99% traumatized dragonriders

Truly — there he stands, filling the doorway like a living wall of muscles and black leather. It’s probably just the uniform that makes him appear even taller than you remember, or your vantage point on the floor, but there’s no doubt the training as a rider has just about doubled his muscle mass. The dimpled grin he gives you looks exactly like it always has, though.

“Hey there, birthday girl.”

You’re too stunned to return the greeting. How can he possibly be here? He should be leagues upon leagues away at Basgiath! Unless... No. If something had happened, he wouldn’t be so cheerful.

As you continue to gape at him, Garrick steps fully into the room, revealing a second black-clad figure standing behind him.

“Xaden!” you screech happily.

Shooting to your feet so fast black spots dance through your vision, you hurl yourself straight into your brother’s waiting arms. You don’t care how he and Garrick can be here, or why; all that matters is that they are.

Xaden hugs you so tightly it gets a little hard to breathe, and you squeeze back with all your (admittedly far less considerable) strength as well.

“Happy birthday,” he murmurs into your hair.

You duck your head a little more, pressing your face into his shirt to let it soak up the stray tear that escapes you. From one minute to the next, this has become the first truly happy birthday you’ve had in years. Even if the boys had to immediately leave again, just getting to hug your brother and hear his birthday wishes in person instead of reading them in a letter beats every other gift you ever received.

A little belatedly, you pull back to sign »Thank you«, throat too clogged with emotions to voice.

Xaden is smiling down at you, but as you get your first good look at his face since he entered the room, your own features scrunch into a frown. That scar splitting his left eyebrow is new.

You touch a finger to it, then ask, »How did that happen?«

“Threshing.”

»You never mentioned it in your letters,« you accuse. It’s been almost a year since his and Garrick’s Threshing!

Soon, it’ll be Bodhi’s turn. You tune out the nervous twist of your guts this thought causes — knowing the dragons are willing to bond with marked ones, there is nothing to worry about anymore, not like last year when you’d lain awake night after night imagining all the horrible ways Xaden and Garrick might be meeting their untimely ends just because they carried the marks of their fathers’ actions. Any dragon would be lucky to have Bodhi as its rider.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” Xaden says. “Knew you’d probably imagine the injury much worse than it actually was if I described it to you.”

You sigh, knowing he’s right. If he’d told you about getting a cut on his brow, you would have assumed he was downplaying it and nearly lost his eye. An inch to the right and he would have.

Reminding yourself he didn’t, that he is perfectly whole and healthy, you wrap your arms around him once more, wrestling down the urge to ask whether injuries like that are common during Threshing. If they are, you don’t want to know.

When you can finally bring yourself to let go of him for good, Garrick gets a hug too, then you ask, “How can you guys be here?”

Grinning, Xaden slaps Garrick’s back. “Well, you see, Garrick here is a distance wielder. He walked us.”

You frown, gaze darting between them in confusion. “I thought he’s an air wielder.”

“That too,” Xaden nods. “Some of us have two signets. That can happen sometimes when a dragon bonds the relative of one of their past riders, and I guess they took their pick of marked ones based on that.”

He’d alluded in his letters that there were things he couldn’t write about in case they fell into the wrong hands. You suppose this is one of them.

“Ah. Does that mean you have another signet, too?”

Xaden shakes his head, a strange expression passing over his face, but it’s gone as quickly as it came, replaced by a smile. “Nope. Only shadows for me.”

“Can I see?”

“You want to see me wield shadows?”

You nod. Your brother’s signet has fascinated you from the moment he first wrote to you about it, and not only because of how much you’ve come to like the dark in the years since your chronic headache and the accompanying light sensitivity started. It’s a rare signet, a powerful one; that much you know. Still, since Xaden hasn’t told you specifics about what his new abilities entail, you’re not sure how something as insubstantial as shadow would be useful in combat, beyond leaving his enemies stumbling blindly around by submerging their faces in darkness.

After months of fantasizing about his magic, you do have some ideas, of course: Maybe, he can create shadows of people who aren’t actually there to confuse his opponents! And in situations that call for stealth, being in control of shadows must certainly make it easier to blend into them to remain undetected. Assuming he can darken a room with his signet, would he still be able to sense what’s happening inside it? And similarly, can he see or feel what people are doing in nearby rooms by connecting to their shadow somehow? Can he listen in on conversations that way?

So many possibilities — and now you’ll finally get to find out if what you’ve been imagining is all nonsense, or if you guessed right about some things. Whatever magic Xaden is actually capable of, it’s bound to be mind-blowing.

Your brother hesitates, though. “Are you sure? People tend to find it a little… unnerving.”

“I’m not afraid of shadows!” you protest. “And I could never be afraid of you, either. Now show me! Please!”

Xaden receives the demand with hands lifting in surrender. “Okay, okay. Here we go.”

He holds out his hand, palm facing down, fingers loosely curled so it looks like he’s gripping an invisible ball. His shadow ripples, breaking apart like smoke to drift upward and dance between his fingers.

His gaze remains fixed on you, gauging your reaction. What he sees must be reassuring, because he gets bolder — the wafting shadows draw together, almost appearing to congeal, and take the shape of a hand. It is crudely formed, and, with its slightly crooked proportions and lack of joints, looks a little like a glove floating mid-air, fraying into shadowy nothingness where the wrist would normally be turning into arm. Slowly, it rises toward you.

You keep perfectly still, uncertain whether the shadow might dissolve if you try to reach for it. How solid is it, really? The idea of shadows as physical objects, rather than areas perceived as darker due to lack of light, is almost incomprehensible, and yet—

“It’s so soft!” you breathe, flooded with wonder at the fact that you’re touching a shadow.

Well — more accurately, the shadow is touching you. Xaden traces it across your cheek, boops your nose, and smoothes down your hair with it, just as if it were his real hand. Now that you’ve proven you’re not afraid of his powers, he seems to be greatly enjoying the opportunity to show them off.

The shadow melts back into the less substantial state that reminds you of black smoke, and flows down your arms. Touching it feels a little like running your hand through water. It is undeniably corporeal, but also malleable, like it’s waiting for Xaden to give it a solid shape again.

Xaden makes more, solidifying the darkness again until it hangs around you like a cloak. You wonder whether it could actually substitute one — whether, should Xaden be caught outside in winter without appropriately warm clothing, he could use his signet to shield himself from the elements.

“I don’t see what’s supposed to be ‘unnerving’ about this,” you say. “It’s soft and cozy and super pretty.”

Xaden chuckles. “That’s because because you’re my sister and know I would never hurt you. At Basgiath, signets are weapons first and foremost. People there don’t look for the beauty in them like you do, thinking only of cuddles; they look at what a signet is capable of in a fight, look for weaknesses to exploit. And my shadows are pretty hard to beat, so people get intimidated.”

“Well, I like it.”

“I’m glad.” The shadow tightens around you, like it’s giving you a hug, then drops to the floor and fades into your own shadow. Experimentally tapping it with your foot, you feel nothing but carpet. “I would’ve hated for you to be scared. No amount of power would be worth that.”

The three of you move to the window seat. It’s a tight fit, your legs sprawled across Garrick’s lap while you sit halfway on Xaden’s, but you don’t mind — there’s something comforting about being wedged between them that way.

Your curiosity about Xaden’s signet satiated, you turn the conversation back to Garrick and his signet. “So what does distance wielding mean, exactly? You’re just there one second, and somewhere else the next?”

“More or less, yeah. Basically, I just take one reeaaally big step to walk from where I am to wherever I want to go. Taking someone with me makes it harder,” Garrick explains.

“Like how carrying a heavy backpack on a hike makes you get tired faster?”

“Exactly.” He grins, slapping Xaden’s shoulder. “And oh boy is this one a heavy backpack indeed.”

Your brother rolls his eyes, jostling you as he elbows Garrick in retaliation, but he, too, is grinning. Their familiar banter has you blinking back tears. Gods, how you’ve missed them!

“Anyway, that’s why we couldn’t come see you any sooner. I had to practice and make sure my signet would be strong enough to get us here and back again without burning out.”

“Burning out?” you frown. That doesn’t sound healthy at all.

“That’s what it’s called when a rider uses more magic than their body can handle,” Xaden explains. “Kind of like how your headache and fatigue take you out for a while after you push yourself too hard.”

“Oh.” Yep — definitely not healthy, though you’re relieved it seems to have nothing to do with actual burning. “Please don’t ever do that, then.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll do our best to avoid it. Wanna see some more magic?”

Even though it’s obvious Garrick is just trying to distract you from the danger of burnouts and the fact that trying to avoid them isn’t the same as never ever having one, you nod eagerly, unable to resist the allure of their powers.

He lifts his hand; too late, you wonder if he’s about to unleash his air wielding signet on your room and scatter all the pieces of the puzzle you left half-finished on the floor yesterday.

No wind picks up to do so. No breeze stirs the curtains. The air remains perfectly still.

Instead, Sleepy Bear rises from your bed, sailing leisurely toward you as if gliding on a slightly sloped tightrope.

It’s one of the forms of lesser magic Xaden wrote about to you, you realize, the ones all riders are capable of regardless of their signet: floating things, creating mage lights, operating ink pens, locking and unlocking doors with a mere wave of their hand.

Reaching you, Sleepy Bear does a somersault and lands on your lap.

“Really?” Xaden deadpans. “Turning the poor teddy into an acrobat?”

Garrick shrugs. “It’s always good to try out new hobbies, even when you’re a teddy. And hey, not all our signets can be repurposed for cuddles, so I had to think of something else to show the birthday girl. I bet she thinks it was cool — don’t you?”

“Very cool,” you nod, causing Garrick to throw Xaden a triumphant look. You decide not to tell him that Xaden’s demonstration was even cooler than his.

You twist around and hold Sleepy Bear out to your brother, hoping he’ll know what you want without you having to outright ask. When you were little and often upset about Xaden and Bodhi being away at school all day, Xaden had had the idea of ‘storing’ hugs inside Sleepy Bear — he would hug him for a few minutes in the morning, and when you needed comfort later in the day while he wasn’t there, you would pretend that by clutching the teddy to your chest, you could receive that hug from Xaden.

He takes Sleepy Bear with a sad smile, and holds him to his chest with one hand, his other arm wound around you, with which he nudges you to lean back against him again: he’s got it covered.

“Oh, by the way: We couldn’t bring Bodhi, but he sends his best wishes.”

You frown. “You just left him at Basgiath all on his own?”

“He can handle himself just fine. Besides, we’ll only be gone for a few hours, and he isn’t really on his own. Eya’s there, too, and a bunch of other marked ones.”

Xaden is probably right. To you, just imagining being left behind by Xaden and Garrick in a place like the Riders Quadrant makes your blood run cold with terror, but Bodhi is much braver and more independent than you, and certainly doesn’t cling to Xaden’s metaphorical skirts the way you would in his stead.

He pulls you into another hug, resting his chin on top of your head. “You worry too much, Berry.”

Your heart warms at the nickname. Xaden uses it so rarely it always feels special when he does, and you have no doubt his goal in doing so now is to make you feel closer to Bodhi despite him not being there. Not only was your cousin the one who came up with it in the first place, but he also calls you by it much more frequently than Xaden and Garrick do, almost using the nickname more than your actual name.

“I know,” you mumble into Xaden’s shirt. “I can’t help it.”

“I know. But I promise Bodhi’s doing just fine, so let’s see if we can forget those worries for a while and just have fun, yeah? It’s your birthday, after all.”

You nod, basking in his embrace a moment longer before sitting back to look between him and Garrick. “What should we do?”

“Depends on what you’re feeling up to. How’s the headache today?”

“Could be worse.”

Of course, it could also be better, but there’s no point in telling them you’ve already exacerbated the pain with a couple hours of reading. They would only feel bad.

“Uh-huh, and what’s that in numbers?” your brother asks, looking unimpressed. He knows you too well.

With a sigh of defeat, you admit the pain is at about eight out of ten.

Xaden and Garrick share a look. “Then it’s probably best if we stay in,” the former says, “so we don’t make it even worse. Do you need anything? Pain tonic? Your sunglasses? Forehead kisses?”

“Forehead kisses,” you immediately say. You can never have enough of those.

Xaden complies, pecking your forehead one, two, three times, before asking, “So, does staying home and letting us pamper you a little sound okay to you?”

You nod. Though you miss the times when you could go romping around outside whenever you wanted, you’ve learned to live with the limitations your chronic pain imposes on you and can accept that today, your body isn’t up for the adventures on horseback you long for. Now the boys have dragons, they’d probably find it boring, anyway.

“Whatever we do, it should definitely involve eating birthday cake,” Garrick puts in.

“Uhmm... I don’t have one, actually.”

They both look striken. “No cake?”

You shrug. “I didn’t really feel like celebrating.”

You’d planned to spend the entire day holed up with a book, shutting out the reality of yet another birthday without your family. The anniversary of the day you came to them always makes you feel their absence more keenly, almost as much as the so-called Reunification Day, when Navarre celebrates your father’s death.

“Well, that’s just unacceptable,” Xaden mutters. “Garrick, go see if you can get us a cake somewhere.”

Garrick nods, takes a step towards the door, and… disappears.

“Whoa.”

Your brother chuckles. “Yeah, it’s pretty cool. Don’t tell him that, though. His ego’s big enough about it as is.”

At your insistence, he shows off his own signet a little more while you wait for Garrick to return. After not quite ten minutes, he reappears as suddenly as he was gone, a paper plate with three big slices of cake from the bakery in town in one hand, forks from the kitchen in the other.

“They didn’t have one with raspberries,” he reports, “so no berry-cannibalism today, sadly, but I think this one will do just fine.”

Judging by the mouth-watering smell when Garrick sets the cake down on your desk, you think it’ll be more than just fine.

Xaden also nods, satisfied. “Perfect. Now it feels more like a proper birthday, doesn’t it?”

It does, and the boys (you will never stop thinking of them as the boys, even if they’re technically men at this point) make it as special as their limited time away from Basgiath will allow. They give you all the cuddles and forehead kisses you could possibly wish for, entertain you with anecdotes about their dragons while they feed you cake, and indulge you with a round of play-wrestling you lose despite neither of them using their full strength.

The hours that always feel so endless when you’re alone fly by; before you know it, it’s late afternoon, and high time for Xaden and Garrick to return to the war college before someone takes note of their absence.

Saying goodbye hurts. It always does.

Xaden hands Sleepy Bear back to you with a tenderness that feels almost reverent. He’s held him the whole time, imbuing him with plenty of hugs for the lonely months to come. You’ll need them.

They each give you a hug. You try your best not to cry — Xaden hates this as much as you do, and tears will make it even worse. A few escape anyway, dripping onto his flight jacket. He can barely bring himself to let go of you; lingering even as he says they really need to go, his hands clamp around your shoulders and shadows wipe the dampness off your cheeks.

Sniffling, you mutter, “Maybe I should apply at Basgiath as a cook or something so I’ll get to see you.”

If you had the energy to work a real job, you genuinely would’ve considered it. Judging by the look on Xaden’s face, it’s a good thing you can’t.

“Don’t even joke about that. I want you nowhere near that fucking place. If those assholes get their hands on you—” He cuts himself off with a shake of his head, taking a deep breath before continuing more calmly. “You wouldn’t be safe if they knew about you. Navarre can never find out I’m not actually an only child like they think — ever.”

You know what it is he refuses to say out loud — that if Navarrian leadership learned of your existence, they would use you as a hostage to keep Xaden under their control, and likely throw you into the Riders Quadrant as well once you were old enough. Unless they decided to simply kill the both of you for keeping secrets, that is.

“I know,” you mumble, lowering your eyes. His gaze is too intense for you to hold, too full of the horrors he has seen and his desperate need to protect you from them. “’m sorry. You know I wasn’t being serious.”

“I know. And I miss you too, all the fucking time, but at least I know you’re safe here.”

You wouldn’t mind danger if it meant being near Xaden — and Bodhi, and Garrick — though of course, it’s easy to say that when the danger is only an abstract concept in your mind. If you actually were out there under threat, you wouldn’t be able to function for fear.

You say nothing.

“We won’t be able to come often, even with Garrick’s signet,” Xaden continues, “but I promise that when an opportunity presents itself to get away for a few hours, we’ll visit again. Okay?”

You nod — what else can you do?

»Will you write soon, so I’ll know you made it back safely?«

“Of course.”

He wraps you in his arms one more time, pressing a kiss to your head. Garrick gives you another hug as well, and then, they’re gone.

“Damn it, Dain,” you snap, “stop moving my fucking stuff!”

He looks up from whetting his sword, all innocent confusion. “What? I’m not doing anything, sweetheart.”

“Not right now. But you put my book in the nightstand, didn’t you?”

“Oh. Yes. I had to pick it up the make the bed, so I figured I’d put it properly away while I was at it.”

You huff a frustrated breath through your nose. That’s the problem with Dain. He always likes things to be in their ‘proper places’, and doesn’t seem to understand that for you, the proper place is wherever is most convenient at any given time. In some ways, it’s nice how neat he is — you can always count on him to put away the clean laundry and remove the dirty cups on the desk if you and Brennan don’t get around to it, and he’s so particular about how the bed should be made he insists on being the one to do it himself every day. Lately it’s been getting out of hand, though… or maybe you’ve just become more aware of the times he puts away things that don’t need putting away.

Dain still looks confused. “Is that a problem?”

“No— well, yes, but— Ugh! The book isn’t the problem, it’s that you keep doing this! I spent ten minutes looking for my sun lotion this morning and ended up late for flight maneuvers because it was hidden in the bathroom cabinet instead of out where I left it specifically so I would have it when getting ready. And I couldn’t wear the shirt I wanted because you put it in the laundry, and—”

“Well, excuse me for cleaning up after you,” Dain cuts you off, notably irritated himself now. He slides his sword in its scabbard and puts it down, leaning back in his chair with arms crossed. “If you wanted to wear it again, maybe you shouldn’t have dumped it on the floor!”

“I never asked you to pick up my dirty clothes, Dain, that’s my whole point!”

“So what, you expect me to just let your laundry pile up on our floor until we have a new carpet of dirty clothes?”

“Of course not! I would’ve put them away eventually; don’t you act as if I never do! If you’d said something, I would’ve done it right away!”

Dain has gotten to his feet now, your faces too close together for the volume your voice is steadily rising too. You aren’t quite yelling yet, but you’re getting there.

“Have you considered that maybe I was trying to be nice and not hound you with chores?”

You haven’t. The thought is ridiculous. While you don’t care about orderliness nearly as much as Dain does, you do your fair part to keep the room clean, just like he and Brennan. So what if you sometimes leave your belongings in places they don’t technically belong?

“Have you considered that not everything needs to be perfectly tidy a hundred percent of the time?”

You’re interrupted before you can continue with something you would regret later, like calling Dain a pedantic neat freak. Not that it would be untrue — his orderliness does border on obsessive.

“Easy, now.” Brennan pushes off the bathroom’s doorframe where he’d leaned, watching with his arms crossed as steam wafted past him for gods know how long, and crosses the room. Standing between the both of you, he puts one hand on Dain’s shoulder, the other on yours. “Let’s take a deep breath and talk about this calmly, yes?”

Turning away from the scowling source of your frustration, you obey — wrapping an arm around Brennan’s waist and pressing your face into the curve of his neck to take a deeeep breath of freshly washed Brennan. His skin is still hot and slightly damp from his shower, smelling faintly of the scented soap he’d gotten for you a while ago but which all three of you like to use.

You instantly feel calmer.

“Have you been listening the whole time?” you mumble.

“Pretty much, yeah. I was just stepping out the shower and drying off when you complained about your missing sun lotion. Which, by the way, I’m glad you’re taking the extra time to put on, even if it did make you late for class.”

You shrug a little, the praise mellowing you further. “You told me I’m not supposed to go in the sun without it.”

“Mhh. Thank you for obliging.”

You feel him press a kiss to the side of your head, then lean forward around you, presumably to treat Dain to a similar gesture of affection.

Right. Dain; your argument. With a sigh, you straighten, your earlier anger dulled and replaced by weariness.

“Let’s sit down and resolve this,” Brennan suggests.

Both Dain and you nod, and allow yourselves to be led the couple steps over to the bed, where you sit down on either side of Brennan.

“I’m sorry I got so angry,” you say. Dain didn’t deserve to be yelled at, no matter how much his behavior annoyed you.

He reaches across Brennan’s lap to take your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze that lets you know he has already forgiven your little outburst. “And I’m sorry I moved your stuff without asking. I thought I was doing you a favor by tidying up for you, but I should have realized it’d make you upset if your things aren’t where you left them.”

“It did,” you admit, “but… I know you hate clutter just as much as I hate when someone moves my stuff. I guess I can’t really blame you for taking matters into your own hands.”

And unlike you, he hadn’t lost his temper about it. You really are lucky he and Brennan are so much more level-headed than you, endlessly patient about always having to balance out your own short fuse. If one of them gets frustrated, the other makes peace between you — like now.

“So, in conclusion: You are going to make an effort not to leave your things strewn all about our room,” Brennan summarizes, “and Dain is going to refrain from moving what you do leave laying around without talking to you first. What do you think about having a set day for tidying up once a week to help avoid future conflicts?”

You nodded. “Sounds fair.”

“Agreed. Just, one exception, maybe? Your jacket— I know you like to just dump it on the nearest furniture to where you stand when you take it off, but…”

Dain trails off with a shrug. There’s no need to say he believes jackets belong in the armoire; he’s always taking yours and Brennan’s when you come inside and hanging them up, or does so first thing when he comes into the room to find you’ve simply thrown it on the bed or desk.

“I dunno. Putting it in the armoire just feels so final. Maybe… maybe we could have like, a designated jacket chair or something?”

“We could fix some hooks to the door for jackets,” Brennan puts in. “That way they’ll be put away in their own spot, but still in reach.”

With that, all of you are satisfied.

“Wonderful. Now that that’s solved, who wants cuddles?”

Seeing as this was the first time you were practicing archery while such a strong wind was blowing, it was no surprise you were doing worse than usual, but that made it no less frustrating. Looking at your brothers’ targets to the left and right of yours made you feel worse. While their shots hadn’t been perfect either, none had missed entirely.

You kicked at the ground, slow to follow Bodhi, who jogged ahead to collect his arrows now that all three of you were done shooting.

“You know you can curse if you want, right?” Coming up at your side, Xaden gave you a gentle nudge with his elbow. He sounded amused. “C’mon, try it. You'll feel better.”

You glanced to where your dad and aunt were standing nearby, and shook your head. They appeared to be deep in conversation, but that was no guarantee that saying a bad word would go unnoticed.

Clamping your bow between your knees to free your hands, you signed, »I don't wanna get in trouble.«

Being in trouble wasn’t such a terrible thing now as it had been back when you lived with your birth-mother, who’d raged and grabbed you by the nape to shake you over the smallest of missteps, but you still couldn’t stand it. Just the thought of displeasing your parents made you feel like crying.

“You won’t get in trouble for swearing. We do it all the time, you know that! I mean, obviously there are some situations where swearing is inappropriate, but it’s perfectly fine right now. And even if you ever do it when you aren’t supposed to, it wouldn’t be a big deal.”

You barely held back a scoff. For Xaden, nothing was ever a big deal — or at least, so it seemed to you. In a lot of ways, he understood you better than anyone else ever had or would, but he had no idea what it was like to live with this constant feeling that something bad would happen if you let your guard down for even a moment. If he ever got scared at all, he hid it well. You could only dream of being as brave as him.

Since you didn’t want to tell him any of that, you merely shrugged and went searching for your arrows, frustration rising again as you saw just how far astray some of them had gone.

Xaden rolled his eyes, watching for a moment before collecting his own. When you took up position to shoot again, he put down his own bow, moving to stand behind you to provide guidance as you nocked another arrow.

Generally, you disliked it when people stood so close where you couldn’t see them. It made you uneasy not to know what someone was doing, whether they were about to touch you or perhaps mocking you. With your brother, however, you felt secure enough not to mind it.

“The wind is pushing your arrows to the left,” he repeated what Dad had told you a few minutes earlier, when you began this practice session, “so you need to aim farther to the right than where you want it to hit.”

“I know, but how much farther?”

Xaden reached around you, hands covering yours. It was nice — almost like a hug. Together, you pulled back the arrow, pointing it a little to the right of the target, instead of at its middle. That seemed a bit very far to you, but since your earlier attempts of aiming only slightly towards the right had still sent most of your arrows sailing past the left side of the target, you were perfectly willing to try it Xaden’s way. After all, he already knew more about archery than you did.

“And fire!” he whispered, taking away his hands to let you do so on your own.

The shot wasn’t great, landing just barely inside the outermost of the rings painted on the target, but it was a definite improvement.

“Ah, shit… too low,” Xaden grumbled, dissatisfied because that was technically his fault. “But I think you’ve got it now, hm?”

When you nodded, he watched you shoot one more arrow — this one hitting a hands width from the target’s right edge — and went back to his own practice.

You didn’t think of Xaden’s encouragement to cuss anymore until the next day, when, as you lost the boardgame you were playing with him, Bodhi, and Garrick, it became apparent that he had not forgotten about the conversation.

“Still don’t feel like swearing?” he coaxed, sounding both hopeful and teasing.

You shook your head.

“You sure? There aren’t any adults around, so you don’t need to worry about getting in trouble. You could just try how it feels, and if you don’t like it, I promise I’ll never ask again.”

It was tempting — with how much the boys loved to cuss, you couldn’t help be a little curious what it would be like to say all their favorite swear words yourself. You even got as far as opening your mouth, but nothing came out.

»I’ll try next time there is something to curse about,« you told your brother.

At his side, Garrick grinned. “So what you’re saying is that all we gotta do to get you cussing is defeat you again?”

Your brows drew together at the implication that his victory would be so easily repeated. “Well… I suppose. But you won’t!”

“No way in hell, huh?”

“No way!” you nodded.

Only when he made a sound of disappointment did you realize it had been an attempt to trick you — you often answered questions phrased that way by repeating them back as statements, but, unfortunately for Garrick, not always in their entirety. Calling him an asshole for the move would’ve been perfectly justified, you thought. Xaden certainly would have done so in your place.

The little clock on your dresser ticked once, twice; then, the moment had passed.

Next to you, Bodhi began setting the game pieces back onto their starting points. “Well, we’re three against one, so I’d say our chances of giving you a reason to cuss are pretty good,” he grinned.

You shrugged, raking your nails over the carpet.

It seemed like now that they’d gotten the idea of teaching you to cuss into their heads, the boys wouldn’t let it go that easily. Fine, then. You would do them the favor. You just had to wait for the right moment; then, the words would come. (Wouldn’t they?) Maybe if you won this round, you could cheer Fuck yeah! the way Garrick had done a few minutes earlier. That ought to satisfy them.

Mind made up, your mood brightened as you began to play again.

Only, the boys weren’t content to wait for you to win. Every time the game developed in a direction that was even slightly inconvenient for you, they threw you expectant looks across the board, mouthing their favorite curses as if you didn’t know them all by heart. Their behavior was almost more curse-worthy than the fact that it was starting to look like Bodhi would steal your victory.

“Come on,” Garrick pushed as Xaden moved his piece, putting you at even more of a disadvantage, “just say ‘fuck’. Or ‘shit’. How about ‘damn it’? C’moooon, do it for me!”

To them, this was as much a game as the one you were actually playing, you realized with mounting dismay, while for you, it was becoming less fun by the second. It wasn’t like you didn’t want to cuss; in fact, you very much did want to! You just… well, you weren’t sure why you couldn’t bring yourself to do actually do it.

Unable to explain what you did not yourself understand, you silently frowned down at the board, hands shoved beneath your legs.

You were going to do it; you were! When Bodhi won — because during his next turn, it became clear he most certainly would — you were simply going to add your voice to the slew of curses and lighthearted insults Xaden and Garrick would undoubtedly let out. Copying them would be easier than cursing all on your own.

You all took your turns moving your game pieces again, and sure enough, Bodhi ended his turn by snatching victory before you could have done so, since your turn would’ve come after his. He laughed as Xaden and Garrick cursed him, the three of them too distracted to notice you hadn’t joined in. That didn’t last long. Xaden’s gaze turned to you first, drawing the others’ attention as he quietened.

Bodhi nudged you. “So, I beat you after all.”

Yes. He did. And now, he was expecting you to say something about it — they all were. You’d told them you would curse once you got a good reason for it, and after passing up so many smaller opportunities, you really should take this one if you wanted to keep your word.

“Hey.” Xaden snapped his fingers to get your attention, offering a smile once he had it. “Wanna tell him to go fuck himself together?”

You nodded. Together was always good.

“Go fuck yourself, Bodhi,” Xaden said — alone.

»Sorry,« you signed, gaze firmly locked on the carpet so you wouldn’t have to see the boys’ disappointed faces.

“It’s okay, Berry-bug. You don’t have to cuss if you don’t want to.” Xaden’s voice was gentle, the way it got whenever you were upset. “But can you tell me why? They’re just words, and no one but us will hear them. What’s there to be scared of?”

You started to deny you were scared, or in any way upset, though you did not mind at all that he was using his gentle don’t-scare-Berry voice, then paused. Was it fear that prevented you from cursing?

…Well, maybe.

A memory tried to force itself to the front of your mind — one of those you vehemently avoided thinking of, from before the boys had taken you home, before you had learned what it meant to feel safe. So much time had passed since then, but you could still remember that earlier part of your life with terrible clarity, if you let yourself.

Scooting closer to Bodhi for comfort, you hugged your knees to your chest.

Yes, it was fear, alright. It was that same fear that stole your words so often, that made you start kicking and screaming if someone touched the back of your neck, that sent you hiding under tables or inside closets, and other such stupid embarrassing things you didn’t even want to do.

Bodhi put his arm around your shoulders, pulling you to lean against his side. “What is it, Berry?”

All three of the boys were alert now, having noticed the shift in your mood. Xaden and Garrick, who’d sat opposite you and Bodhi, moved around the game still spread on the floor to come to your side, eyes glued to your hands as they waited for an explanation.

»The one time I said something was—« You faltered, then, gathering your courage, forced your shaking hands to form the words that didn’t want to be formed. »That something was crap in front of her she got really mad.«

Bodhi’s arm tightened around you, someone made a sympathetic sound, but it all seemed very distant as the past swallowed you whole.

You’d been walking through the town you could barely remember now, on the way back to the small house you’d lived in, when the complaint had escaped your lips in a moment of thoughtlessness.

“…crap.”

What was it that you’d called crap? That part, you weren’t sure of. Something you’d eaten, maybe. Something you’d eaten, and it had tasted like crap, and because you were fooled by how calm and almost nice your mother had been all day, you’d said so out loud.

A second later, your bare knees hit the sun-heated cobblestone with enough force to take off a layer of skin, your mother’s fingers digging painfully into the soft skin below your ears. Her grip on the back of your neck felt like iron, impossible to escape. She pushed you down, doubled over until your nose was inches from a dog turd buzzing with flies.

“That is crap!” she screamed, giving you a shake for emphasis. “That is crap! Do you want to take that into your mouth? Do you?!”

A fly landed on your face. You wondered if it liked the taste of your tears more than that of the dog shit.

Then you blinked, and the fly was gone. So was your birth-mother. Instead, it was your brother’s hands cupping your face, his thumbs moving soothingly from side to side under your eyes, and there was soft carpet beneath you and your other brother’s body warm and solid at your side, and they were cooing at you, and Garrick was on his feet about to get your dad and—

“Shh, it’s okay. Everything’s alright, you’re safe. You’re okay.”

You surged forward into Xaden’s arms, choking on a sob of relief that sounded only slightly like his name.

“I’ve got you,” he promised. “I’ll keep you safe.”

You knew he would, so why were you still trembling? Why couldn’t you stop crying?

It was over! Only months after the dog turd incident, your birth-mother had taken you into the forest, abandoning you there for the boys to find. You had a new family now, one that actually loved you and never treated you the way she had. Nobody would ever treat you like that again; Dad had promised so, and Mom, too, and Xaden, and Bodhi, and even Garrick and his dad. All of them would protect you if your birth-mother somehow found out where you were, which she wouldn’t, because she wasn’t even looking for you, because she’d thrown you away like a broken toy. But if she did, your real family would keep you safe.

Xaden seemed to be thinking about the same thing. “She can’t get you here. I promise she’ll never lay hand on you again, Berry-baby. I won’t let her.”

Unable to voice, you nodded.

Safe in Xaden’s arms, with Bodhi rubbing your back and Garrick hovering nearby, you were slowly calming down. It had only been a memory, no more real than a dream or a story.

“I’m sorry we kept pushing you to curse,” Bodhi started when you’d stopped crying. Xaden and Garrick nodded, the former adding, “We won’t do it again. If I’d known it’s because of her… well, anyway, you don’t have to.”

You shook your head. You weren’t going to let the memory of your birth-mother keep you from cussing. Knowing it would never happen, you told yourself that if you ever did see her again, you would tell her to go fuck herself right to her face — even if she didn’t know sign language, a raised middle finger should be clear enough.

»Fuck her!«

Xaden beamed. “That’s the spirit! Good job!”

Your own hesitant smile grew with the relief that signing the words had been enough to make him proud. After the repeated urging to say this or that curse, you had been a little worried the boys would insist on you doing so out loud, even though you had no logical reason to think so. They never forced you to voice when you didn’t feel like it, and in fact treated your occasional inability to do so as totally natural. No one ever acted like there was anything abnormal about it — you only knew it wasn’t normal because you were the only one always switching between speech and sign language.

You still remembered how angry your birth-mother had gotten whenever you couldn’t speak to her, which in turn only made doing so even harder. She had never understood, had accused you of being silent on purpose. Before Xaden taught you about sign language, communication had been a nearly insurmountable obstacle, scary and painful. Before Xaden, you’d never had anyone you liked talking to.

“That’s our brave little Raspberry!” Bodhi cheered, and wrapped his arms around you from behind, lifting you up to twirl round and round with you until you were squealing with laughter. Setting you back down, he dropped a kiss to the top of your head.

Brave. Were you really? It didn’t feel like it, with the tears from your flashback still drying on your face. Still, being called so was nice, even if it probably was an exaggeration.

“How about we celebrate baby’s first curse with some hot chocolate?” Garrick suggested.