#jonesy sinclair

There was almost a ticking timer above your head, the brothers saw it coming, like a dark cloud... a shadow over your heart that grew darker and darker as time went on, heavier and heavier with the expectation - with the knowing - that you would eventually buckle under its weight.

The numbers were ticking down now, closer, closer, the brothers were in the dining room pretending to play pool; in reality they were staring straight ahead, waiting for the first crack to widen, waiting for you to let the pain in, almost, almost...

there.

Your knees buckled as your fingers gripped the edge of the sink, the skin stretching over your knuckles, and a choked noise - quiet, stifled by all the masks made which you wore day to day - escaped you.

Three oceanic blue eyes met across the pool table and as Vincent stomped across the space between you, Bo pulled out his old Nokia and typed a quick text to Lester;

th'dam broke. get here.

Bo tucked his phone into his pocket; normally he'd toss it aside but seeing you break before him seemed to bring all of the warmth and gentleness he had heard his whole life was something he couldn't have, to the forefront. You made him... not a better person, no. In some ways, you made Bo worse. He was much more violent and aggressive towards 'tourists' to the town if they so much as looked at you. But he was softer, somehow... almost kind. With you. Never anyone else, not even Vincent.

Especially not Vincent.

(He knew he was lying, he knew. But Bo couldn't think too hard about his twin... something as ugly as Vincent's face, something just as beautiful and twisted, lay just beneath the surface of the lies Bo told himself, and he would never be able to look at it. He couldn't).

By the time Bo got to you, only a few long strides, Vincent already had you in his arms and had slowed your descent to the floor so that you had folded messily into his embrace. Bo paused to have a proper look at two of the three people he loved the very most... as you fell apart, Vincent caught you, he held you together because you couldn't hold that space for you in that moment. You trusted Vincent with everything you were, enough to let him witness the reality of who you are, and you melted into his beige blood and wax encrusted jumper like he was the only thing holding you to earth, the only thing keeping you grounded.

With Vincent shielding you from the world in the front, his masked face buried in the side of your own, Bo took the back, crouching over your form and overlapping his hands to curve around Vincent's shoulders, his fingers digging into his brothers' skin in a bid to keep himself soft, welcoming. Not a threat.

"Sh-sh-sh, darlin'," Bo almost sounded like waves against the shore; indeed, the tide had come in and you were almost drowning. You were drowning, if not for the Sinclair twins throwing you a buoyancy aid. "Bo's got'cha. Bo's here, it's okay," Bo rambled away, his voice filling space enough for both twins.

Over your body did the twins maintain eye contact, Bo translating Vincent's glances into verbal words. Both twins spoke through Bo; he had always been the one to 'translate' for Vincent, to make sure that the brother who chose not to speak due to extensive damage to his vocal chords and chronic pain in his face due to the surgery which had destroyed Daddy's reputation as much as it wrecked Vincent's face, was heard all the same.

You knew which words were Bo's and which were Vincent's; Vincent's were quieter, Bo's were prefaced with his name due to his tendency to speak in the third person when comforting you... almost as if Bo had to step outside of who he was to be able to love you in the way you deserved to be.

You were lost in their all encompassing embrace; wax, car oil, smoke, dirty laundry... all the different smells you associated with Vincent and Bo were all blending into one, and the pounding of your heart in your head sounded like it was outside of you, now, making the floor reverberate and -

A third name slammed into your mind and you looked up from Vincent's shoulder, blinking in the sudden harsh light as your eyes had adjusted to the dark of Vincent's clothing, and trying to see for the tears.

"Lester!"

You reached a hand out and Lester collapsed between the twins; a Sinclair onigiri.

"M'right here, sweetpea, right here, you jus' stay with us, yeah? You stay with us, we ain't goin' nowhere," Lester's smile was wobbly; he was the more emotionally sensitive Sinclair, and he was upset just seeing you upset. "Ain't nothin' we can't fix, y'hear?"

But what if it's me that needs fixing?

Bo snorted. "Ain't no way y're thinkin' what I think y're, darlin', don't'cha dare,"

Vincent nodded in agreement; you knew you hadn't spoken aloud, or maybe you had. You weren't sure, you didn't feel 'there' in the moment. Your body was there, but your mind was a hurricane and the tide was out and the moon was up above the dark rainclouds carrying every weapon other people in your life had ever hurt you with... no blade was as sharp as a tongue.

"Ain't you needin' fixin'," Bo pointed at Vincent so that you knew these words were held within Vincent's reverent, heart-broken gaze, "it's them others."

The deadlines. The pressure. The fear of failure. Of not being enough. The stress. The nightmares. The stress induced nosebleeds... all imposed by others. Vincent's words were minced by Bo's way of speaking, but you could imagine the more poetic way Vincent would have said these things... you sunk back into his embrace, Lester now huddled to your side so that only the side of you exposed to the closed dirty window faced a breeze... at least, it did, until you had the scratching of claws against the floor and then Jonesy flumped down, her warm body pressed against you, her tail thumping against the floor.

A Sinclair cuddle pile.

You shattered, the world had put you on your knees, and the Sinclairs had met you where you were, holding space, holding you, telling you everything you needed to hear, everything you wanted to hear. No more did they worry that you would leave, no. No, they knew you weren't going anywhere. You had chosen to stay, and that had awarded you with an eternity of Sinclair loyalty.

A very rare and precious gift shared only amongst themselves.

You supposed that made you a Sinclair, too...

You burrowed into the twins tighter, Lester shuffled closer, Jonesy huffed disapprovingly because no one was stroking her in that moment, and three oceanic eyes met over your body. Considering. Ways to help, ways to heal, ways to show you that you had the key to your own cage... you were the key to feeling better.

Until you did, though, you had the boys. The boys, and Jonesy, had you.

And that was enough.