ꜜ ﹙ ⚰️ ﹚ ﹕ sometimes, looking at his brother felt like looking at himself⸻ a reflection of his own timid set of shoulders, the way anxiety and fear clung to him like cigarette smoke. and it was a terrifying thought, that griffin could be carrying all the same emotions he did when he was at that age. those feelings of being small and inconsequential, so insidious with how it could compel him to fold himself up in so many ways as to not take too much space and draw attention in such a big terrible world that devoured people like them. and there was nothing he wouldn't do, not a sharp knife he wouldn't jump in front of, just to make sure his brother never think, even for a second, that he didn't matter— that his softness wouldn't be enough to keep him whole. but kieran also knew that he wouldn't always be able to protect griffin ﹕ not that kid who used to follow him and his friends around anymore, couldn't just put his hands over griffin's eyes whenever something abhorrent happened, like taylan beating someone up or finch pissing in the middle of street like a bad dog.
though, maybe this could be a helpful⸻ objects solemnly laid out like artifacts on display, every item looking incredibly barbaric on top of their father's sleek choice for a countertop. a bear spray, bright orange, its purpose blaring like a hazard light ; the hello kitty taser he got on sale from amazon, as though violence could be sanitized by design ; and the knuckle dusters, inherently brutish, something primal made manifest. and kieran stared at them for a long time, as he wondered if his brother could stomach it ... how protection, if it came down to it, would demand more than tools. it called for instinct, resolve, the kind of hard calculus that turned you into something you might not recognize. then, he thought about the memory of alaina price, not just the soft recollection of laughter or late night babysitting when they were kids, but the raw unflinching truth of the morgue. he'd been there when thierry gore unzipped the bag and made the first incision in that sterile and cold room. he was the one who weighed and cataloged her organs like they belonged to a stranger, not the girl who taught him how to braid piper's hair or told them monsters weren't real. and kieran had held her heart in his gloved hands, felt the emptiness in it, and wondered if she had known— really known— how brutal the world could be. how wrong she was about the monsters. and it was the kind of knowledge he couldn't risk griffin learning the same way.
❝ hey, c'mere for a second, ❞ kieran beckoned to the kitchen once griffin finally came downstairs, his expression quiet but deliberate, hand brushing briefly over the taser's smooth surface before retreating, as though unwilling to impose the weight of his fears too heavily on his brother. despite how raw the memory of seeing alaina's corpse was, the lacerations in her flesh, the way memories of her effortless smile had been replaced with seeing her lips purple and slack. ❝ just humor me, alright ? i want you to carry this stuff, please. ❞ no sharpness in his tone, no explicit urgency— only the quiet unyielding care of someone who had seen too much and refused to let it happen again. ❝ it gets dark so early now, i don't want you walking 'round without anything to protect yourself. ❞ @chappcdlips
