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CWs: minor whump, past slavery, past character death, panic attack, painful healing, past neglect, and I mean severe neglect, self healing whumpee, healing whumpee, past dehumanisation, caning and burns mentions, muzzle and collar mention, conditioning
Rowan wakes with a gasp. For a minute they don’t know where they are, this thing they’re lying on is too soft, there’s too much light, they don’t understand. Then they remember – Cian’s house. It’s Cian’s house. Cian rescued them, brought them here, and water– water can be warm. Cian wasn’t joking, they know that now.
A jolt of pain shoots through their wrists and neck and they let out a short cry before they can stop it. The painkillers must’ve worn off. They dart a look around the room, scared, they’re not meant to make a sound, and wasn’t Leo there before, surely he’ll be annoyed, but there’s no-one there. Of course. They’re always alone.
More pain courses through their wounds as they heal, and they grit their teeth, clenching their fists, trying not to make a sound. It’ll be over soon. It has to be.
Through their pain they hear footsteps, and no, no, they don’t understand but they know they’re not supposed to be on this, it’s too soft, it can’t be theirs, it doesn’t matter if Leo put them here, their place is on the floor, and they tumble off, yelping as their leg hits the floor at just the wrong angle and they try to go to the corner, get on their knees, but they can’t, they can’t move, their leg won’t move and it hurts, and then it starts to heal and it’s agony, pulsing, pulsing, and they hear screaming as if from a distance, and no, no, that’ll make it worse, whoever it is needs to stop, but it doesn’t happen and the footsteps get closer and their breathing speeds up and they can’t see anymore and it’s all too much and–
And a familiar touch appears, a familiar warmth spreading through their body, dampening the pain, and they’re still screaming but it’s easier, they’re not alone.
It still feels like an eternity before they can see, before they can think, before they realise they’re lying on the floor, panting, aftershocks hitting them in waves. A hand squeezes their shoulder and they grasp it instinctively, clutching it, the same way they have so many times.
“Cian,” they croak, throat hoarse.
“Row.” His voice is shaky, and Rowan pulls themself up slowly, turning their head to face their friend. It’s hard to tell, given that they’ve rarely seen him in the moonlight, but they think he looks paler than usual. “I forgot how much healing affected you.”
“’mmm...” They try to speak, but their tongue’s slow to respond. Cian holds a bottle of water to their lips and they sip it gratefully. “I’m fine.”
“You’re still shaking, Row.”
They are? They look down at their hand. Oh.
“I’m– I’m– can I–”
“Of course you can, you don’t need to ask.” He reaches forward and pulls Rowan into a tight hug. Rowan tries to resist falling into it, knowing it can’t last long, but they’re scared and confused and this. They understand this.
“Why are you on the floor?” asks Cian eventually, and Rowan pulls away reluctantly, taking Teddy from Cian as a substitute. Its fur’s worn but still soft and they hug it tightly.
“It– I– it’s my place. Someone will– they’ll punish me if I’m not.”
Cian cups their face in his hands. “Your place isn’t on the floor, Rowan. Not anymore. You hear me? You’re part of my family now. I don’t know if dad told you you’re staying with us for good?” Rowan shakes their head, painful hope rising in their chest. “Well, you are. You’re never going back to that basement. And you can trust mum and dad, I promise.”
“Never?”
“Never.”
Rowan tries to imagine it. No more forced healings, no more canings or muzzling or being tied up outside for hours while Mr Leach uses them as an ashtray. No more of that basement.
They can’t imagine it. That life is all they’ve known.
“I’m– I– Cian, I don’t know how to do that.”
“That’s okay. Because we’re gonna teach you.”
Cian’s voice is determined, jaw set, the same way he was when he decided to fetch Teddy from the Leaches when it was confiscated, or when he declared that he was going to get Rowan out someday, and Rowan gives him a tentative smile. It feels weird, they haven’t done it much. Cian brightens immensely at the sight of it.
“There you are. Come on, let’s get into bed. Far more comfortable than the floor.”
The bed? Oh. That must be the soft thing they were on. They allow Cian to help them up and onto the bed, curling up under the covers. Cian curls around them, mostly not quite touching, a hand on their shoulder.
“You’re safe, Row. You’re out of there.”
But Rowan remembers what happened the last and only other time someone tried to get them out. They might be out now, which is further than they got then, but it doesn’t mean they’re safe. They’re not safe, Cian’s not safe, nobody’s safe, not while the Leaches are still out there and will be wanting them back. They clutch Cian’s hand tightly.
“Row? What’s wrong?”
“Don’t die,” they whisper, shaking, memories of blood and blank, staring eyes and a gentle, cracking, “it’s not your fault, Rowan,” assaulting them, “please don’t die, Cian.”
“I wasn’t planning to,” he replies, somewhat bemused, and Rowan just nods, knowing that he doesn’t understand but unable to explain further. Cian will be horrified and they can barely hold themself together through that memory as it is. “You should try and get some sleep, Row. I’ll stay.”
Rowan closes their eyes. Their mind whirs and their stomach churns and they’re not sure they can sleep, but they need to, they need to be prepared for tomorrow, and they’re exhausted. Eventually they drift off into a nightmare-ridden sleep.
_
It’s late morning when Leo hears footsteps on the stairs and the tight feeling in his chest eases somewhat. He’d heard Rowan’s screams last night, and although Cian had asked that they leave him to help them because Rowan wouldn’t trust anyone else, that Rowan would be fine, he still spent the night awake, aching to go to them. Marcia looks up from where she’s doodling a dress design on the back of an envelope, yawning, and gets up to turn the toaster back on.
Both children look a bit of a mess, bags under their eyes, last night’s rumpled pyjamas still on. That’s not unusual though. Cian’s like this whenever he’s off school. Leo takes a close look at Rowan, holding themself even smaller than they are, hand clutched tightly in Cian’s, teddy bear held in the other, sporting a wide-eyed expression that’s a mix of fear and confusion.
Rowan’s the part of this that’s unusual. They haven’t had anyone new to stay for a long time.
“Would either of you like some toast?” asks Marcia.
“Yes please, mum, I’m starving.”
She chuckles, dropping three pieces of bread in the toaster. “Of course you are, you’re a thirteen year old boy. Rowan?”
Rowan jumps. “I, erm, yes please, ma’am.”
“Not ma’am, I’m just Marcia. Ma’am makes me sound like a soldier. Or a politician.” She shudders dramatically.
Cian sits down opposite Leo, motioning for Rowan to join them. “Don’t they use ‘sir’ in the army?”
“Hush, you.” Cian snorts. “Rowan, when did you last eat? And what did you eat? I want to know how much I can feed you.”
“Just before she put the muzzle on, ma’am. And, erm, I’m not sure what it was. Something mashed up. I heard them yelling at each other that they had food that was going off so it was probably that but I don’t know what it was. A bowl full.”
“A dog bowl?” checks Marcia. Rowan nods. “I’ll leave you with one piece of toast for now then. Don’t want you getting sick.”
“Thank you ma– Marcia.”
“Don’t mention it. I’m hardly going to let my kids go hungry.” Rowan stares disbelievingly, and Cian smiles.
“I told you you were part of the family.”
Once the toast’s done Marcia plates it, three slices for Cian and one for Rowan, and places it on the table. “Right. Blackcurrant jam for you I assume Cian, and Rowan, we have blackcurrant and strawberry jam, honey, peanut butter, and just butter. What would you like?”
Rowan just stares.
Leo chuckles. “I think you overwhelmed them, love.”
“Can... can I try strawberry jam please?” asks Rowan quietly after a long pause. Marcia brings both jars over to the table and sits down herself.
Cian starts spreading a thick layer of jam over his toast but Rowan doesn’t, gaze flicking between Cian and his own closed jar. Leo frowns.
“You not hungry, kid?”
Rowan hunches slightly over their plate. “No I am, I just can’t– I mean I’ve never had this before and I don’t know how to use it. But I’ll eat it, don’t take it, please, sir.”
“I won’t. Just let me open this for you, it’s new, probably stiff anyway.”
“They’ve only used spoons before, dad,” says Cian through a mouthful of bread, “sorry, Row, I forgot. Copy me when I do my next slice.”
Rowan nods, hesitantly taking their knife in a death grip and stabbing it into the jam jar.
“I didn’t realise you meant all the time,” says Marcia. “Slow down, Rowan, you’ll be sick.”
“Sorry.” They stop cramming toast into their mouth and set it back down. “I... erm, I’ve not used my hands to eat much either. Cian brought me stuff sometimes but otherwise... am I doing this right?”
“You can’t really eat with your hands wrong, kid.” Rowan nods, picking up the toast again and eating slower this time. Leo tries not to think about how the kid must’ve been eating all these years. Like a dog, probably. He thinks of something better, something he’s eager to know. “Do you like your new room?”
Rowan frowns. “I don’t– I, erm, I haven’t seen it yet, sir.”
Leo exchanges a confused look with Marcia, wishing he understood how this child’s mind works. “You do realise the room you slept in last night is yours, right?”
“I– oh.” Their eyes widen. “I thought– the basement– it’s all mine?”
“That room you’re in is, yes. We’re not putting you in the basement, kid.”
“Oh.” They swallow. “I like the bed covers. They’re very colourful?” The last part comes out tentative, like a question, like they’re not used to giving their opinion, and they glance at Cian for reassurance afterwards. It makes Leo sad, that they’re so scared and inexperienced. They’re eleven, they should be living their life, not be confused by how to eat toast and jam.
“I’m glad,” says Marcia, smiling, “I chose them for you. Cian said you like colourful things.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s not a problem. We’ll go shopping at some point this week so you can make the room more yours.” Rowan nods, eyes welling. Then, very clearly, they pinch themself.
“You’re not dreaming, kid. I promise.”
“Sorry, sir.”
“You don’t need to call me sir either. But you’re not in trouble, put your hands down. Finish eating your toast, go on.” At a confirmatory nod from Cian they take a few large bites, finishing it off. “So is there anything you want to do today?”
Rowan bites his lip. “I don’t have wants, sir.”
“It’s okay, you’re allowed to want things.”
Rowan’s eyes flicker around the room, clearly assessing. “Can I please, um, please go outside?”
“Of course you can,” replies Marcia with a smile. “Cian, love, why don’t you find them some clothes first?”
“Will do. Come on, Row, let’s find you something. And then I’ll show you around the garden.” Cian slings an arm around Rowan’s shoulders and continues talking as they head out of the room.
_
Cian pulls a large cardboard box out from under Rowan’s bed as Rowan watches on, hands behind their back.
“So. These clothes are for you until we can buy you some of your own. They’re from when I was about… eight, I think. Come down here and choose, I don’t want to make you wear something hideous.”
Rowan kneels down opposite him and Cian rummages through the box. He’s not about to give Rowan that yellow and brown tie-dye t-shirt he made, it’ll look horrible on them. Eventually he pulls out a dark blue t-shirt emblazoned with a light blue logo and holds it up.
“Punters Hill Swim Team. Huh. Some of these clothes must be newer than I thought. This might be too big, but the fabric’s nice and thick still. Try it on.”
Rowan switches his pyjama top for it, then frowns. “Punters Hill Swim Team?”
“Yeah. My leg didn’t heal right that time I was kidnapped with you, and my physio suggested I try swimming to help with the pain and stiffness. It turned out I was good at it. I’ve been competing for several years now. That’s the name of the team I competed for when I was about nine or ten.”
“Oh. I’m sorry about your leg.”
“It’s not your fault, Row. You healed it the best you could. It was Mrs Leach who broke it. Anyway, it’s not that bad. I have a really cool cane to use when I need it, I’ll show you later. What do you think of the t-shirt?”
Rowan nods. “It’s nice. I… like it.”
“That’s good.” He’s aware that Rowan would probably just say yes to anything, even with him, but he won’t take away their agency. “Let’s find you some shorts then.”
As Cian searches through the box again, Rowan says hesitantly, “Your parents are nice.”
Cian wants to reply that they only fed him and gave him somewhere to sleep, it’s what any decent person would do, but he knows that with Rowan that’s not a guarantee.
“Yep,” he says instead, “they are. Here you go. Put these on and we can go outside. I’ll introduce you to Boris again. You remember, that black and white cat that used to hang around the park?”
Rowan looks up from where they’re doing up their shorts, eyes wide. “He’s still alive?”
“Yep. A bit grey around the whiskers, but still around. He dribbles a lot now.” Rowan smiles properly for the first time in a long time. “You really remember?”
“You’re one of the only people who’s ever been kind to me, of course I remember meeting you,” replies Rowan softly. Cian squeezes their hand.
“Come on. Let’s go outside.”
_
Marcia and Leo watch through the kitchen window as Cian picks a daisy and tucks it behind Rowan’s ear. Rowan startles backwards and then smiles when they realise what it is, touching the flower lightly.
“Mmm.” Leo takes a sip of his tea. “He might’ve understated it. Yesterday Rowan thought I was going to cut their fingers off for removing their collar. They’re scared of everything, and I’m not sure I blame them.”
Marcia feels a pang in her chest. Rowan doesn’t even reach her shoulders. She’s asked herself hundreds of times since Cian was kidnapped how the Leaches could torture children like that, and she still doesn’t have any answers. How could anyone look at someone so small and decide to hurt them?
“What’s with the way they keep holding their hands out towards us anyway?” she asks. They seem scared whenever they do it but they keep doing it.
“That’s what the Leaches made them do whenever they were going to be punished,” says Cian from the doorway. “Where’s the suncream for Rowan?”
“In the drawer with the sandwich bags,” replies Marcia, stepping aside so her son can get to it. “What do you mean?”
Cian extracts the suncream from the top of the messy drawer and leans against the sink, eyes haunted. “Whenever Rowan did something wrong, he had to stretch out his hands, palms up, towards whichever one of the Leaches was there at the time. Or when they arrived, if they weren’t there at the time of the offence. To show them that they knew they’d done something wrong, and were ready to be corrected. It had nothing to do with what the punishment would be though.”
“That’s barbaric,” growls Leo.
“Mm-hm. Anyway, I’d better get this to Rowan before they turn into a tomato.”
“Tell them we’re ordering Caribbean for tea,” Marcia calls after him. He turns with a smile.
“I doubt they’ll know what that is, but I’ll tell them.”
He disappears out the door and Marcia scowls, anger bubbling inside her. It really is barbaric, the way Rowan’s been treated. If only they could’ve gotten them out of there years ago.
“There really was nothing we could’ve done earlier, was there?” she murmurs. Leo puts an arm around her shoulders and squeezes her tightly, kissing her on the head.
“No. Not if we were going to keep Cian safe. But at least they’re with us now.”
Marcia leans her head on Leo, watching Rowan stroke Boris. Yes. They’re here now. Traumatised but very much alive.
_
The sun’s warm on Rowan’s skin as they sit against a tree in Cian’s back garden, stroking the cat in their lap. Their clothes are better quality than they’ve ever had before, and their neck feels odd, naked, warmed by sun, not sweaty leather. It’s been so long since it was free, and the same length of time since they last went outside unsupervised (before they were discovered and collared). So long since they were outside without pain.
They pinch their arm. Ow.
“Not a dream, Row.”
They look round as Cian sits down beside them and nod. “I couldn’t dream anything this good.” Couldn’t dream of food so nice, or a bed, or being so clean. A room with a window. Not when they’ve never had any of that before.
Cian holds out a bottle. “Suncream. To protect your skin from burning in the sun. Hold out your arm, I’ll show you.” Rowan does so, and he removes the cap, depressing the top so some white liquid sprays out onto their arm (Boris vanishes with a mew as the spray hits him). Then he rubs it in until it’s disappeared. “Got it?” They nod. “Here, do the rest of your exposed skin.” Rowan does so, marvelling at the fact that people care enough to stop them being hurt. Cian always has of course, but they’ve been caned on fresh sunburn before and although they thought Cian’s family were nicer, they didn’t expect them to be quite like this.
“Apparently I’m a terrible thief.”
Rowan blinks. “What?”
“You know the things I used to bring you? The ones that I said my parents didn’t know I was taking, but that they wouldn’t have punished me for it anyway?” Rowan nods. It’s still unfathomable, that he wouldn’t be punished. “Well, apparently they did know. Which explains, I suppose, why they never questioned the absence of the box of strawberries. They left them out on purpose.”
“What– they– why would they do that?”
“It was the most they could do to take care of you, until it was safe enough to rescue you. They care about you, Row. They always have.”
And Rowan... well, they’re not sure how to process that. They blink back tears.
“Also, we’re ordering Caribbean food for tea. You’ll love it.”
Rowan nods. They don’t understand what Caribbean is but it seems they’re getting fed twice today. “Thank you.” Then they yawn, and stiffen automatically in panic.
“Go on, lean on me and have a nap. You must be exhausted.”
Rowan nods, laying their head on Cian’s arm and closing their eyes. They haven’t done much today, so they’re not sure why they’re so tired, but they are. And they don’t want to fall asleep, if they’re needed they won’t be there and that’s scary, but with Cian here to protect them and a bone-deep tiredness filling them it’s not long before they drift off.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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This was meant to be published on the 13th for AUgust: Reboot/Fresh Start, but I was too busy to finish it so it's late.
Anyway.
This is an AU where Cian and Rowan don't meet until they're both adults, and Leo and Marcia go back to rescuing powered people from slavery after Cian's grown up. Rowan's in their early 20s here, and Cian around 25.
Also, since I mostly started this AU so I could write more of the Leaches and Cian/Rowan's captivity and this piece has none of that, I'll continue it for a bit.
This is a week or two after Rowan and Cian have been rescued from the Leaches and taken to hospital.
1.8k words
CWs: Hospital setting, past slavery, past abuse, past kidnapping, beating, mentioned restraints, recovery, homelessness, mute whumpee
A leanbh is an Irish term of endearment, pronounced uh LAN-uv
Leo's lost in thought as he approaches the hospital steps, rucksack containing a few things for his son slung over one shoulder. He hopes Cian's awake today. Nobody's sure whether his leg will heal properly, but if it does they have one other person to thank.
The Leaches' enslaved healer. Well, formerly enslaved, now the Leaches have been arrested.
God, he doesn't even know their name. Cian might've died without their care and he doesn't even know who they are.
Leo's jerked out of his thoughts by a cruel laugh and he stops, following the noise to a tree in the park opposite the hospital. A group of teenagers are looking down at something. One of them moves slightly and the others laugh again.
"Aww, the demon's scared," taunts someone.
Leo crosses the road briskly. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
They turn immediately at his stern voice, postures defensive and scowls on their faces. "Nothing to do with you," says a thickset white boy who's clearly the ringleader. "Why don't you just get on with your walk, old man?"
"Not until you get away from whoever you're hurting."
"Oh? And what are you going to do to us?"
Leo draws himself up to his full six feet, cracking his knuckles, and it's almost comical how quickly the gang pale. "Leave. Now. If you know what's good for you."
"Alright, alright, man. We're going. No need to threaten us like that." Leo just raises an eyebrow, watching them run off until they disappear around the corner.
Rich white bullies trying to seem tough. These aren't the first he's come across during Cian's stay in hospital, this area seems full of them. He sighs heavily, before turning to the person pressed against the tree trunk. Their eyes crack open at Leo's approach, one rapidly swelling. They don't look well, their wan skin and shivering made more apparent by the thin hospital pyjamas and bright red slipper socks.
"Hey. Are you okay? You don't look very well." They blink, eyes filling with fear, and Leo suddenly recognises them. Unevenly shaved head, bright red eyes, missing finger on the left hand. Scarred and bruised. It's the young slave Cian was rescued with.
"You came into hospital with my son, didn't you? His name's Cian. Cian Sinclair." They nod, recognition on their face now. "I won't hurt you, I promise. Do you have anywhere to go?" He thinks he knows the answer to that one, and sure enough, they shake their head. "Okay. Would you like to come and stay with my wife and I for a while? Cian too, probably. Because you can't stay out here, you'll get sick. I think you already are." They nod, and Leo smiles, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over the youngster's thin shoulders. "That should be a bit warmer. I'm going to visit Cian now, that's actually where I was heading when I found you here, you should come with me. And then after that, I guess we'll see what happens." He reaches out a hand to help them up and they flinch away, scrambling to their feet, a green plastic bag clutched to their chest.
Leo frowns at it but doesn't say anything. It must be their discharge bag. Why anyone would discharge them in this state, ill, with nowhere to go and very clear trauma (they came in with a goddamn collar on, for god's sake), he doesn't understand. It looks like they haven't even opened the bag. Do they know they need to?
Well. They can deal with that once they're inside. Leo wants to visit his son.
"Right then. Let's go. Do you want to hold my hand?" Leo holds it out slightly and the youngster hesitates for a moment before unfolding one arm and taking it, glancing up at him nervously. He squeezes their hand gently, drawing on all the training he's received over the years.
"That's right. You're okay, that's good... Do you have a name?" They shake their head. "Okay. You'll need one, but that's okay. Can you speak?" They hesitate, then shake their head again, looking fearful. Okay. So it looks like they're too scared to, not that they physically can't. "Not to worry. Just– woah!" Leo pulls them back as a car honks, swerving around where the youngster just walked into the road. "Jesus, kid."
Leo feels a tug on his hand and looks round to see them stretching their free hand out towards him, palm up, almost as if in supplication, knees starting to buckle.
Leo picks up their fallen bag and looks at them carefully. Whatever they're waiting for Leo to do, it scares them. He takes their proferred hand gently.
"I'm not sure what it is you want me to do, but I won't hurt you. I promise. I was just stopping you from getting run over. You can't walk out into the road without looking. But it wasn't deliberate, you didn't know, and I won't punish you for it. Okay?" They nod. "Excellent. Let's go then. Look left, look right, and there's nothing coming so we cross." Leo slows to match the youngster's pace. They look like a kid in their parent's clothing, Leo's jacket hanging off their small frame. They don't even come up to Leo's shoulders, and they're looking around like they don't really understand. Leo's suspicions about how long they've been enslaved are looking more and more likely, and he dreads finding evidence that they're true.
They enter the hospital and Leo shields the kid from the stares as they head towards the lifts. Luckily it's not far to Cian's ward, because the youngster's tiring and still shaking, and whose idea was it to discharge them so soon?
To Leo's relief, Cian is awake and sitting up, Marcia talking quietly to him. She looks up as they approach, expression quickly fading to concern.
"Who's this?"
"This is the person who came in with Cian." He turns to the youngster. "This is my wife Marcia, and you already know Cian."
"Pleased to meet you."
They nod in return, and Leo quickly fetches another chair, setting it down close to the bed.
"Here, sit down. On the chair," he adds quickly as they make to fold themself onto the floor, patting the plastic blue chair so they perch on the edge.
"You found Rowan?" asks Cian brightly, smiling at them. "Hi. Again. Can I hold your hand? No healing this time though. Except on yourself." The youngster (Rowan, apparently) reaches out their hand and Cian takes it gently, just holding it.
"I did," confirms Leo, a little confused. "They said they didn't have a name?"
"Oh," breathes Cian. To Rowan he says, "you can keep the name Rowan if you like. Sorry, I thought that would be obvious. Do you want to?" Rowan nods. "I asked the nurses if I could see you again but they said you'd been discharged and I couldn't have any information unless I was a relative. I know what I promised you and I'm sorry." Rowan shakes their head, tapping the bed twice with their free hand. "If you say so." His gaze flickers to Leo. "Where did you find them?"
"In the park opposite the hospital, being beaten up. They were discharged and just left to their own devices, as far as I can tell."
Marcia frowns. "They clearly need support. Didn't they even take contact details? Who's in charge around here?"
"Rowan doesn't have any contact details," says Cian, "they couldn't have even taken a name."
"Exactly. They have nowhere to go. Marcia, do you mind if we take them in for a while?"
"Of course not. I'd be happy to take them in permanently, they need a home and we have a spare bedroom. Besides," she adds with a smile, "I get the sense you already offered."
Leo shrugs. "I don't want to leave them in the care of anyone else after this fuck up. Sorry, Rowan, we're talking about you as if you aren't here. But that's settled then. You can come home with us if you'd still like to." Rowan nods. "Excellent. Now then, Cian, how are you?"
"Not too bad. Tired. Not sore anymore, surprisingly."
"That's probably the drugs."
"Mm. And the infections are clearing up. Apparently I might be able to go home quite soon."
"So that's why you're so cheerful," says Leo, smiling. His son's still battered and bruised, with large, near-black bags under his eyes, and Leo knows that beneath the blankets are casts and bandages and the only reason he's not in pain is the morphine, but he still looks better than before.
"Yep. Also, you found Rowan. I was worried about them."
Leo unzips his rucksack. "Well, I have some things for you. The next two Discworld books and some chocolate."
Cian grins. "Thanks, dad!"
Leo ruffles his hair. "No problem. Just try not to read them too fast, we'll run the local bookshop dry of Terry Pratchett books at this rate."
"Nah." Cian opens Monstrous Regiment with one hand and starts reading out loud, leaning on the open page with his forearm. "Polly cut off her hair in front of the mirror, feeling slightly guilty about... I can't see the rest of the sentence without moving my other arm. No, Rowan, stay here. I spent too long unable to touch you properly for me to let go of you now. If... you want to stay, of course."
Marcia takes the book off Cian's lap. "I'll read it to you, a leanbh. Do you like Terry Pratchett books too, love?"
It's a simple enough question, but Rowan bites their lip, eyes darting between the three of them fearfully, shrinking down in their seat. "It's okay, it's not a trick. There's no wrong answer. I just wondered."
There's a long pause before Rowan looks helplessly at Cian, who smiles reassuringly.
"S'ok, Rowan." To Marcia, he says, "I'm not sure. I don't know if they'll understand everything in it either, but they deserve stories." He turns back to Rowan. "I want you to hear stories when you're not bound in a straitjacket and collar. Mum does all the voices, it's great. I bet you're exhausted. You should rest." Cian pats his lap invitingly and Rowan lays their head down, one eye cracked open, watching Leo and Marcia warily. "That's better, hmm? Just relax."
"You too, Cian," says Leo firmly, seeing where this is going. His son's always taken care of others better than himself, and at this rate he's going to forget about his needs entirely. "Drink something."
Cian reaches out a slightly shaky hand and takes a cup of water from the bedside table, draining it. It wobbles when he sets it back down. Once he's settled, Marcia opens the book to the first page.
"Polly cut off her hair in front of the mirror, feeling slightly guilty about not feeling very guilty about doing so. It was supposed to be her crowning glory..."
