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Damian had always been smaller than Demetrius but today he seemed to have shrunk himself down to nothing.
The boy stood meekly before his older brother in the drawing room. It was an extravagantly decorated room, but it was hard to appreciate the beauty of the estate when its emptiness was so much more palpable.
“Demetrius, I need to tell you something.” Damian said, his voice almost a whisper.
Demetrius’ eyes narrowed slightly with intrigue. He placed a marker in the book he’d been engrossed in and rose awkwardly from the sofa to give Damian his full attention.
He’d meant it as a sign of respect but quickly realised he’d underestimated his own height; looming over his little brother only made the boy more intimidated. It was a little late to sit back down now.
“Well, what is it?” he asked plainly.
Damian’s eyes were fixed to the carpet as he removed his right hand from his pocket, his fingers tight around an object so small his fist almost looked empty. He allowed himself to keep his hand closed around it a moment longer.
“Please don’t think less of me”.
Demetrius was often impatient when it came to these encounters with his brother, but the seriousness of Damian’s words lingered in the room and dampened any of his usual fiery frustrations.
Reluctantly the boy held out his hand to Demetrius and unfurled his little fingers to reveal a silver lightning bolt.
“Oh.” Demetrius said involuntarily, instantly resenting how stupid he sounded.
There were still small red dents in Damians palm where he had squeezed the sharp edges of it. It was clear his little brother had not let the pin see daylight since he’d received it.
Demetrius felt an odd sense of honour that Damian would even show the tonitrus to him. This little piece of metal meant nothing to the average person, even to the average Eden student they were now common, but to a Desmond… this was their worst nightmare realised. A topic only to be discussed with those you trusted not to ridicule you. Did Damian trust him then?
From what little he understood about his younger brother, Demetrius could deduce that telling Damian how pleased he was to be shown the bolt was probably not appropriate; lest Damian misinterpret his words to mean he was revelling in his brother’s failures.
Damian pocketed the bolt and cautiously looked up from the floor for the first time in a while, confused by Demetrius’ silence.
“Aren’t you going to ask why I was given it?”
“Do you want me to ask?”
“No.” Damian said, relieved he’d been given a choice in the matter.
It didn’t really matter to Demetrius why. He doubted Damian would’ve done anything truly heinous to deserve it. It was more likely that the infamous old lady tonitrus had chosen to punish him for a minor offence.
It still perplexed Demetrius why his brother would even tell him this. Surely he’d rather confide in his friends…what were their names again? He quickly realised the only reasonable explanation for Damian’s confiding in him just before Damian admitted it himself.
“I tried to tell father about it, but- well I couldn’t…”
There it was again; the matter Damian always inevitable brought up when they talked. Demetrius should have anticipated it by now, yet, somehow, it hurt the same every time. This wasn’t a show of trust in him, it was about to be another request.
“I know you’re probably busy, with exams but I was wondering if, maybe... you could tell him for me?”
He wanted to leave. Demetrius hated feeling like his father’s assistant, passing messages on. His entire school year already saw him as an extension of his father; he was just the bait for them to reel themselves towards the Desmonds’ wealth and influence.
He’d hoped Damian would notice his many hints at how he despised father being mentioned but his sibling’s oblivion persisted. Only mother seemed to truly be able to read him.
“I tried to tell him when he visited the mixer yesterday, but he just seemed so angry at me already, before I’d even told him…” Damian said, still puzzled by it.
“I guess I was too scared to make things any worse.” He cringed at his own cowardice, as if the bolt hadn’t brought him enough shame.
Demetrius sighed and looked away in case Damian somehow gained the ability to read his face.
Father already knew.
That was likely why his demeanour had become so terrifying towards Damian. It still made Demetrius uncomfortable that Damian didn’t know about Father’s Telepathy.
Mother had advised him not to tell his brother, during that long night they’d spent talking about Donovan.
“I’m a grown woman and I still shake every time i see him, imagine what that knowledge might do to his six-year-old brain. He’d never recover. Goodness knows how you’re handling it, you’ve been so calm.”
He hadn’t; not when he was alone.
It made Demetrius happy she thought that though, made him feel grown up. Then again, it was less comforting to feel more stable than your own mother. Her weakness infuriated him sometimes, she was supposed to protect him, but she was seldom even home anymore.
She’d held him for much of that night and stroked his curls as he dug up memories of times father had known a little too much.
“I’ll tell him.” Demetrius said sourly.
He hated lying, but letting Damian think he had to tell Father about the tonitrus again would’ve been cruel.
He planned to spend as little time in the same room with that man as possible, even if it meant eating his food unhealthy fast during their rare family dinners.
Regrettably, this lie hadn’t seemed to bring Damian any relief, only instilled more anxiety in his little hands as they clung to the hem of his school jacket.
He mustered a “Thank you”.
Damian hung his head again. A tear fell, hitting the carpet. He’d been so quiet Demetrius hadn’t realised his brother had been crying, he clearly had practice concealing it.
Demetrius stepped back and surveyed the exits of the room. He was not prepared to deal with anything of this nature. He prayed Jeeves would miraculously appear and whisk Damian and all his emotions away; but the room remained uncomfortably still.
He couldn’t just leave, as much as his feet were telling him to, he had to solve this, but Damian was much more complicated than any mathematic equation he’d ever deciphered. Saying anything risked upsetting his little brother further.
He wasn’t sure whether his next choice of words would comfort Damian or totally shatter his world view, but Demetrius couldn’t tolerate the silence for much longer.
“I received a bolt once as well…it was revoked quickly by the teacher, a misunderstanding, but I suppose you could still count it.”
Damian looked up at him, stunned, his eyes still glossy with tears. His view of his academic- weapon of a brother had altered a little.
“Really? What for?”
Demetrius was rattled by the inquiry. He knew he’d made himself a target, but he hadn’t expected Damian to pry so freely. Demetrius’ past failures had seemed to give his little brother more confidence, or perhaps he’d just lost his manners to curiosity.
He turned to look out the window into the gloomy gardens, searching for something to change the subject. The answer to Damians question still embarrassed him all these months later.
“I… fell asleep on the school steps.” He confessed uneasily.
A substitute teacher him had mistaken his academic exhaustion for slothful behaviour and handed him a bolt for his “laziness”.
Thankfully a girl from his hall explained the true explanation: his extreme studying habits were heavily observed by his peers in an attempt to achieve similar results. He was grateful for her intervention, even if it was probably to curry favour with his father; many others would certainly have revelled in the opportunity to sit back and watch Eden’s top student receive a tonitrus.
After that close call, Jeeves had offered him coffee for the first time (not without a stern warning to get more sleep) and since then he’d made sure to drink a large dose of it before school as an antidote to his all-nighter study sessions.
Damian sniffed and wiped his eyes with the gold cuff of his sleeve. He hid his face again but this time in an effort to hide a smile.
“It was past school hours when it happened.” Demetrius protested sternly but quickly realised his tone had only amused Damian further.
His attempt to stop Damian's tears had worked but it was hard to feel successful when his ego had taken such a blow.
Humiliation aside, he had noticed a strange sense of relief. He’d never consciously tried to impress Damian, but the boy thought so highly of his older brother that he’d become another person Demetrius worried about letting down. He supposed this was proof that the consequences of failure were not as serious when it came to Damian. Father’s reaction to his almost-tonitrus hadn’t been as comforting.
Since his brother had broken the air of respect, Demetrius thought it acceptable to sit down again. Damian followed his lead and hopped into an armchair to his left.
Damian’s smile faded as his own tonitrus dawned upon him again. Demetrius’ bolt wasn’t even tangible; he hardly had the right to laugh at him.
Demetrius watched helplessly as his little brother fell back into his state of anxiety. He had to say something again. He searched the conversation for some hint of what his brother would want to hear…
“I don’t think less of you by the way.”
“Huh?” Damian said, distracted by his loudening thoughts.
“Earlier, you asked me not to think less of you. Well, I don’t.” Demetrius stated formally.
He did mean it. In many ways Damian was a better Desmond than he was. He had charisma which Demetrius was sorely lacking. Father often scowled at Demetrius during the imperial scholar mixers, when he clung to the wall to avoid schmoozing. One year a few boys from cline hall snuck some prosecco from the serving counter and were passing it around. He tried some, hoping it would magically make him like everyone else; able to answer the questions the adults asked as father paraded him around by the back of his neck. It just made him feel ill.
Given he earned enough stellas, he was sure Damian could thrive in those events or at the very least pretend to thrive. A single tonitrus couldn’t change that.
Damian thought his brother’s words of solace over silently.
Demetrius began to worry if his opinion even mattered all that much to his little brother, it was certainly less valuable than Father’s. If Donovan had said the same to Damian, he’d be beaming.
“Thanks” Damian said, smiling weakly, Demetrius’ reassurance wasn’t enough to combat the worries in his thoughts.
“Do you think—“ Damian paused, fearing the potential answers to his question.
“Do you think father will hate me for it?” He finished, quietly.
Demetrius hesitated; this was an answer he had to get right.
“No?”
It wasn’t meant to come out as a question, clearly he was only capable of lying once per conversation and that limit had been reached already.
Damian nodded vacantly, watching his little black shoes dangle from the chair, but neither of them were convinced by Demetrius’ answer.
“Look, Damian, can i be frank with you?” Demetrius asked weightily.
Damian said nothing but his face was begging him not to be.
He continued anyway.
“Father will never care about you the way you want him to”
Any last fragment of hope in Damian shattered.
“-but there are plenty of other people who will: Mother, Jeeves… your friends at Eden.”
Demetrius almost included himself but wasn’t quite brave enough. He hoped Damian could interpret the pause, but he’d ignored the list entirely.
“Father cares. I just need to make him notice me.” Damain said, persuading himself more than he was Demetrius.
It made Demetrius deeply uncomfortable to witness his brother’s blind devotion to Father. It reminded him too much of his younger self, desperate to please, filled with the hope that he’d someday receive that long-awaited affection. It was like having all his old insecurities sat right across from him.
He tried to exhale the feeling.
“It doesn’t matter how many stellas you earn Damian. If he truly cared about us, he’d make time for us now.”
“No, you’re wrong! He’s just busy! You said that before yourself!”
He’d underestimated quite how stubborn Damian could be. It was true he had told Damian that before over the telephone, but he was done holding up the façade. He’d only said that to match what everyone else in this house was claiming. It was time someone admitted the truth. Unfortunately, he’d forgotten quite how hurtful it would be for his brother to hear it for the first time. Too many years had passed since Demetrius had gone through the same revelation, his empathy had dwindled.
“Don’t you notice how normal-parents act? Normal parents don’t make their children work for their attention.”
Damian paused, glaring at his brother, there was no denying that statement no matter how deluded he was. He stood up, too furious to notice the tonitrus bolt slipping from his pocket into the cracks of the armchair.
“I’m going to earn just as many stellas as you have and then we’ll see if father’s incapable of loving anyone, or just incapable of loving you!” He dashed towards the door of the drawing room.
It was such a wicked suggestion Demetrius was almost tempted to believe him.
Jeeves appeared in the doorway, backing against the wall as Damian rushed past. Perfect timing.
The butler hadn’t seen the youngest Desmond this distraught since preschool when they lost the boys favourite toy and he was forced to sleep without it.
Jeeves stared accusingly at Demetrius, guilt filled the boy’s lungs, the same way it did when father scowled at him during mixers. Of course he was going to take Damian’s side.
“What on earth have you said to master Damian to upset him so?”
Jeeves already knew it was about Donovan. It was always about Donovan when it came to the boys.
Demetrius stared blankly at Jeeves. “The truth.”
He knew making himself appear so emotionless wouldn’t help his case, but he needed to dissociate from this situation fast if he was to stop his thoughts from racing.
“The truth is not always the kindest thing master Demmy.” Jeeves said, sorrowfully.
Demetrius had begun to loathe that nickname. It was Jeeves trying to cross the border from staff to family.
“Oh, and lying to him is kinder? Trying to convince him father cares? He’s not stupid Jeeves, he knows you’re just trying to make him feel better.”
Jeeves winced at Demetrius’ cutting honesty, but his next point remained measured.
“If you believe your brother already knows about master Donovan’s indifference to him and yourself, then why inform him again? To me it appears your aim was simply to upset the boy, perhaps as revenge for all the favours he’s asked of you.”
The accusation infuriated Demetrius. He was not that petty. He still fulfilled all of Damian’s requests no matter how much they annoyed him.
“My aim was to stop his delusional thinking that you’ve encouraged. It will only lead to disappointment.” Demetrius retorted.
“I merely endeavour to keep his peaceful world intact” Jeeves objected. “He only has so many years of childhood left, they are not best spent believing master Donovan has no interest in him…”
He gazed sadly at Demetrius.
“and I do not wish for him to grow up as fast as you have.”
The sadness in Jeeves’ statement dissipated Demetrius’s anger. Perhaps the butler was right. Demetrius might have rid himself of the facades, but he felt lost without the lies. He had become cynical and cruel to everyone around him. Life felt empty and his attempts to fill the void, useless. Even studying was futile now without a father he wanted to impress. He pictured a different Damian, one who saw things the same way as him. Saw father the same way as him. It filled him with dread. Maybe it was kinder to let him believe the lies after all.
“I suggest you apologize to master Dammy before he forms a grudge” Jeeves noted, stepping out into the corridor, “I will leave you to your reading”. The door shut.
The silence was a relief.
Demetrius had long forgotten about his book. He forced his mind to empty, his vision blurred; the light of the windows streaked and flickered like candles. He listened to the soft tick of the clock in the hall and let the minutes pass, thoughtless.
A distant bark broke the emptiness, the room was noticeably darker than when he’d began. Demetrius spotted something glinting in the armchair. Damian’s tonitrus. It looked as if it was trying to claw its way out of the cracks to find its neglectful owner. For a moment Demetrius considered letting it get lost in the crevices of the cushions for ever.
He stood up a little too quickly, the blood draining from his brain as he walked over to the window.
Damian was chasing max across the gardens, trying to grab hold of the dog’s bushy tail. His pace slowed as he noticed his older brother watching from above, letting the dog escape from his clutches. There was no anger in Damian’s face, but he turned around quickly.
Demetrius walked over to door swiping the tonitrus from the chair on his way.
The corridor was almost blinding in comparison to the drawing room. He made his way past stiffly posed family photos and descended the spiral stairs, resisting the childish urge to skip steps.
He made a detour towards the servant quarters, hoping to distinguish what was for dinner from the smells wafting out of the kitchen. He peered through the half open door at the hubbub. Despite his adherence to solitude, he had always longed to go into the kitchen, with its bustling noise and warmth; to sit anonymously by the aga and watch the cooks work.
“You won’t find Damian in there” Jeeves announced from behind him. Demetrius might’ve jumped had he not still been in his dissociative state.
This wasn’t the first time the butler had had to shoo the boy out of the servant quarters, it was not proper for a Desmond to mix with ‘those below’ as Jeeves phrased it.
He forced his eyes a little wider and stared at the butler with a hollow expression. Jeeves squirmed under the eye contact. Demetrius was aware of how uncomfortable his appearance made others; it was hard to ignore the whispers as he passed through Eden’s halls. He liked to weaponize his giant eyes on occasion, to make them worth all the judgement.
“Oh. I will look somewhere else then.” Demetrius muttered, turning and releasing the butler from his strangling gaze. He strode out of the servants’ quarters towards the garden door.
He stepped out into the cold windy air, wrapping his suit jacket tight around himself. His dark curls flailed in his face, he wished he’d applied hair gel that morning. Squinting, He scanned the garden for Damian. No luck. He didn’t have time for hide and seek. He was about to head inside when Max poked his head out from behind a hedgerow and stared curiously at him. The poor Alsatian was quickly tugged back behind the bush by a small hand.
Demetirus walked over briskly before his brother could move location again. He peered round the hedge to find Damian crouched in the grass; his cold pink hands wrapped around max for warmth. He glanced up at his big brother nervously.
“Are you hiding from me?” Demetrius asked. He wasn’t sure whether to be amused by the behaviour or hurt.
“No.” Damian lied, the word muffling as he stuffed his face in max’s fur.
“What do you want?” Damian asked, trying to mimic his brother’s nonchalant tone.
It felt weird to be on the receiving end of that question. This was the first time Demetrius had been the initiator of their conversation. He felt pathetic. How did Damian manage to do this so well? He shifted himself beside Damian, their backs against the hedge sheltering from the wind.
Jeeve’s was right an apology was in order but navigating it would be hard. Part of him wanted to apologise for everything he’d said, just to put Damian back to his usual self (if that was even possible anymore). The other part of him couldn’t bare apologising. What was he supposed to say? ‘Sorry for telling the truth’?
Half-truths were going to be vital if he wanted Damian to believe him.
“I wanted to apologise. I’m sorry for the things I said earlier, maybe father does want to see you, I don’t understand anything about him, so how would I know?”
He paused waiting to see if Damian would dispute him.
“And you were right, he has been busier recently, what with the tension between Ostania and Westalis escalating after the west’s chairman sent over that-”
He realised he was losing Damian, six-year-olds could only pay attention to so much political talk, even when they declared they wanted to be a politician.
“But he came to have dinner with us last month, didn’t he? so who knows? maybe he’ll try to make more regular appearances.”
Damian’s eyes brightened a little at the thought as he stared toward the garden ponds. A gust of wind whistled through the hedgerows. Demetrius wished he’d put on a warmer coat.
Damian stood up like a panicked meercat, remembering something important, his wide eyes fixed on Demetrius.
“I’m really, really sorry about that.. thing I said earlier, before I ran out; I didn’t believe it at all! I was just so angry and- and- “
“I know.” Demetrius tried to interject but Damian was babbling too fast to hear.
“-and I can’t believe I even said it to your face! I promise I will never say anything like that ever—"
“Damian! Its fine.” Demetrius said firmly.
Damian looked as though he might cry again with relief, he ran up to his big brother and hugged him. Demetrius looked down at Damian, not sure what to do with his arms.
This was the first time they’d embraced since the staged family photo session two years prior, when the photographer had directed them to, (he was not hired again). Demetrius didn’t understand what had initiated the affection this time. Damain remained a mystery, but a friendly one.
“Don’t make a habit of this, okay?” Demetrius warned, but kindness seeped into his words. He reluctantly placed his arms over his brother.
“Okay.” Damian replied, busy enjoying the moment.
“All right, that’s enough.” Demetrius said uncomfortably, peeling Damian’s arms off his back by the wrists. That was sufficient physical contact from his brother to last him another two years. Besides, he had more to say.
“Even if your theory was true: that father just didn’t like me, I wouldn’t mind. I don’t care what he thinks of me anymore… but it’s fine if that still matters to you.”
He could see the cogs turning in Damian’s mind as he pictured Father’s opinion being insignificant for the first time. A seed of doubt formed in Damians mind. Was it childish to care what father thought?
“Master Damian!” Jeeves’ voice blew across the garden from the other side of the hedgerows. The boys’ heads turned towards the noise in sync. “Dinner is served in the East wing dining room!”
Damian stood up eagerly he’d skipped lunch from nerves, and he was not about to miss another meal.
“Wait, you left this inside.” Demetirus interrupted, fishing the tonitrus from his pocket and mindlessly holding it out to Damian.
Damian watched the bolt with an expression too complex for Demetrius to possibly make sense of.
“Can you hold on to it for me? …Until I find somewhere safe to put it.”
“All right.” Demetrius answered, confused but willing.
“I’m sorry I keep asking you for things.” Damian said tentatively.
“I don’t mind.”
Damian looked calm for the first time that day. The evening light was fading as they walked back to the manor together. Max bounded ahead of them, over excited to see his favourite owners together. In the far-off doorway, Jeeves’ waited to greet his young masters and to scold them for their lack of jackets.