Bertie Higgs

Relief. That’s what Regan felt, even if some guilt remained. She moved in closer, wrapping her arms around her brother, squeezing tightly. Maybe this didn’t solve anything, but having Bertie near felt safe—like even if she fell, a safety net awaited her beneath. “Love you.” She sunk her face into the crook of his neck, a few more tears dampening his shirt. 

Regan shook her head, a few tears spurting from her eyes. “I can’t ask that of you, Bert. That’s selfish of me.” Ever since receiving her bipolar diagnosis, this was a struggle that confronted her time and time again. The balancing act between asking for help but never knowing if she asked too much from a person, or avoiding asking for help all together and people wishing she hadn’t run off on her own because they would have helped. She never knew what to do. Regan didn’t set out to be a selfish person, but she struggled to aww how much space she could take up—how much space she should take up. And at what point did she cross over a threshold and demand too much from another? 

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“Good thing you’re not asking then, hey?” His tone was soft. Gentle, yet firm. He wouldn’t be swayed on this. Sometimes others said to him that he should let Regan fail, that she wasn’t his responsibility. He knew that, of course he did, but it didn’t matter. She was his sister, one of the most important people to him. She wasn’t his responsibility, no, but that would never stop him being there when she needed him - especially now.

Regan wanted to leave; she didn’t realize how desperate the yearning was until Bertie’s offer floated into the air. She could run straight to a portkey and wake up tomorrow in Canada. But— “I can’t. Have to stay here. There’s, like, an investigation for it all.” She rolled her eyes. Regan had never been particularly fond of law enforcement.

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“Then I’ll stay, and we can figure it all out.” The words were spoken with a sense of finality, a tone Regan would’ve heard hundreds of times growing up, and even delivered herself. There would be no changing his mind on it. “As long as you need. I can organise to work from here.” He would love mountains if his sister needed it -- it’s how it had always been.

“I feel like I’m fucking up again, Bert.” Regan was still taking her medication, thankfully, but that didn’t change the fact that her life felt like it was starting to spin out of control.

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“Okay.” Bertie pulled back a bit, so they were looking eye to eye. Even the fact that she was able to spot this, early on, that was a good sign. But still, now felt like the time to offer -- “What if you came back to Canada with me? Just for a bit, until Ma’s able to leave.”

“It’s stupid,” Regan wailed. “I hate this. I hate all of it.” She wiped tears and snot against Bertie’s shirt. “They just… They fucking attacked us. Saw my iFlown I guess, I don’t know. But they hit Clem in the head with a rock, and I snapped. I can’t even remember what I did.” As if Regan’s brain shut off entirely, and rage took the wheel. “I didn’t mean to fuck up this time.” She inhaled a stuffy nose. “I just did it.” 

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Regan didn’t answer her brother’s question, far too occupied with the tears that began welling her eyes. She threw one of the pillows across the room, then slunk off of the couch and onto the ground. “It’s bullshit!” Regan screamed as she brought her knees to her chest, tears heaving from her body. “Everyone’s in fucking Canada, or prison, or busy with a real job, or a fucking vegetable and I’m here.” Never mind the fact she left behind her family and friends a year ago to join a cult. Regan was too far beyond self awareness and introspection, harkening back to her inner child throwing a tantrum. 

“I had to see dad alone on my fucking birthday. He doesn’t even recognize me anymore.” 

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Fuck, was Bertie’s first thought. But he had been Regan’s big brother for twenty-four years now, and whilst that was often the first thought, it wasn’t the second, or the third, or any that came after that. It had been twenty-four years of watching out for her, of always being on her side. In that moment, he felt like he had failed her by leaving.

He moved down to the floor with her, two steady hands coming to rest on two shaky shoulders. An action that was not new or foreign in the slightest. With everything going on, and now this, he knew he would feel better with Regan back in Canada with him, and with their mum. But she had always walked to the beat of her own drum. The offer was permanently there, that she had a home where he was, and she claimed it when she wanted, or needed it most. He would make sure she knew the offer was there, when this moment had passed.

For now though, he pulled her towards him, a whispered “I’m sorry” leaving his lips. In moments like the one now, it was all he could do.

Regan kicked up her feet, resting them on his lap. “Two people. Might’ve gotten a third if he hadn’t run off. Pussy.” She tilted her head to the side. “Where’s mammy?”

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“Why?” After all, there had to be reason. Regan wasn’t the type to just stab people. He frowned slightly at her question. “Still in Quebec.” He’d tried to get her back with him, but he’d been pushing it enough as it was, getting himself a spot with one of the diplomat portkeys going back and forth. “I was only allowed back in because my boss sent me to do some work as well.”

“Why would I need to sterilize you, I thought you wanted crotch goblins?” Regan patted at the spot next to her on the couch, encouraging Bertie—whether he be real or a figment of her high brain—to sit down next to her.

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“The shiv, Ree,” Bertie offered back as he moved into the flat, settling down next to her. “You really stab someone?” It wasn’t completely out of the realm of possibility when it came to Regan, but it certainly neared the edge, at least in his mind. The mind that viewed his sister through rose tinted glasses.

Regan hadn’t slept much since arriving home. She didn’t regret her actions, but she must have tattooed onto the inside of her eyelids. Surely, because even when attempting to sleep, she couldn’t imagine not to think of them. She also hated to be alone, particularly now. And so Regan peeled herself from the bed, turned on reruns on the telly, and ripped into her bong. Hours later, when her brother appeared at her door, she wasn’t certain if Bertie was actually there.  

“Remind me to clean the blood off the babby. I forgot.” 

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“Make sure you sterilise it.” His sister was high as a kite, that much was obvious to him, but that in itself was comfort, only because it was so normal, so expected. “Can I come in?”

She nodded numbly. Out of anyone who’d be able to understand, Bertie was high on the list. He had been there. Worked there. Experienced a kind of trauma that only few might recognize. How he was suddenly there, when she needed him most, Hattie wasn’t about to question. Maybe the universe was looking out for her after all. “Okay. Okay. Yes that’s, that’s a good plan.”

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Whatever it was, Bertie was glad his boss had chosen that day to send him in his steed to the British ministry. Not because of any of the meetings, or the networking that had occurred, but because he was here now, when it was obvious he was needed. “Alright then,” he nodded, slinging an arm around Hattie’s shoulder, starting in the direction of dinner.

“No.” She hadn’t been alright for months. There were days where she thought she was getting better. Where her past felt more like a distant dream than any current nightmare. A story that had ended. Not one that continued on, sequel after sequel. Tonight had only felt like a culmination of it all. The shoe that she was waiting to drop, and now that it landed with a larger sound than she anticipated, it was impossible to figure out what to do next.

So Hattie did the only thing she could think to do, which was reach out and curl herself around her friend. One that missed desperately, especially right now, when what was left of her family was gone. Only Hattie there in London to feel the brunt of what was happening in Brazil. 

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“B-Bertie?” What the fuck was going on today? “What? You don’t, what are you doing here?” She knew there were too many questions being asked, but it was enough to snap her out of whatever horrible trance she had been cocooned in. A shock to the system that likely didn’t need anymore shocks, but one that was going to continue getting them.

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“I had a meeting at the Ministry.” Bertie frowned at the sight in front of him, suddenly feeling guilty he hadn’t kept much in touch with anyone from back home, outside the occasional owl. “Are you alright?”

“Ach, I won’t. Not now, not ever.”

Regan crinkled her nose. “Have ye already got yer wedding sorted out, Bert? Flowers picked out and all?”

.

“No, Regan,” Bertie shook his head, but he was laughing. “Give me some credit.”