intrepidity

Chapter 49

Aiden reached out, slow and careful, and took her hand. His palm was rough and warm, calloused in a way that made her feel safe. Grounded.

"I'll stay too," he murmured.

She blinked at him.

"I'll be right here. All night, if I have to," he continued, his voice low and sure, like steel wrapped in velvet. "You won't wake up alone."

Her breath shuddered, but her shoulders began to drop.

There was a long, silent moment before she shuffled closer, slipping into his side like she's used to. Her head pressed to his shoulder, her arm reaching instinctively across Marcus again, as if to keep them both tethered.

Thumper, her faithful rabbit, was nestled between them now—squished slightly under Aiden's arm.

And Marcus, even half-asleep, shifted with a grunt to make space.

Aiden didn't flinch. Didn't complain.

He just reached over with one arm and tucked the blanket around Aurora's shoulders with surprising tenderness. His hand lingered at her hairline for a moment, brushing it back the same way he used to when she was only a toddler and feverish.

Then he looked down at Marcus—who was watching him through one heavy-lidded eye—and wordlessly reached across to adjust the pillow behind his neck, smoothing the crease of the blanket along his chest.

Marcus blinked slowly.

"Thanks," he rasped, voice groggy.

Aiden's touch moved up, brushing a few messy strands of hair from Marcus's brow, fingers warm and uncharacteristically gentle.

"Get some sleep, bambino," Aiden said quietly, almost under his breath.

A whisper from a time long ago.

Something Marcus hadn't heard in years—not since he was small, and sick, curled up in bed with a fever and tears in his eyes. Back then, Aiden used to come in late at night, heavy with the weight of responsibility on his shoulders, and smooth his hair back with steady hands, whispering comfort in a voice that always made Marcus believe he was safe.

Now, that same voice—aged and worn, but still his anchor—brought a tightness to Marcus's chest that had nothing to do with stitches or bruises.

It meant something. It meant everything.

Aurora curled tighter into Aiden's side, finally letting her lashes fall against her cheeks as sleep slowly began to claim her. She didn't say a word, just let out the softest sigh, the kind a child makes when they know—without doubt—that someone is there to protect them.

Marcus's hand shifted beneath the blanket until it brushed Aurora's arm. Just enough to keep her close. Just enough to remind her he was still here. Still breathing. Still hers.

And Aiden—eldest, protector, anchor—sat between them like a sentinel made of stone and soft things. Like a lighthouse holding steady through a storm that had raged far too long.

He didn't speak again. Didn't shift, didn't blink away the ache in his eyes, didn't pull his hands back. One remained on Aurora's shoulder, gently rubbing slow, grounding circles into the fabric of her shirt. The other settled over Marcus's blanket, fingers curling slightly where they rested, like he needed the reassurance just as badly.

And for Marcus...

That was the moment the fear finally lifted.

Not all at once. Not like some dramatic exhale. But like the slow melt of frost under morning sunlight—quiet, careful, inevitable. He hadn't even realized how much tension he'd been holding in his body. The fight to stay alive. The panic. The pain. The dread of what might happen if he closed his eyes again.

But Aiden was here now.

Not just standing by the door or barking orders to doctors or checking in through others. Here. On the bed. Between him and Aurora. Holding onto them like it was the only thing anchoring him too.

And for the first time since the blood, the darkness, the nearly-final breath...

Marcus let himself sleep.

Truly sleep.

Because he was safe.

Because he was home.

Because his big brother had said, Get some sleep, bambino, and something inside Marcus had finally believed him.

The quiet that followed wasn't hollow like the sterile hush of hospital nights or the ghost-silence that had haunted their house while Marcus lay between life and death.

No—this quiet was soft and warm. It was alive.

It was the kind of quiet that said, I'm here. I've got you. You can rest now.

Three siblings fell asleep like that—pressed close together, a tangle of arms and warmth and unspoken healing.

Because they had nearly shattered.

And now... they were each other's glue.

author's note - flufufufufufufffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff again

i found a new hobby: cleaning my keyboard with a pin

its so fun it feels like i am destroying an empire when i get the dirt out from under the button its very satisfying 

sleep deprivation does this to you

welpppppp

love u <3