mayfield_logs | (no subject)

Who: Cain and Abel
What: All the sadfacing. Mama Abel babbying Cain.
Where: Nightroad residence.
When: Before Mrs. Johnson's phone call on the 1st.
Warnings: Hallucinations/adorable child in pain? Maybe clinical usage of sedatives etc. Nothing too bad here.

It had been several days since Cain had been returned to him -- dumped outside of the hospital like the others, left to endure pain and suffer in the recesses of his own mind. His perpetually smiling, cheerful and upbeat twin-turned-little brother had been reduced to a creature living in constant fear... constant fear, and constant agony. He had gone searching more than once in the recesses of the hospital and pharmacy's stores for drug suitable to ease his suffering; it killed Abel to see Cain this way, down to his bones. There was nothing he could do... nothing, to make this better. It was a game of survival. To keep his brother alive and as painless as possible, until they could discover a means by which to reverse this.

Abel is headed back into the house, a brown paper bag in hand filled with various sedatives and painkillers, clean syringes, and IV bags; Cain was sometimes too terrified to so much as perform the basic functions like eating and spent most of his days sleeping them away, so he had to be sure that his age-regressed twin didn't simply wither away. Shrugging out of his coat and leaving it at the door, he heads up the stairs and toward the child's bedroom, quietly unlocking it before stepping inside. The curtains were drawn low to block out the light and let him sleep undisturbed as much as to block out the chaos that was unraveling in the streets.

Mayfield had literally gone to Hell.

It almost seemed that Mrs. Johnson would keep her word and take every single one of them into that mysterious 'factory' of hers -- leave them mutilated or otherwise bastardized versions of themselves in mind, body, or spirit -- sometimes all three. He didn't understand... couldn't understand this; even if the worst days of his life when his heart had been consumed by a sick hatred for man, he had never gone to such lengths to make another people suffer. Even a monster hadn't had the stomach for this.

He closes the door, softly -- putting the bag aside and letting tired eyes adjust to the low light, before he's pulling the chair up beside the bed to sit in it. Fingers reach for the IV currently dripping to test its condition, before he rests his palm lightly over his twin's brow.

...He is beginning to think the life waiting for him on Mars is less cruel than this. Even... knowing how it would end.

This isn't living at all. His brother is a suffering ghost. A small and helpless child enduring something terrible for no reason at all...

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God help him... he's starting to believe that he might really be improving; this is the longest he's held out and onto himself, even managed to endure moving outside of the room without losing himself. It... was a sign, right? The drug was wearing out of his system, or... it had run its course? Its effects would deplete, until it was totally gone and his baby brother was...

...Was okay.

His heart is thumping painfully hard and fast and he's praying for it with visceral longing inside, yet little on the outside changes; the smile he wears has a little enthusiasm behind it for his hopeful spirits as he helps Cain spoon up some stew.

"Eat up, okay? You need to rebuild your strength after the past few days..."

Despite how he needs it, he has little appetite for the food. Chewing hurts his jaw and swallowing hurts his throat, it's a vicious cycle of pain all over that never ceases.

But he doesn't want to disappoint his brother, and somewhere inside he knows he needs to eat, so he sips up the spoonful of stew and chews slowly.

"...I'm really tired."

Perhaps with his brother keeping watch, he could sleep safely from the people trying to kill him. Right? Right?

He can see his reluctance; hopefully, once he starts eating, his body will realize how hungry he is and he can dig in with a bit more fervor. Even if it's nigh impossible for one of the clones to get sick, he had no idea if it was an option, now...

Smoothing fingers gently through blonde hair, Abel gave a sympathetic nod. "...mm, it's alright. After you eat, you can get some more sleep. I'll be here to watch over you."

And pray... pray, with all his heart that he was on the rebound.

Try not to worry too much, little-big brother, they were designed to withstand conditions much harsher than a few days without food, he'll be just fine.

Eating on autopilot, only having the focus for one thing at a time, he wisely chose to keep that attention on his brother. He manages about half the bowl before just slumping against him, half asleep.

"Don't go anywhere, okay?"

Ah. His heart tugs -- this time, affectionately more than anything else above the pain. He hates to see him this way... hates to know he's hurting, that there is something... wrong that he can't fix -- but to be loved... to have him here...

Abel slings his arm carefully around his brother's shoulder, lifting the bowl away. "I wouldn't dream of it." His voice is quiet, soft, as he shifts to scoot over and onto the bed with him -- laying his tiny twin tucked into his side. (His feet are hanging off the bed; Abel could care less... It might be comical to the onlooker, though.)

Rubbing Cain's back, he gives a quiet hum. "Get some rest, sleepyhead. I'll be here when you wake up, just like this."

It's a sad thing that Abel's hopes are all for naught - after all, the prayers of a monster are never going to be answered, are they? When Cain wakes next time, he'll be terrified and accusatory again, flinging desperate and harsh words at the imposter he believes is trying to kill him.

But not now...

Now he is docile and calm, snuggled into his brother's arms and holding onto his sleeve tightly. So glad Abel is here with him, where he's needed... safe at last, he falls fast asleep.