It had been a few weeks, Tommy would go down to the cellblock give food to Thatcher (or as he would call him 'Thatch-ass') and proceed to insult him for the rest of the night—it became routine.

So he continued.

He came, day after day, talking about random stupid stuff—as Tommy would, Thatcher never seemed to mind that this was a play—a performance to anyone listening. After, when it was clear no one came for Tommy. His face would light up, a childlike wonder and excitement would flush into his face. Then, he would ask the same question every single time.

'Who is Leon Madison?'

And Thatcher would reply the same way.

'He is your brother.'

This was the true reason Tommy came back, that he was never late and never thought twice of seeing the man who's arm was chained to the wall, who was sitting eating his food with strong iron rods in place to keep Tommy safe.

Yet one day, Tommy was late.

Thatcher didn't discuss it, until Tommy himself brought it up. "I—look man, I'm sorry, I lost track of time today and my mind isn't really with me right now, so yeah. Hope you didn't miss me too much though, right?"

Tommy laughted yet it was too scared to be call that. Thatcher merely shrugged nonchalantly—it was his response to most things Tommy said. Tommy stepped a little closer Thatcher watched confused he never stepped close enough to be in arms reach, or being late—or apologizing—that was the worrying part.

Tommy shrugged off Thatcher's piercing gaze—he had that affect on people, scaring them with a simple turn of his head. They continued their chat long into the night.

But then he was late again—later—this time, Thatcher heard running and Tommy skidded to a halt red in the cheeks, and sweaty. "Fucking hell, look, I know—I know." He put his hands up pleadingly, then set the plate of food down. Thatcher didn't comment, yet couldn't help but break into a wry grin at seeing Tommy so disheveled.

The young teenager leaning on the iron bars and trying to even out his breathing. Thatcher knew something was bothering him—scratch that keeping him from coming. He knew Tommy had tuters and didn't exactly excel in learning. Yet the boy could definitely handle himself just fine.

The third day, Tommy came walking slowly, dragging his feet and as he peered into the cell Thacher was in, Tommy yelped back nearly tripping. Thatcher without a second to waste asked.

"Who is Tommy Madison?"

Tommy replied instinctively.

"None of your damn business." Tommy said breaking into a awkward but genuine smile. This was another 'code' they had. This one had no real meaning behind it.

"Who is Tommy Madison's brother?"

"A big prick!" Tommy's smile widened excitedly ending the monologue as he always did. Yet Thatcher leaned in and asked one last question.

"Why is Tommy Madison becoming so late?"

Tommy didn't reply, his grin instantly dropped as he looked down at his feet. Rubbing his hands on his crossed arms. "I'm sorry." He mumbled awkwardly not looking towards Thatcher.

"That ain't the queston, Tommy." Thatcher pushed gently.

"It's a fucking stupid reason." He mumbled louder. Still too quiet to be Tommy, the witty and rowdy kid.

"It's this new. . . Thing, I have to learn now."

"Like a test?" Thatcher asked confused.

"Sure, but instead of it being only you and the teacher, think an entire banquet room worth of people watching as you fail it, and get a cake thrown at your face and probably trip down the stairs as you see this gorgeous woman, who—"

"Tommy," Thatcher said calmly smiling slightly trying not to show his amusement.

"Ye'r gonna go to a banquet?"

"Not from me fucking wanting to." Tommy spat but not at Thatcher. "It's Lee, he gets this whole celebration of peace or whatever the fuck." Tommy sat crisscrossed on the floor. Then said quickly and quietly. "And, I don't want to go alone."

And suddenly, Thatcher realised what Tommy wanted—it only took him three days to figure it out.

"I could keep ya' company, I mean—I ain't gonna dance but I'll cheer on from the sideline—"

"—really?" Tommy cut in a smile burning brightly. Thatcher nodded. Tommy let out a sigh he was unaware he was holding in. Letting his originally uncharacteristic posture of a back perfectly straight, slouch back to the improper one that both Thatcher and Tommy were used to.

"How can I repay you?" Tommy said smiling—yet Thatcher noticed how his right eye twitched ever-so-slightly giving way to the nervousness. The question hung in the air far too long Thatcher eventually shrugged and said easily. "Getti'n out of this cell for a night is payment enough."

"That's. . ." He started and then stopped midway, giving a reserved smile—one with genuine fondness, one that Thatcher had never seen before.

Yet Tommy couldn't help but feel like he just made a deal with the devil. He was going to let this criminal out of his cell, it felt like rattling Pandora's box—or watching a wolf circle frivolously in a cage.

But instead Tommy pushed it down and smiled.

"I'll get you something to wear then."

Tommy stood up, stretched, and began jogging down the hallway—he always seemed to be in a rush, no matter what.

Thatcher listened as the reverbing footsteps faded, he felt like he had made a mistake—and a foolish one at that—something told him he would be found the next day, dead. Instead he shook his head sighed and rested.

"What da' hell did I get myself into?"

Thatcher mused, he didn't know whether this was going to end good or bad. But knowing Thatcher someone would absolutely get stabbed at this party.

๑⁠๑๑⁠๑⁠๑๑๑๑๑⁠๑

It had felt like less than an hour before Thatcher saw the teenager's silhouette against the torch light. He carried with him a batch of clothing. Common clothing but comfortable and loose, things that could fit over the outfit he was already wearing, Thatcher would be able to fit in a crowd of hundreds. Just what he needed.

"Tommy?" Thatcher muttered quietly.

"Mhm?"

"When you said there was gonna be a banquet next time tell me a few days in advance—not hours."

Tommy looked up sheepishly. "I mean, I've been trying to ask for three days now." He laughed digging in his trouser pockets pulling out a stubby little key, he stuck the key in and turned it. A small click reverbed around the cell block, then the scraping of a door opening.

Tommy threw a different key at Thatcher, he picked it up, realizing now it wasn't a key. It was a lock pick, For a moment Thatcher fiddled with it, jiggling it around the lock on his wrist, then hearing a second satisfying click, reverb around.

Thatcher stepped out somewhat hesitantly, watching Tommy, the kid was so much shorter now that he was looking at him. So much younger and messy, his hair being wild spiking out at different points, and his eyes being a darker blue now that he was seeing it in a different light.

Tommy watched too, most likely taking in the same attributes. Thatcher was broader, stronger—yet just as strange as the first night, still as mysterious as the first time.

Tommy gave the small bundle of clothes Thatcher put it on pulling at the hem of the new clean shirt. "Why blue?" Was all he could ask Tommy's face lighted up. "You"—he pointed a finger at Thatcher's chest—"are going to be a very rich merchant, maybe one that sells fish or whatever the fuck they do."

Thatcher shrugged, content with the answer—he could pretend to be a merchant. This wasn't his first time, a few odd times actually, when he had to gather information in enemy territory, merchants always blended in, no matter where they went.

They walked upstairs, the rest of the castle was beautifully built. Unlike the celler, its walls were a pure white, plush carpets lined his feet and elegant flowers bloomed from vases nearly the size of him. The walls were lined with extraordinary paintings of landscapes and nature, animals wandering forests fish swinging in streams, people living side-by-side with them.

Thatcher tried not to gawk like a idiotic visitor. However he simply told himself it was part of the act, and he played his act very well.

Tommy lead him to the main hall, it was flooded with people, guests servants and guards. Thatcher would never admit this to Tommy—or anyone—but Thatcher marveled at the sight, it was one to steal people's breath away. Tommy turned looking towards Thatcher. Eyes bright brimmed with excitement. "Pretty cool, right?"

Thatcher shrugged. "I've seen better."

One good thing about being a faceless nameless wealthy merchant was that Thatcher could practically go anywhere he liked—within reason. Still as promised, he was to be on lookout if anything happened to Tommy—like him being stood up, with after around two minutes of Thatcher trying not to laugh and Tommy trying not to cry, did indeed happen. They continued on, grabbing food and Tommy showing every nook and cranny of this wonder of a castle.

After, Thatcher excused himself, "More food—" he smiled lightly. "—I'll get more food for your lonesome fate." Tommy had swore at him, loudly as nobleman and guards alike turned there heads.

Tommy was met with waiting, he didn't want to move if Thatcher came back. So, like an idiot, walked from one end of the hallway to the other. Looking intently at the paintings on the walls, memorizing every brush stroke and shade of paint and artist signature. Most of which were by the late queen. Bless her deadass soul.

After the fifth time of turning on his heels, he ran into someone even on a good day he would like to have avoided. And it seemed to him they were not having a pleasant time.

"Tommy," Lee called. The name was short and clipped, almost snapped out of a tightly woven mouth.

Tommy rolled his eyes, crossing his arms staring up at his older brother, it seemed like eons since they've talked—maybe ever more.

"Tommy, I need you to leave right now, it's not safe here." Tommy raised an eyebrow, indifferent and nonchalant over the warning. "Sure," Tommy drawled, trying his best impression of Thatcher after a particularly bad string of curses Tommy threw at him.

"But I don't particularly remember a good ending to you bossing me around."

"Tommy," Lee warned. His voice being a shard of ice. A taut rope one pull away from unraveling like yarn never to be collected again.

"Tommy, do you know a man named Thatcher?"

Tommy stopped, for a moment—for one second. A breath in and out, a part were the music swelled then stopped abruptly, chats and discussions paused for just barely a moment.

"Tommy." Lee—no, not Lee, not Leoh, not his older brother.

Lieutenant Madison said, "Do you know a man named Thacher?"

Tommy didn't even try to hide his surprise, but turned away, he was fully at ease. Finally a break, a fissure, a proper conversation.

"I do know a man named Thatcher," Tommy began slowly, not daring to look at lieutenant Madison. Tommy proceeded to describe Thatcher, his build the colour of his eyes the way his face was scrunched up, as if someone had personally insulted his mother two minutes before hand. The way he never talked but drawled every word sounds like it was being picked up and placed oh-so carefully, and oh-so intensely. The way his eyes didn't gaze but pierced. How his demeanor was never relaxed but never stressed. Never being able to read what he was thinking.

"Are you talking about that Captain Thatcher?" Tommy asked calmly.

". . .Tommy. . ."

Lieutenant Madison was gone then, he left, or maybe was never there to begin with. Whenever he went or wherever he was, his brother stood in front of him. A face full of anguish and fear and hurt. This was not his big brother, but this was not the soldier either. This was a complete stranger.

"What happened, Tommy?"

And Tommy Madison knew right then and there. He had the biggest mistake of his life.

"He tricked me, I thought he would forget. . ." The words were a dead weight between them, a flame blinding both of them, a bouquet of flowers in their face, in the way of their conversation. It was noticeable it was obvious, it was ignored.

". . .That he was locked in a cage. . ?" The stranger wearing his brother's face guessed softly.

"That we weren't friends." Tommy said clipped, he continued even though he didn't want to.

"That I truly trusted him and needed him, that I started to depend on him."

"Hmm" The stranger sighed his mouth a thin line of disapproval. He was stoic, relaxed, calm whatever the fuck the word was he didn't learn—but anger was building, the way his hands didn't shake or ball up into fists, but fidget. Him using his thumb to rub a scar over his palm. It was one of those things of being a younger brother, that—with no communication Tommy knew his brother. His brother was furious.

Lieutendant Madison choice his next words carefully, slowly one word at a time, like a clock striking twelve each syllable punched in and then released suddenly.

"Why would you do something so childlish?"

Oh.

Oh.

"Because I didn't have you, Lee."

Tommy blurted out, frustrated and hurt—but not at Lee, never Lee.

"You weren't there." He said turning his head away, "You were never there. You left when I was fifteen, and then, then you came back,"

Tommy wasn't scared at the punishment that he would receive, the people who would hurt Thatcher, the people Thatcher would hurt. Tommy was just tired. However catharsis was a heavy burden he had not expected.

"And through all that time—"

Tommy hiccuped quietly, trying not to cry.

"I never changed. I still play with the trainees, I bother the guards—"

He hiccuped louder.

"—Because I didn't have your support."

Tommy felt cold and feverish, scared and sick all at once. Looking into his brother's eyes might be the thing that pushes him over the edge.

"All I had was him, a-and I felt safe with him, Lee. If he didn't come then I would have died tonight."

Tommy wished the words he said were seldom, that he had not spoken them late at night, or thought the words constantly—but he had, he had believe them like the sky was blue and the grass was green. Like his own brother loves him.

"Because who would want to chat with the Captain of the king and his bratty brother. Who never listens and after everything never grew up."

Guilt was an even heavier emotion than he originally intended, yet it was much worse, it burnt and rotted his insides, letting it fester. Like a fishing line digging right into his very heart, then some days, it tugged making him dangle, propelled in the air.

"I'm still a child."

Tommy looked up.

"I'm just a child."

Tommy said.

Tommy smiled.

Tommy ran.

The door swung back and forth between like a tavern door. Knocking out its hinges, the guards did not say anything as Leoh stood, grounded, or buried in the floor. His own little brother, had betrayed him.

Betrayed?

Brothers don't betray one another, brothers don't fight one another.

Leon walked.

Brothers shouldn't fight, shouldn't have doubt in one another about their relationship about who they were with each other. They were meant to be impossibly inseparable.

Having a brother was tugging each other's hair out, screaming loudly around the hallways And kicking ankles under kitchen counters. Not this.

Not whatever this was.

There's no other way to put it.

Leoh walked.

Who was his brother?

Who was that boy? He just saw screaming at him. Where was he going?

And what had he done?

What did he done? What did he done? What had he done?

What was he going to do?

Leoh walked.

It felt impossibly long, and all too sudden.

He stopped, A flash of blue had caught his eyes. He turned, a plant pot inside of it, a blue merchants outfit. A wealthy merchant, yet they weren't meant to be here, this was not that sort of banquet tonight, And whoever came in wearing this disguise knew it too.

Leoh walked.

He treaded the corridors, and marked the walls with invisible fingerprints. He lined the floors with invisible marks of his clean shoes. He left invisible marks, he was invisible.

He was suspended in the air free falling.

Was more like it.

In a half awake state made it to a balcony. -Fresh air- Leon thought -fresh air would do me some good- Someone thought so as well.

He went out to get fresh air and got his breath stolen away. "You." He said simply. "Me." Captain Thatcher replied, not turning.

Madison wanted to chuck him off this balcony, and fall after him. -This bastard took advantage of my little brother- Madison thought adrenaline pulsing. He took a deep breath, held it, then released.

"I'm not gonna kill you, but I'm not gonna be killed, either." Thatcher told simply. Calmly as if common knowledge. "Then I'll just have to try harder the next time." Madison said through gritted teeth, he glower at him. Thatcher didn't seem to notice.

" I never realized how pr'tty the sun was, y'know?"

Madison looked out, it was gorgeous, it was a clear night, The sun's ray still stubbornly creeping over The land. The houses whistled the tree swaying, it was gorgeous. It was pretty.

"I suppose."

Madison admitted.

"Funny, and I was the one trapped in da' cage,"

Thatcher didn't sound angry or bitter, not disappointed or even tired. He was stating a fact, an observation, a dry comment.

"Sur'pose, we're both a little stuck at the moment, ay?"

"Not really." Madison disagrate. "I'm not going to be lifelessly swinging in town square in a few hours." The words were laced with venom.

"That's if you can catch me." Thatcher smiled mischievously, horrifically, genuinely.

However, he made no move to leave. Maybe perhaps after all the fighting he did become tired.

Madison sighed, he heard the question in his head perfectly. Heard it every night at the same time, it was always there, always there—every single night. And every single night it killed him.

"Thatcher?"

"Mhm?"

"Who is Tommy Madison?"

Without missing a beat Thatcher replied.

"He is your brother."

Madison swallowed something thick in his throat.

"Where did Tommy Madison go?"

"Nowhere, he's right behind ya'."

Madison spun quickly and disheveled, nearly falling to his knees from joy.

Tommy, his little brother, stood at the doors threshold.

He was not smiling.

This was not his Tommy, yet he knew it was not a stranger wearing the boy's face. But something worse.

Far worse.

Tommy stepped out, and gripped at the iron bars of the railing as if it was the only thing keeping him tethered from simply floating away. And hell it might have been. He was far from Thatcher or Madison himself, he was not in the same world as these two men were. -How could he be? How could he know?-

"Who is Leon Madison?"

"He is your brother."

The code was complete, Leon asked as well.

"Who is Tommy Madison?"

"He is your brother."

Thatcher replied again.

Quiet, silenceness, Tommy seemed to process what happened. Madison had known. He had known all along because of course he had. Of course he had known and said nothing. Of course he knew and didn't try to talk or say anything. Of course it was Madison. Of course it was Tommy's older brother.

"Thatcher?"

Thatcher perked up, finally looking up at Madison.

"Who is Captain Thatcher?"

That pulled Tommy out too, the two stared as if Leon had lost his mind.

"He is your friend."

"A pretty shitty friend." Tommy muttered loudly.

"He is a bad person." Thatcher continued quietly.

"He is a murderer, and a raider. He is a pillager—a man who's killed millions." Thatcher didn't stop although he wanted to.

He had to follow through.

"He is not a man." He said softly.

"He is a monster."

Catharsis is a funny thing. Thatcher had not been expecting it.

"Tommy Madison was meant to be the scap'goat."

Thatcher continued.

"Leon Madison was meant to be the distraction."

He stood still. He was still standing. Yet he was standing in between the two he had betrayed. He had sent them to the slaughter.

He thought it through, He had the weapons, the skill, the plan, the stolen clothing, the key still in his pocket. The distraction still playing out as they spoke, music rattling the walls and thumping the floor.

And yet he was here.

He was here and he was still standing. He still stood.

"Tommy?"

Leon asked suddenly, looking past Thatcher.

"Who is Captain Thatcher?"

It was less than a second, A breath in and out a moment in-between.

"He is our brother."

Tommy said. Smiling softly looking down. A bright smile—one that could burn the whole world down.

Leon smiled too. Spreading across all his features, he felt lighter practically glowing. He hadn't felt this happy since—well since a long time.

"Y'know my name ain't Thatcher—?"

"You're right!" Tommy yelled happily.

"It's Thatch-ass!" He yelled proudly it reverbed around the quietly sleeping kingdom.

Thatcher, Leon and Tommy himself laughed so hard, they glowed, they were stars in the sky. Characters in a storybook. A family.

A broken, patched and very strange looking family. Yet still just as beautiful

"Do ya' actually want to know my name or. . ?"

"How about, hmm."

"Thatcher Madison?"

Thatcher Madison sighed dramatically. Both Leon and Tommy snickered. "I truly am stuck with ya' now ain't I?"

"Absolutely."

"Of course!"

Thatcher groaned half heartedly.

Finally after two years seven months three days nine hours and fifty-two minutes and four seconds.

The curtains fell on three brothers illuminated by the star light. They smiled at the audience, and bowed.

The play was over, the audience began to cheer.

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Art by ene on Twitter
WOOOOOOOO finally done! This took way too long but I enjoyed it, honestly have no idea what I was thinking. I think I fell asleep and woke up to this but hey, kinda cool I guess! (⁠•⁠ ⁠▽⁠ ⁠•⁠;⁠) (Also SHUSH about the art I had no idea what to put)
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