Broderick Best (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
abracadavers) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
adventureic2024-03-02 07:53 am
abracadavers) wrote in adventureic2024-03-02 07:53 am
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WHO: Briar and Broderick
WHEN: Thursday, February 29. Late
WHERE: Broderick's apartment.
WHAT:Broderick has been acting off, Briar investigates, with bourbon
WARNINGS: grief over a dead spouse, mentions of cancer, death
The day had been complicated in a few ways for Briar, from feeling hobbled by his limited senses to having to deal with the pack discussion to learning about Bracken's child, but that didn't mean that he didn't notice the slightly off behavior of Broderick.
Bothered by that and wanting to check in on his friend (and, maybe, craving a distraction from his own problems), Briar shows up unannounced at his door late in the evening, bottle of bourbon in hand, praying that Bracken isn't there. A quick cursory sniff suggests he's not, but it's only after a moment he remembers that his sense of smell isn't what it normally is. With a sigh he knocks on Broderick's door, ready to deal with his brother's presence if need be.
The door opens swiftly and aggressively, like the occupant of said apartment wanted the act to be a punctuation mark to a very irritated message. Broderick pauses though when he sees who it is, face sifting through a number of expressions before settling on wary but resigned.
“That’s a good bourbon,” he says after a long moment.
Briar's initial response is a slight raise of an eyebrow - there's a lot going on here already, and he hasn't even shoved himself into his apartment yet. He takes a moment, shifts to look over Broderick's shoulder as much as he can, but is confident enough that Bracken isn't hanging around. He lifts the bottle in recognition of the comment, but does not offer it since he's going to use it as an excuse for entry.
"Figured we could use a drink, if you have time. I know it's a bit late." He'll leave all commentary on the other man's apparent mood until he's inside, too.
Broderick seems to think this over before a small, harassed smile stretches across his face. His shoulders drop as he ushers Briar in with a tilt of his chin. “And you knew just what would get you through the door. Come in, I won’t say no to that.”
It’s clear there’s no Bracken hidden anywhere as they move deeper into Broderick’s apartment, but the place, normally so precise even in its cozy, messiness, looks a little different.
Broderick is evidently changing or moving something. Looking for something. “How are you, after everything?”
"You'd be stupid to turn this down," Briar asserts easily, stepping inside and looking around. It certainly feels off, just like Broderick's energy. Even his garbage human senses can tell that.
"Today's been frustrating, but I'm forcing myself to be optimistic that things will clear up quickly." Even as he says this, though, there's not a ton of confidence in his voice. "You holding up alright?" There's more he wants to ask, and he will if he has to, but Broderick typically seems more than happy to talk without much prompting, which suits Briar just fine.
Except this time, the other man seems to have found reticence.
“Fine,” Broderick answers dismissively, occupying himself with finding suitable glasses for them without the aid of magic. “I’m essentially human to begin with,” he continues. “It’s not like I’ve become something else, not like you wolves.”
Unfortunate, that Briar will have to do the work to tease whatever is wrong out of Broderick, but he's ready to do so.
"Still, I'm sure it's a big change for you. It's a lot more inconvenient to just be a regular human."
He looks around, gaze trading off between the other man and examining his home.
"You seem off, for being fine."
Broderick’s eyeroll was probably audible. “I didn’t realize 6 weeks made you an expert,” comes out sharply, but the regret is already visible before Broderick has turned around to hand Briar the glass.
“I guess the absence of magic has thrown me off a little,” he offers tersely, though gentler than before. “It’s not some..added gift. It’s all I’ve known. Obviously, similar for yourself.” If not more so. Broderick had worried about Byron, what one more change to who he was would do to him after a tumultuous 7 months. And now he’d gone and pushed where he shouldn't have, hadn't seen or heard from Byron all day.
"You usually never shut up. Six weeks is plenty of time to get to know you well enough to tell something's up." Briar's reply is easy and unbothered; Broderick's attitude isn't personal, he knows.
Reaching to take the offered glass, he sets it aside to open the bourbon. It takes him a moment to decide how to approach it - not that it's difficult to open, but his understanding of his current strength is off.
"It's hard to feel so… hobbled," he offers after a moment, the statement applying to himself as well. "But like all the other dumb shit here, I'm sure it'll resolve itself."
Broderick makes a noncommittal noise and braces himself against the kitchen island as he watches Briar struggle a little. An amused smile pulls his mouth to the side.
“Oh, but you make the hobbling look so good,” he says, deadpan. “You need help over there cowboy? That bottle too much for your fragile human body?”
"Gotta like… recalibrate everything. Shut up." It's a weak comeback because there's no bite behind it, and Briar isn't one to feel particularly embarrassed about things anymore. He pulls out the stopper after a moment more, throwing it at Broderick. Then he's pouring himself a healthy glass without thinking about the implications of his human body before holding the bottle out to the other man. If he's going to mock him he gets to pour his own.
"You do most things with magic, then? If not having it's so disruptive?" He shifts, propping himself against counter space that puts him generally opposite his companion, body angled towards him.
“No, not necessarily,” the other man answers, tossing the caught stopper back onto the counter. “It’s just always there, always accessible. Like another limb you’re used to being able to use, so when you can’t…” he shrugs. The lack of magic didn’t actually bother him, aside from that absence he spoke of, like he was no longer complete. It was unsettling, felt wrong but he knew this wouldn’t be permanent. It was the rest of it, though. “Unlike some of us,” he nods at Briar as pours his own glass, “I actually don’t rely too much on it. My muscles aren’t show muscles.”
His taunting grin stretches wide as he takes a leisurely sip.
Briar sips at his own bourbon for a moment, wrinkling his nose at Broderick as he lowers his glass. He supposes it makes sense that whatever is going on is serious enough that he'd have to tease it out of the other man, but it's not his favorite. Still, it's what he came here to do, and while he enjoys the banter he knows he needs to push.
"First, I could beat the shit out of you right now." There is almost no challenge in this - it is stated as a fact. "Second, there's only so long I'm going to let you skirt around how bad you're actually feeling - still seems like more than just feeling a little strange from no magic. Might as well just fess up."
Broderick gives a sharp huff of annoyance and turns back to the bourbon. For fuck’s sake. “There’s nothing to fess up, I told you. Christ, is this what I sound like?” He won’t meet Briar’s eyes though, and that only seems to worsen the irritation, plainly more inwardly focused than anything.
“This has been a fucked up day for all of us, probably because my father is so astoundingly incompetent that he's allowed already shoddy magic to further erode until we have the woman Bea has possessed wake up from the horror she endures only to likely go right back under because I don’t have my fucking magic. I can’t hear or feel the other side at all. ”
There should be a pounding, dozens of voices should be clamouring for his attention at that outburst, a migraine should be pulsing threateningly behind his eyes but instead there's nothing. Just pressure from stress and a heartbeat that has been pounding with fear since he woke up this morning to silence.
This is, in fact, what Briar thinks Boderick sounds like, but there's no reason to push that when all his other feelings are finally coming tumbling out. He listens quietly and intently, watching the other man even though he won't meet his gaze. His final comment is interesting and strange to Briar, though he supposes he understands - being in tune with the other side seems stressful, but he himself is reeling from missing senses that others find overwhelming. It's got to be quite a change for Broderick.
"Your father is shit," he agrees, almost as a sort of reassurance, before he takes another thoughtful sip of bourbon.
"And as far as I see it, as much as I hate it, neither one of us is in a place to handle demonic shit on that level, magic or not." An uncomfortable fact they have to settle with in respect to their coworkers. "The chaos here is fucked up and… dangerous. But it resolves itself. Your magic will come back. The other side will come back."
Broderick releases a strained laugh, and presses his thumb and fingertips to the bridge of his nose, pressing and pressing until it's dull with pain. The fact is, none of these people know the extent of Broderick’s powers or what he's done, how easy it is for him to traverse a space a living person shouldn’t. Too easy.
They see him zone out, maybe talk to himself, but only Stela or the demons really can know.
“You don’t understand.”
Briar considers, for a moment, just sitting and letting Broderick, in his own time, explain. But he hasn't been forthcoming, so it seems right to once again push a little.
"Don't understand what? That-"
“He’s gone, again,” bursts out of Broderick like he’d been holding onto it for far too long. “He’s,” Broderick curses under his breath and scrubs a hand down his face. “He’s gone. Fuck.”
There's an impulse to go and touch Broderick's arm, but Briar has been around humans long enough to know that physical contact is often unwelcome when you're not terribly close. And while he and Broderick are friends, they're not close enough yet. He occupies himself instead with trying to sort out his companion's words, knowing there are likely enough clues there for him to understand.
It takes some time, but his brows draw tight as he makes a possible connection. "Miles?" Surely that's who he's talking about, right? For some reason it had never occurred to him that speaking with his deceased husband could be an option, but of course it was. And of course someone would do it, given the chance.
Maybe finally saying it out loud after nearly a year of hiding it is all he really needs, because Broderick slumps back against his cabinets like his strings were cut, arms crossed protectively over his chest.
It was out now, why the fuck not?
“Yeah,” he swallows. “Miles. It wasn’t–” Broderick tries again, “I didn’t go looking for him. I wouldn’t disrespect his memory like that, but he came to me. Maybe a year after he passed, I was convening with this other spirit and it was first just his voice.” Fuck, Broderick had been certain he’d hallucinated it at first, had wanted so badly to keep the memory of those low tones and long vowels that he’d conjured it. “And then he started…visiting. Not often, a handful of times. But enough for it to become a regular enough thing.”
Broderick looked away, jaw tight in what was probably shame. “Do you know what that fucking means Briar? A ghost being able to visit you like that?”
Briar fidgets the smallest amount, wanting to fix this for his friend even though he obviously can't. He finishes his bourbon as he listens, watches, noting the closed off, tired stance. Without being told, it's very obvious that this is a secret. It's no wonder Broderick is so distressed by his lack of magic.
At the question, Briar shakes his head. "I don't." And while he doesn't know the implications of a ghost visiting (an inability to move on, if that's even a thing?), he does know what it means in general for the person being visited. It means being tethered to the past and not being able to heal. There's no way that Broderick can recover from the loss of someone who's only partially gone.
“It means that he hasn’t moved on,” Broderick inhales shakily, expression still tight and set in an obvious attempt to keep control of this, when he’s lost control in so many other areas of his life. “He was sick for 5 years, wasted away for 5 years while we did everything we possibly could. And I will always feel responsible for that, but I could be at peace with knowing by the end he’d wanted to go. He was ready to move on.” Except he hadn’t, evidently, he was stuck and haunting the person who’d failed him so completely.
It's horrible to be proven right in his suspicions, and it's equally horrible to have no idea what to say that would be comforting. But how could anything comfort someone going through this, really? It's a unique, incredibly difficult situation.
Briar is tempted to argue with Broderick's guilt over his husband's death, but figures that now is not the time for that. There's too much else to deal with.
"So he wants to be here still, then?" He's attempting to understand but also maybe, just a little, trying to lift some of the feelings of responsibility that are likely there as well.
“No, he can’t leave,” Broderick corrects. “And I don’t know how to help him.” A partial truth, and Broderick let’s himself feel sick at the way he’s gotten used to having Miles accessible, not there like he used to be, but able to talk, to joke, to laugh in a sad pantomime of their life together. He doesn’t know why Miles can’t move on, but Broderick's efforts have lessened in the past few months.
Of course, he hasn’t spoken to Miles as much lately. Not when he’s been with –
“When I woke up this morning and it was quiet,” he shakes his head and struggles to swallow down the lump in his throat. “I don’t…hold onto him, he’s passed. I loved him, and will love him, but I’m not trying to…recreate our relationship,” he needed Briar to understand that. He’d had time at the end there, when it was at its worst when they’d both had to reconcile with reality and make peace with it, that he’d had to let a part of himself go. People needed him, he couldn’t fail anyone else.
“But, I woke up this morning and it was like losing him again.”
It's difficult to figure out how to break his silence, because every new piece of information just makes knowing what to say even harder. Though he's obviously never been in this situation before, Briar knows guilt well, and Broderick seems to be drowning in it, more so than he originally thought. And, of course, the renewed feelings of loss, even if their separation is probably only temporary, is a lot to bear even on its own.
Briar draws in a breath, slow and deliberate, about to say something before abandoning the idea for the moment. Instead he pushes off the counter and goes to pull Broderick into a firm hug. Hopefully he'll allow it and the pressure and the contact do him some good.
Broderick’s surprise is clear, a hesitant shuffle back, arms momentarily trapped, before he’s enfolded into Briar’s embrace.
“What are you —” he swallows hard as Briar’s arms tighten, and the resistance, the need to be in control fractures a little more (as it already had throughout the day). He lets himself be hugged, so used to doing the hugging, and grips the back of Briar’s shirt tight in his fist.
“Fuck you,” he mutters, and the words sounds just a little wet.
It takes Briar a moment to find the right pressure, still obviously unaccustomed to this weaker form, and while he allows Broderick to readjust as he'd like so that his arms aren't pinned to him, otherwise he seems intent on holding firm. He feels bad for the other man, quite acutely, and he wants to ask him questions - about who he's told, what he's tried, what Briar can do to help. But it all seems like discussion for a later time, when the other man doesn't simply need comfort.
"Fuck you too." Said as what it is, practically a term of endearment. "This is all seriously fucked up, Broderick. And I don't…" The alcohol, frustratingly, is making the edges of his thoughts go a little fuzzy. Being human is a nightmare. "Nothing I say is going to do much for it. But I'm sorry you're dealing with this."
Broderick makes a noncommittal noise, his grip on the back of Briar’s shirt tightening for a moment before he lets it go completely.
What was there to say? Nothing, and Broderick didn’t want or expect anything, was regretting sharing any of it at all because it didn’t quell the steady beat of fear in his chest every minute he couldn’t feel his magic.
But he was tired, he could admit that now, and the grief was like a tidal wave, all the stronger because he hadn't properly dealt with it in years. Couldn’t (feared he never really would).
“You can’t tell anyone,” he says gruffly, severely as he pulls away. “Not Bracken, not— Byron can’t know.”
As Broderick pulls away, so does Briar, shifting back slightly as his arms cross to give the other man a bit of breathing room. His frown remains, even deepens a little at the request to not tell anyone. So he really hasn't told anyone.
Even though that's concerning, he's not going to break confidence. He gives a small shake of his head. "I won't. But… we should probably talk about this more. Later. When things aren't so fucked."
Broderick makes no promises to that, says nothing at all as he rubs at his jaw, huffing a little in annoyance and probably some measure of shame now that the worst of the emotional crashing wave had now ebbed.
“If this glitch is like the ones before it,” he clears his throat, “then I’m hoping that it all fucking ends at midnight. So,” he nods towards the open bottle of bourbon, eager to move the attention away from himself as much as was actually possible given the circumstances and his outburst. “Let’s finish that while you’re still able to get wankered.”
Briar offers a quiet scoff - as though the magic part of this resolving suddenly solves everything else. But, again, now is not the time, and Broderick can shift the conversation without a fight. He wrinkles his nose, but goes to grab the bottle just the same.
"Fine. If I'm obnoxious when I'm human drunk, remember that you encouraged it."
Broderick’s bark of laughter at that comes out surprised. His hands are still shaking slightly, but he finds, in the deliberate calm of Briar’s response, he’s able to breathe just a little easier.
Thank you, he wants to say.
“If? You already are,” is what he says instead, and reaches for his glass.
WHEN: Thursday, February 29. Late
WHERE: Broderick's apartment.
WHAT:Broderick has been acting off, Briar investigates, with bourbon
WARNINGS: grief over a dead spouse, mentions of cancer, death
The day had been complicated in a few ways for Briar, from feeling hobbled by his limited senses to having to deal with the pack discussion to learning about Bracken's child, but that didn't mean that he didn't notice the slightly off behavior of Broderick.
Bothered by that and wanting to check in on his friend (and, maybe, craving a distraction from his own problems), Briar shows up unannounced at his door late in the evening, bottle of bourbon in hand, praying that Bracken isn't there. A quick cursory sniff suggests he's not, but it's only after a moment he remembers that his sense of smell isn't what it normally is. With a sigh he knocks on Broderick's door, ready to deal with his brother's presence if need be.
The door opens swiftly and aggressively, like the occupant of said apartment wanted the act to be a punctuation mark to a very irritated message. Broderick pauses though when he sees who it is, face sifting through a number of expressions before settling on wary but resigned.
“That’s a good bourbon,” he says after a long moment.
Briar's initial response is a slight raise of an eyebrow - there's a lot going on here already, and he hasn't even shoved himself into his apartment yet. He takes a moment, shifts to look over Broderick's shoulder as much as he can, but is confident enough that Bracken isn't hanging around. He lifts the bottle in recognition of the comment, but does not offer it since he's going to use it as an excuse for entry.
"Figured we could use a drink, if you have time. I know it's a bit late." He'll leave all commentary on the other man's apparent mood until he's inside, too.
Broderick seems to think this over before a small, harassed smile stretches across his face. His shoulders drop as he ushers Briar in with a tilt of his chin. “And you knew just what would get you through the door. Come in, I won’t say no to that.”
It’s clear there’s no Bracken hidden anywhere as they move deeper into Broderick’s apartment, but the place, normally so precise even in its cozy, messiness, looks a little different.
Broderick is evidently changing or moving something. Looking for something. “How are you, after everything?”
"You'd be stupid to turn this down," Briar asserts easily, stepping inside and looking around. It certainly feels off, just like Broderick's energy. Even his garbage human senses can tell that.
"Today's been frustrating, but I'm forcing myself to be optimistic that things will clear up quickly." Even as he says this, though, there's not a ton of confidence in his voice. "You holding up alright?" There's more he wants to ask, and he will if he has to, but Broderick typically seems more than happy to talk without much prompting, which suits Briar just fine.
Except this time, the other man seems to have found reticence.
“Fine,” Broderick answers dismissively, occupying himself with finding suitable glasses for them without the aid of magic. “I’m essentially human to begin with,” he continues. “It’s not like I’ve become something else, not like you wolves.”
Unfortunate, that Briar will have to do the work to tease whatever is wrong out of Broderick, but he's ready to do so.
"Still, I'm sure it's a big change for you. It's a lot more inconvenient to just be a regular human."
He looks around, gaze trading off between the other man and examining his home.
"You seem off, for being fine."
Broderick’s eyeroll was probably audible. “I didn’t realize 6 weeks made you an expert,” comes out sharply, but the regret is already visible before Broderick has turned around to hand Briar the glass.
“I guess the absence of magic has thrown me off a little,” he offers tersely, though gentler than before. “It’s not some..added gift. It’s all I’ve known. Obviously, similar for yourself.” If not more so. Broderick had worried about Byron, what one more change to who he was would do to him after a tumultuous 7 months. And now he’d gone and pushed where he shouldn't have, hadn't seen or heard from Byron all day.
"You usually never shut up. Six weeks is plenty of time to get to know you well enough to tell something's up." Briar's reply is easy and unbothered; Broderick's attitude isn't personal, he knows.
Reaching to take the offered glass, he sets it aside to open the bourbon. It takes him a moment to decide how to approach it - not that it's difficult to open, but his understanding of his current strength is off.
"It's hard to feel so… hobbled," he offers after a moment, the statement applying to himself as well. "But like all the other dumb shit here, I'm sure it'll resolve itself."
Broderick makes a noncommittal noise and braces himself against the kitchen island as he watches Briar struggle a little. An amused smile pulls his mouth to the side.
“Oh, but you make the hobbling look so good,” he says, deadpan. “You need help over there cowboy? That bottle too much for your fragile human body?”
"Gotta like… recalibrate everything. Shut up." It's a weak comeback because there's no bite behind it, and Briar isn't one to feel particularly embarrassed about things anymore. He pulls out the stopper after a moment more, throwing it at Broderick. Then he's pouring himself a healthy glass without thinking about the implications of his human body before holding the bottle out to the other man. If he's going to mock him he gets to pour his own.
"You do most things with magic, then? If not having it's so disruptive?" He shifts, propping himself against counter space that puts him generally opposite his companion, body angled towards him.
“No, not necessarily,” the other man answers, tossing the caught stopper back onto the counter. “It’s just always there, always accessible. Like another limb you’re used to being able to use, so when you can’t…” he shrugs. The lack of magic didn’t actually bother him, aside from that absence he spoke of, like he was no longer complete. It was unsettling, felt wrong but he knew this wouldn’t be permanent. It was the rest of it, though. “Unlike some of us,” he nods at Briar as pours his own glass, “I actually don’t rely too much on it. My muscles aren’t show muscles.”
His taunting grin stretches wide as he takes a leisurely sip.
Briar sips at his own bourbon for a moment, wrinkling his nose at Broderick as he lowers his glass. He supposes it makes sense that whatever is going on is serious enough that he'd have to tease it out of the other man, but it's not his favorite. Still, it's what he came here to do, and while he enjoys the banter he knows he needs to push.
"First, I could beat the shit out of you right now." There is almost no challenge in this - it is stated as a fact. "Second, there's only so long I'm going to let you skirt around how bad you're actually feeling - still seems like more than just feeling a little strange from no magic. Might as well just fess up."
Broderick gives a sharp huff of annoyance and turns back to the bourbon. For fuck’s sake. “There’s nothing to fess up, I told you. Christ, is this what I sound like?” He won’t meet Briar’s eyes though, and that only seems to worsen the irritation, plainly more inwardly focused than anything.
“This has been a fucked up day for all of us, probably because my father is so astoundingly incompetent that he's allowed already shoddy magic to further erode until we have the woman Bea has possessed wake up from the horror she endures only to likely go right back under because I don’t have my fucking magic. I can’t hear or feel the other side at all. ”
There should be a pounding, dozens of voices should be clamouring for his attention at that outburst, a migraine should be pulsing threateningly behind his eyes but instead there's nothing. Just pressure from stress and a heartbeat that has been pounding with fear since he woke up this morning to silence.
This is, in fact, what Briar thinks Boderick sounds like, but there's no reason to push that when all his other feelings are finally coming tumbling out. He listens quietly and intently, watching the other man even though he won't meet his gaze. His final comment is interesting and strange to Briar, though he supposes he understands - being in tune with the other side seems stressful, but he himself is reeling from missing senses that others find overwhelming. It's got to be quite a change for Broderick.
"Your father is shit," he agrees, almost as a sort of reassurance, before he takes another thoughtful sip of bourbon.
"And as far as I see it, as much as I hate it, neither one of us is in a place to handle demonic shit on that level, magic or not." An uncomfortable fact they have to settle with in respect to their coworkers. "The chaos here is fucked up and… dangerous. But it resolves itself. Your magic will come back. The other side will come back."
Broderick releases a strained laugh, and presses his thumb and fingertips to the bridge of his nose, pressing and pressing until it's dull with pain. The fact is, none of these people know the extent of Broderick’s powers or what he's done, how easy it is for him to traverse a space a living person shouldn’t. Too easy.
They see him zone out, maybe talk to himself, but only Stela or the demons really can know.
“You don’t understand.”
Briar considers, for a moment, just sitting and letting Broderick, in his own time, explain. But he hasn't been forthcoming, so it seems right to once again push a little.
"Don't understand what? That-"
“He’s gone, again,” bursts out of Broderick like he’d been holding onto it for far too long. “He’s,” Broderick curses under his breath and scrubs a hand down his face. “He’s gone. Fuck.”
There's an impulse to go and touch Broderick's arm, but Briar has been around humans long enough to know that physical contact is often unwelcome when you're not terribly close. And while he and Broderick are friends, they're not close enough yet. He occupies himself instead with trying to sort out his companion's words, knowing there are likely enough clues there for him to understand.
It takes some time, but his brows draw tight as he makes a possible connection. "Miles?" Surely that's who he's talking about, right? For some reason it had never occurred to him that speaking with his deceased husband could be an option, but of course it was. And of course someone would do it, given the chance.
Maybe finally saying it out loud after nearly a year of hiding it is all he really needs, because Broderick slumps back against his cabinets like his strings were cut, arms crossed protectively over his chest.
It was out now, why the fuck not?
“Yeah,” he swallows. “Miles. It wasn’t–” Broderick tries again, “I didn’t go looking for him. I wouldn’t disrespect his memory like that, but he came to me. Maybe a year after he passed, I was convening with this other spirit and it was first just his voice.” Fuck, Broderick had been certain he’d hallucinated it at first, had wanted so badly to keep the memory of those low tones and long vowels that he’d conjured it. “And then he started…visiting. Not often, a handful of times. But enough for it to become a regular enough thing.”
Broderick looked away, jaw tight in what was probably shame. “Do you know what that fucking means Briar? A ghost being able to visit you like that?”
Briar fidgets the smallest amount, wanting to fix this for his friend even though he obviously can't. He finishes his bourbon as he listens, watches, noting the closed off, tired stance. Without being told, it's very obvious that this is a secret. It's no wonder Broderick is so distressed by his lack of magic.
At the question, Briar shakes his head. "I don't." And while he doesn't know the implications of a ghost visiting (an inability to move on, if that's even a thing?), he does know what it means in general for the person being visited. It means being tethered to the past and not being able to heal. There's no way that Broderick can recover from the loss of someone who's only partially gone.
“It means that he hasn’t moved on,” Broderick inhales shakily, expression still tight and set in an obvious attempt to keep control of this, when he’s lost control in so many other areas of his life. “He was sick for 5 years, wasted away for 5 years while we did everything we possibly could. And I will always feel responsible for that, but I could be at peace with knowing by the end he’d wanted to go. He was ready to move on.” Except he hadn’t, evidently, he was stuck and haunting the person who’d failed him so completely.
It's horrible to be proven right in his suspicions, and it's equally horrible to have no idea what to say that would be comforting. But how could anything comfort someone going through this, really? It's a unique, incredibly difficult situation.
Briar is tempted to argue with Broderick's guilt over his husband's death, but figures that now is not the time for that. There's too much else to deal with.
"So he wants to be here still, then?" He's attempting to understand but also maybe, just a little, trying to lift some of the feelings of responsibility that are likely there as well.
“No, he can’t leave,” Broderick corrects. “And I don’t know how to help him.” A partial truth, and Broderick let’s himself feel sick at the way he’s gotten used to having Miles accessible, not there like he used to be, but able to talk, to joke, to laugh in a sad pantomime of their life together. He doesn’t know why Miles can’t move on, but Broderick's efforts have lessened in the past few months.
Of course, he hasn’t spoken to Miles as much lately. Not when he’s been with –
“When I woke up this morning and it was quiet,” he shakes his head and struggles to swallow down the lump in his throat. “I don’t…hold onto him, he’s passed. I loved him, and will love him, but I’m not trying to…recreate our relationship,” he needed Briar to understand that. He’d had time at the end there, when it was at its worst when they’d both had to reconcile with reality and make peace with it, that he’d had to let a part of himself go. People needed him, he couldn’t fail anyone else.
“But, I woke up this morning and it was like losing him again.”
It's difficult to figure out how to break his silence, because every new piece of information just makes knowing what to say even harder. Though he's obviously never been in this situation before, Briar knows guilt well, and Broderick seems to be drowning in it, more so than he originally thought. And, of course, the renewed feelings of loss, even if their separation is probably only temporary, is a lot to bear even on its own.
Briar draws in a breath, slow and deliberate, about to say something before abandoning the idea for the moment. Instead he pushes off the counter and goes to pull Broderick into a firm hug. Hopefully he'll allow it and the pressure and the contact do him some good.
Broderick’s surprise is clear, a hesitant shuffle back, arms momentarily trapped, before he’s enfolded into Briar’s embrace.
“What are you —” he swallows hard as Briar’s arms tighten, and the resistance, the need to be in control fractures a little more (as it already had throughout the day). He lets himself be hugged, so used to doing the hugging, and grips the back of Briar’s shirt tight in his fist.
“Fuck you,” he mutters, and the words sounds just a little wet.
It takes Briar a moment to find the right pressure, still obviously unaccustomed to this weaker form, and while he allows Broderick to readjust as he'd like so that his arms aren't pinned to him, otherwise he seems intent on holding firm. He feels bad for the other man, quite acutely, and he wants to ask him questions - about who he's told, what he's tried, what Briar can do to help. But it all seems like discussion for a later time, when the other man doesn't simply need comfort.
"Fuck you too." Said as what it is, practically a term of endearment. "This is all seriously fucked up, Broderick. And I don't…" The alcohol, frustratingly, is making the edges of his thoughts go a little fuzzy. Being human is a nightmare. "Nothing I say is going to do much for it. But I'm sorry you're dealing with this."
Broderick makes a noncommittal noise, his grip on the back of Briar’s shirt tightening for a moment before he lets it go completely.
What was there to say? Nothing, and Broderick didn’t want or expect anything, was regretting sharing any of it at all because it didn’t quell the steady beat of fear in his chest every minute he couldn’t feel his magic.
But he was tired, he could admit that now, and the grief was like a tidal wave, all the stronger because he hadn't properly dealt with it in years. Couldn’t (feared he never really would).
“You can’t tell anyone,” he says gruffly, severely as he pulls away. “Not Bracken, not— Byron can’t know.”
As Broderick pulls away, so does Briar, shifting back slightly as his arms cross to give the other man a bit of breathing room. His frown remains, even deepens a little at the request to not tell anyone. So he really hasn't told anyone.
Even though that's concerning, he's not going to break confidence. He gives a small shake of his head. "I won't. But… we should probably talk about this more. Later. When things aren't so fucked."
Broderick makes no promises to that, says nothing at all as he rubs at his jaw, huffing a little in annoyance and probably some measure of shame now that the worst of the emotional crashing wave had now ebbed.
“If this glitch is like the ones before it,” he clears his throat, “then I’m hoping that it all fucking ends at midnight. So,” he nods towards the open bottle of bourbon, eager to move the attention away from himself as much as was actually possible given the circumstances and his outburst. “Let’s finish that while you’re still able to get wankered.”
Briar offers a quiet scoff - as though the magic part of this resolving suddenly solves everything else. But, again, now is not the time, and Broderick can shift the conversation without a fight. He wrinkles his nose, but goes to grab the bottle just the same.
"Fine. If I'm obnoxious when I'm human drunk, remember that you encouraged it."
Broderick’s bark of laughter at that comes out surprised. His hands are still shaking slightly, but he finds, in the deliberate calm of Briar’s response, he’s able to breathe just a little easier.
Thank you, he wants to say.
“If? You already are,” is what he says instead, and reaches for his glass.
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