Hospitals are bad for my brain

[maculategiraffe]

After this discussion with cgravenstone, I, uh, wrote this. It's also 1000 words. I'm sorry; this hospital is affecting my attention span.






Holden woke sweating, eased out from under the heavy, naked body that half covered his and sat up, whispering an apology, then listening intently as Jer turned back over.

He couldn't hear anything, so he got up, not bothering to dress, and went out into the hall, still listening.

He checked Bran's room: empty. He checked Yves': Bran was in Yves' bed, Yves rubbing Bran's naked back. Yves looked up as Holden came in, and Bran felt the pause in the motion of Yves' hand and looked up too, his face wet and puffy, but transformed at the sight of Holden, his sunrise look. Complicated things happened in Holden's stomach.

Yves sat up and moved over; as soon as Holden had sat down, Bran scrambled into his lap and clung, hard.

"What is it, sweetheart?" Holden whispered, and looked up at Yves.

"He dreamed you had died," Yves said quietly.

Holden's arms tightened around Bran. "Tell me."




Nobody would let him see the body. (It had seemed there was a good reason for this in the dream, but it seemed now he didn't know it: contagious illness, disfiguring accident?) Alix had been crying, throughout the dream, but Yves hadn't, any more than Bran had, at first.

Yves had been the kindest to Bran, the most attentive.



"He would be," said Holden, reaching out to Yves, who squeezed his hand.




He had. He'd been holding Bran in his lap, at the desk, when Jer started breaking things, and then Alix started screaming at him, a high desperate screech, and he yelled back, and she slapped him, and he lunged at her.

Yves hadn't even looked up from his desk as Jer lifted their mistress, roughly, furiously, off the ground, swept her into his arms and stormed with her, her boots dangling, while she didn't struggle but kept screaming, up the stairs.

When they were gone, Bran realized he wasn't the only scared one; Yves' pen was scratching wildly all over the paper, and he put it down and looked at Bran and tried to smile.




"He said-- something. Something about how we'd get by, or it wasn't the end of the world. I asked him--" Bran hesitated.

Holden looked at Yves again, but Yves didn't say anything.



"What if she separates us? What if she sells me?"



"Bran!"

"That's what I said," said Yves. "I mean, in the dream. Apparently."

"It was a dream," said Bran defensively. "I didn't say I really thought-- anyway, she didn't."



"Bran!" Yves hugged him, hard, then pulled him back, looked intently into his eyes, gave him a tiny shake. "You don't really think that. You just-- We're all upset."

It was such a ridiculous understatement that Bran laughed, choked on the constriction in his own throat, and Yves smiled at him, calmly, his hands pressed firmly against Bran's back, and shaking, little fluttering pressures against Bran's tunic, against his skin. It scared Bran worse than Jer breaking things, the way Yves' hands were shaking.

"When she calms down," Yves went on, a little faster than he usually talked, glancing at the door through which Jer had carried Alix, "we'll all talk about what happens next."

"Maybe she'll marry Jer," said Bran, and Yves grinned at him, his lips-- Bran suddenly saw-- bloodless and pale, pale as the rest of his face.

"Maybe so," he said. "What would you think of belonging to Jer?"

Bran had to think about it for a while, but he finally said, softly, "That could be okay."

"I think so too." Yves leaned in and kissed Bran tenderly on the mouth; his lips were cold. "How about me?"

Bran put his head on one side, puzzled. "You mean--"

"Belonging to me," Yves clarified. "I know they've discussed maybe-- freeing me. To help her with the business. If this ever-- It would be hard for her to run it without a partner, even with me helping her unofficially as much as I can. I could do more, free, and-- well, if I was, it would make more sense, for me to be the one to-- take care of you."

Bran had started shaking then, and he hadn't been able to stop. Yves hadn't gotten angry, though--



"Why would I?"

"I... don't know. You didn't."



--he'd just drawn Bran in closer, held him with arms whose muscles twitched and fluttered the same way his hands had.

"Shhh," he'd whispered, "it's okay," and laughed, just a little, at the crack in his own voice. "It's going to be okay."

That was when Bran had started crying-- not just tears, but wailing, keening, making noises he hadn't made since--




Holden didn't ask since when.

"He woke us both up," Yves said quietly. "Crying."

"I think he woke me up too." Holden rocked Bran, kissed his temples and his neck.

"Stay," Bran whispered.

"I'm not going anywhere, kid." Holden hugged Bran closer. "What can I do? Rub your back? Fix you a hot drink? Change my will?"

Bran's giggle seemed startled out of him, like a tiny yelp. "Change it to what, master?"

"To free you."

"No!" Bran pulled back, looking panic-stricken. "No, I don't want-- what would I-- where would I go?"

"You wouldn't have to go anywhere," said Holden, but Bran shook his head emphatically. Holden looked up at Yves. "Should I free you? In the will?"

"We talked about this, master," said Yves, puzzled.

"I know, but--" Holden jerked his head towards Bran. "That way, I could leave him to you. If he'd be more comfortable--"

"It doesn't matter, master," said Bran, reaching up to touch Holden's cheek. "The mistress would take care of me. Of all of us. You know that."

"I know that."

"I know it too." Bran narrowed his eyes at Holden. "That wasn't what the dream was about."

Holden looked back into the bloodshot, puffy gray eyes, feeling helpless. "Isn't there anything I can do?"

"Yes, master," said Bran, with a small smile. "Don't die."