched. Fuck it.

No time for a second funeral or time to lament I-

Bang.

For a second I mistake the knock with the sound of a canon and my knuckles tighten around the straps of the back. I raise an eyebrow, I'm not expecting any one. Without thinking, I unlatch the lock and swing the door open, I look down and step right into...

(...)

"Thunder?"

Lost between the plane of utter disbelief and dumbfounded shock, my heart skips a beat.

---

(Theme: Everyday Robots - Damon Albarn | Tags: Knuckles )

{We're everyday robots in control
Or in the process of being sold}

Trapped between utter disbelief and shock, my dumbfounded voice hangs in the air and melds with the sound of thunder and rain hitting the ground. The first thought that races across my head is that this is not Thunder. It can't be, it just can't.

I buried my demons a long time ago after Taurus Hawk's canon joined the symphony of canons on the fifth day. My palms became familiar with the heavy shovel at his funeral, not only was my brother buried but my demons went with him. I could watch his casket lower with my eyes glued to the ground unflinching because I could finally accept that he was gone and would stay gone. I buried a brother, but I also buried the demons festering in my chest and saturating the air around me, as if grief could be an aura or drowned in the bottle.

Acceptance of Taurus came with acceptance of Thunder. They were both gone and it would just be me. Taurus banished to an early grave and Thunder chased away by shadows. And then there was me, left to hang dry and to rot and whither but free of demons. All the coulds and shoulds remain buried beneath the soil after I felt the touch of the heavy shovel. Buried deep and I can't remember the last time I even fathomed the thought of letting them free.

They can't resurface now.

He's a ragged mess, a parody of how I once knew him two years ago. Dirt and grime cling to his once pristine face and the once brown curls that sat innocently on his skull is now tangled in a mess. I almost recoil at the sight of him, wet and dripping with sorrow and a fatigued, tortured look sitting in the back of his eyes. He has the look of being driven away by the shadows of the past but denial still sits in the chambers of my heart. No way that's him. I buried my demons a long time ago, for them to resurface now is a mockery. It can't be real, it just can't be.

I almost jump in my skin when he throws his arms around me in a staggered embrace. Despite him being dripping wet and dirty I don't recoil. It's not him, it's not... Thoughts become slurred like words after the heavy hand of the bottle and instead of pushing him away my arms hang at my sides.

"Jett..." His voice cuts through the rain and the mist of denial. Despite the broken feel it sports, it sounds so familiar. It sounds like the voice that gasped and cried when Storm had his arm hacked from his body. It sounds like the voice that sounded in awe when Jabber had his awe smashed in. It doesn't sound like a stranger at all. Denial is weak because it took only one word to shatter it and the reality to come to light. They're back.

"Taurus..." One word to dig up the demons, one word to shove the bones in my face. The boy banished to an early grave breaks the wave with one word and I almost feel shocked. Thunder booms and I swear it sounds like a canon. The fifth day turns from a memory to a reality in almost an instant. Steel kissing his flesh, Cody shaving his axe into his back, his body hitting the floor with a cold thud. Canons sounding like the boom of thunder.

He should have lived to feel the thump of his heartbeat, not gone out with the bang of a canon.

"I..." The words become trapped in my throat, killed before they had a chance to sound; honestly, I'm pretty used to it now. All I can do if look down on the ragged head of the boy I could've sworn blind was dead in an alleyway somewhere. Are those tears or are they the rain? Slurred in the midst of the resurfacing demons, I can't tell the difference any more. The effect is all the same.

The storm calms when he speaks and I swear the thunder claps stop and the sky listens. "I'm sorry, Jett. I'm so sorry." He tells me, his breath warming my soaked chest ever so slightly. I feel my hairs stand on end and my teeth close on the inside of my cheek. The word hits me and beads off, I'm completely numb to the effect.

I don't even know if sorry means anything any more. Sorry could never bring back Storm, Jabber or Taurus. Sorry can't rebury the demons, sorry seems to mean nothing these days. Sorry won't bring back the year Thunder spent gone or spare our parents the constant anxiety and grief. Sorry can't bring acceptance any damn quicker.

I'm too nihilistic to feel enraged but too numb to feel relieved. I pry him off me, worry eclipses everything else because he doesn't look like the Thunder from two years ago. "Get inside." The command flows naturally from my lips (not a single hint of a tremble) but my words aren't soft. Concern's never been a particularly good trait of mine and I was never quite practised enough at wearing it on my sleeve. Nihilism is a whole different story. The response felt automatic, practice from years of telling him to get inside after being late home seems to snap into effect. Oh, and how he's so very late home.

I'm lost between breaking down because my brother's back, or breaking down because he's opened a door that was better off closed. "Be quick, it's cold outside," I add, as if I'm the one who needs to explain himself.

---

(Theme: Everyday Robots - Damon Albarn | Tags: Knuckles )

WC: 937

{We're everyday robots in control
Or in the process of being sold}

Every thunderclap sounds like the plethora of canons that sounded on the fifth day.

And I'm not talking about the most recent games.

I cringe with every thunderclap, and silently shudder with second that passes. I keep my back turned to Thunder as he walks into the house, silence constantly broken by each canon that sounds from the sky and each footstep that carries my brother into the house. In all honesty, I cannot look at the boy who was my brother when Taurus held the power in the palm of his hands (along with his life), then suddenly vanished when Taurus lost the very last strands of that power with an axe in his back.

Just like that the power held in Taurus' hands was twisted into a burden and it was placed in our hands soon before his body.

We held the same burden, all of us: Thunder, Mother, Father, Aviana and I. We all held the same burden that was once seen as power in Taurus' hands. We held the same burden but we were supposed to share it. As a family we could have fucking shared the burden despite the unbearable weight thrust into the palm of our hands.

We all held the same burden but Thunder dropped it.

Despite my trembling hands at my side I gather the courage to turn around and look at the boy who stumbled on his path. When I remember how he was before our family was cursed with canon song I find myself wincing. A full head of light brown hair, porcelain skin that seemed to brittle but almost spotless in the sun. Despite me towering over him and having to tuck him in I held the hope he would be strong. Someone who watched through two of his cousins dying had to be, it seemed impossible. Eyes that were familiar.

Before we truly knew canon song I could call Thunder Hawk a brother.

Drenched in rain and rattled by the thunder and lightning that tears through the sky outside; this isn't the Thunder I remember. Porcelain skin that seemed to fragile looks broken, no longer childlike and now covered in dirt and grime. Just like that, he's no longer the brother who I would call for being late home and would tuck in when it was night. Now he's just a living example of what happens to people who stumble along the way and drop the burdens thrust into the palms of their hands.

I can't turn my back on him, despite the nihilism that's dominated my every thought and my every action I cannot bring my self to turn away again. I cannot grab him by the shoulders and scream at him 'what were you thinking?' I just can't, despite all the right I have because he dropped the burden we were all supposed to share.

"I- I'm-"

Before I can speak I spot lightning flash through the window and I'm silenced. This isn't the time for words. Despite being only a few feet away, me and Thunder are worlds apart now. Despite all my silence, all my introversion and all my nihilism I can't even remember the last time me and Thunder spoke. Probably when our burden still belong to Taurus in the form of power. Staring into the eyes of this boy I find myself remembering when Taurus still held power in his hands. Limping through that arena with his spear in hand and he still had the audacity to breathe.

Thunder brings back demons I thought I buried, I haven't had that thought since the funeral. My hands hang limply at my sides and not even a spot of anger can be felt, everything buried with nihilism along with the casket that held Taurus. Six feet under is where they all belong now. Except him. I swear, despite here he stands now, I thought Thunder had joined him.

I pull over a chair and allow myself to sink on it, no longer lost in a white plane of disbelief at the fact that the prodigal son has returned. No, there's no room for disbelief and now room for anger, only the sinking acceptance that my demons have come swarming back. "Are you okay?" I dare ask the obvious question, although I don't even quite know what I mean by it yet.

He doesn't look okay, not with grime covering him and teeth chattering, he looks like he's on the edge of collapse. "We need to cleaned up, get you clean clothes and you need rest," I lurch myself upwards, walking towards him so I'm right in front of him. "You shouldn't have been out there by yourself, please say you're okay." I end my tangent there.

Please say you're okay."

I don't even quite know if that's for my sake or for his sake. Years ago I would know, years ago I would definitely know. Too bad, nothing's quite the same since we were cursed to listen to the song of a canon.

---

(Theme: Everyday Robots - Damon Albarn | Tags: Knuckles )

{We're everyday robots in control
Or in the process of being sold}

My words hang and silence quickly shrouds them. It's quickly broken by the water droplets dripping from Thunder's body and the harsh chattering of his teeth. It feels almost surreal, seeing what I was sure was a dead boy walking. When I learned that he was gone I knew I would never find him, no matter what I did and our parents understood. Besides, we had a body to bury and a funeral to prepare for. Taurus' memory took priority and I'm not quite sure why.

In the back of my head, fireworks explode and gears turn. Whenever I brought dirt or grime into the house, mother would take a look at the mess I made on the ground and gasp. ('Jett, look at that bloody mess!') I could only ever take cover and make sure I wasn't caught by a strand of her rage. Now, I know to try and keep the house as clean as possible. It's a stupid thought, a thought lost between disbelief and relief, but I can't help but think that mother would let out a blood curdling scream if she saw what Thunder had brought into the house.

Please say you're okay.

I want him to nod his head but I'm only met with a deformed silence, chinks exploited by the sound of water dripping and thunder from the outside. I can only awkwardly look down at this boy standing before me. He's a mirror of grief, the scent of mourning is still there. Covered in grime and water, he's a perfect image of grief left to fester. When I look down on him, practically begging for a 'I'm fine,' I can't help but remember the days before we were cursed with the song of a canon. When he smiled, when he had Taurus to see him through the thick and the thin and he was clean and looked recognisable.

When I look at Thunder, I don't recognise. I don't recognise my mother's son or my sister's brother. All I see is a boy who couldn't bear the burden shared by all of us Hawks. His wings have clearly been clipped, no longer able to soar - the burden was clearly too heavy for the younger one. When I look at Thunder, his eyes seem in a state of being there but not quite there; it's almost as if he's looking at something otherworldly.

I want him back, I want him back to the way he was but I doubt that's even possible at this point. Time has blurred with the ages and I've felt the former power of Taurus Hawk quickly become my burden; it's like the claw of an owl gripped around my heart but when it's pierced all that is able to flow is nihilism. I'm not the same as I once was -and I doubt I ever will be- and it's clearly was same case with Thunder.

As much as I wish Thunder Hawk would come back, I know it's impossible. Lost between disbelief and acceptance, I find the courage to break the dragging silence.

"It's a good thing you came when you did, I was just about to leave here. For good." I tell him, putting my hands on his shoulders.

(Please say you're okay.)

"But now I know I can't leave yet, I can't leave until I know you'll be okay with Mom and Dad," I pause before continuing and put my hands on his shoulders, "they'll be thrilled, they'll be okay."

I don't know if I'll be okay, I just really can't tell any more; I suppose nihilism is just good at numbing myself to those downfalls.

---

(Theme: Everyday Robots - Damon Albarn | Tags: Knuckles )

{We're everyday robots in control
Or in the process of being sold}

When disbelief and confusion quickly melt away, I feel bare boned and exposed and when I'm exposed I'm as fragile as glass. Me and my nihilism, exposed to the elements and the tainted realities. The reality is that Taurus came home in a box and Thunder never came home at all. Now he returns, a good year later and covered in dirt and grime. He is lost, I see it in his eyes and his form. But is he as lost as me? He found himself lost on the streets but I found myself isolated and stripped of everything I thought was true. I was lost and stripped of everything but my nihilism; how pathetic.

('They'll be okay.')

Of course they will, as soon as they find out Thunder is alive they'll be okay. Long hours my father spent searching the district for him. Until that day, I'd never chanced to glance at a broken man who looked as if he had lost a large extension of himself. Thunder and Taurus, both snatched from the palm of his hands far too early for their time.

('I'm sorry, Dad. Thunder's gone.')

I don't know if I'll ever be okay again after shoving the final nail in my father's heart and his coffin. He spent hours not only looking for Thunder, but looking for an escape root from the reality that Taurus was dead. When I spoke those words I not only put the final nail in my the coffin of my father's sanity, but I also ensured he would have no escape from the reality that one of his sons were dead. With Thunder back, he'll be able to find that escape route ripped from the palm of his hands. Me on the other hand, I don't know if I'll be okay.

"I made a mistake."

He paused for a moment, even with the obvious stated I find myself silently agreeing. Willpower. It takes willpower to stop me nodding my head because he made a terrible mistake of allowing his burden to drop. We all were supposed to share the burden of Taurus' canon. We were all supposed to hold his memory in the palm of our hands and carry it day to day. We were supposed to get through it together because that's what family does in tragedy. We get through things together, just like we did with the death of Storm and Jabber. But he dropped his share of the burden and we were all doomed. I don't know if I'll be okay after carrying such a heavy burden; I don't know if I'll be okay after Thunder's mistake.

"One that can't be forgiven." He concludes and I freeze. I swear, if I could still feel its beat my heart would break. If I wasn't so numb I could feel the pulse of a heart slowly decaying from the idea that he can't find forgiveness in his own family. It should be the same: I could forgive him when he came home late, I could forgive him when he broke my things, I could forgive him when he shut down after watching Storm die, I should be able to forgive him after this shouldn't I?

I wrap my arms around him, my movement automatic and pull him into a tight embrace. "Like I said, they'll be okay and if they'll be okay they can forgive you. We love you, no matter what."

I'm standing on the edge, listening out but I still can't feel the hollow thump of my heart thudding against the chamber that is my rib cage.

But will I be okay? I don't know if I can even answer that any more.

"Just please, don't do that again." I feel no heartbeat in my chest, but in my eyes I swear there are tears.

('They'll be okay.')

I don't know if the same can be said about me.

---

(Theme: Everyday Robots - Damon Albarn | Tags: Knuckles )