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Maxwell comes into the world screaming. At least, that’s what Wealwell is told after the fact. He certainly embodies it now, screaming and shouting as he's bodily dragged off Hatwell. Wealwell lurks in the doorway as Roywell holds Hatwell back.
“It's not fair!” their youngest brother whines. “Hatwell already had his turn with the toys. It’s my turn! I want to have a go!”
Wealwell slips inside.
“Maxwell, there you are. I’ve been looking for you. Come along, now.”
“But -”
Wealwell just waves his hand uninterestedly. “Now.”
“Fine.”
Maxwell’s footsteps stomp down the hallway as he follows. Wealwell reaches out and grabs Maxwell’s wrist and pulls himself into an empty room.
“What did you need me for?” Maxwell has moved from petulant to curious.
“Nothing, I just wanted to give you an excuse to get out of there.”
“Why doesn’t Hatwell like me?”
Wealwell laughs, but it’s a bitter little thing. He repeats the same thing he’s told Maxwell every time he’d asked. “I don’t know. He chooses who he likes and who he doesn’t, and there’s no understanding it. Better to leave it alone and hope he moves on.”
Maxwell rolls his eyes. “It’s not right.”
“It isn’t.”
Maxwell comes home with bloody knuckles and a bruise forming on his cheek. Wealwell doesn’t find out exactly what had caused the schoolyard scuffle, but he does see the way he leaves their father’s office, head held defiantly high.
Wealwell falls into step with Maxwell as he rounds the corner.
“Has anyone looked at your hand?”
“Yes, father has noticed that it’s bleeding.”
Wealwell lets out a frustrated sigh. “Come on, Maxie.”
Wealwell takes off for the kitchen, not waiting to see if he’s actually being followed.
He nods in satisfaction when he sees that Maxwell slinks into the butler’s pantry behind him. Wealwell pulls a stool out from a cabinet and pulls down the first aid kit.
Maxwell hisses when the alcohol is swiped against his skin. Wealwell’s firm grip keeps the smaller hands in place as he wipes away the blood and cleans the cuts.
“Barnaby said grandfather is dumb for funding adventurers.”
“Barnaby is an idiot.”
Wealwell tapes the bandage in place and turns Maxwell’s hands over to check his handiwork. Nodding, he lets his brother’s hands go.
Wealwell replaces the first aid kit and heads back to his room. Maxwell trails behind like a lost puppy.
“Don’t you have homework to do?”
“I did it in detention already.”
Wealwell lets Maxwell into his room when they arrive. Silently, Wealwell pulls out his homework and starts working on it. Maxwell grabs a novel from Wealwell’s shelf and curls up on his side on the bed.
A few hours later, he finds Maxwell asleep, still curled tightly. His book has fallen shut over the side of the bed. Wealwell doesn’t have the heart to wake him, so just slips in behind him and joins his brother in sleep.
Maxwell’s room is one of Wealwell’s first destinations when he returns from Biffmore for the holidays. Maxwell scans the hallway before letting Wealwell in.
In the six months he’s been away, it’s undergone a transformation. Gone are the shelves of novels, replaced by a small selection of books. Wealwell leans in to read the titles. Rich Dad, Poor Dad. Think and Grow Rich. Secrets of the Millionaire Mind.
Maxwell watches Wealwell look at the bookshelf and flops onto the bed.
“Father wants me to ‘read widely’,” Maxwell says, fingers making exaggerated air quotes. “Those books suck. The new LaMontgommery isn’t out yet. I can’t read Showdown at Sassafrax Falls for the fifth time this week. I’m bored.” The last word is a whine.
Wealwell laughs at him and patronisingly pats his head.
“There, there, Maxie. Where are the rest of your books?”
His brother grumbles half-heartedly. “Johnwell keeps stealing them. I hid them somewhere safe.”
Maxwell's head stays firmly on the bed.
“I got you something,” Wealwell says, rummaging around in his backpack. With a triumphant shout, he pulls out the notebook. Maxwell eagerly grabs it from his hands.
Wealwell watches as he flicks through the pages, his eyes growing wide.
“This is amazing!”
“Sorry I didn't get it done in time for your birthday. It's a rebound copy of LaMontgommery’s Guide. This way you can take it with you.”
Maxwell drops the book and leaps at Wealwell to give him a tight hug.
“I love it. Thank you.”
Wealwell slips through the boisterous crowd. The atmosphere is electric, and if Wealwell were here for any reason other than watching his brother to see if he got beaten to a pulp, he'd maybe enjoy it. Right now, already anxious, it sets him firmly into overwhelmed.
The announcer calls out that The Max is next in the ring. Wealwell pushes his way to the front. His brother shines under the patchy spotlight. Without Wealwell noticing, he'd grown into his frame, no longer the scrappy child or the lanky teen. He looks strong, stands straight, the look in his eye unafraid. If Wealwell didn't know better, he'd say that The Max had always been like that, a confident young man created specifically for fighting.
Maybe Maxwell had been. Had been fighting since the day he was born, and only now had he claimed his birthright. But Wealwell remembers a boy with his nose in a book and his head in the clouds, a boy who flinched away from pain. Maybe The Max had been born for the ring, but he certainly wasn't all of Maxwell.
The bout is, thankfully, short. Maxwell's opponent taps out when he's placed in a chokehold, and The Max lifts his hands to fire up the crowd.
Wealwell slips out, hoping to go unnoticed.
Wealwell finds Maxwell at the bow of the Zephyr. He stands, relaxed, leaning into the railing casually, eyes scanning out over the landscape beneath them and looking over to the strange horizon.
It’s been several years since he’s seen his brother like this. Somewhere in between being the boy who lashed out every time he saw an injustice and becoming the man who calls himself The Max, his brother had changed. He’d learned to hide his happiness and wield his temper like a weapon. Even now, surrounded by people who loved him, he was still on the lookout for danger.
“Oh brother, what are you looking out for? We’re still plenty far away from our destination.”
“Just keeping an eye out.” Always so serious, now.
Wealwell suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he joins his brother by the railing, but doesn’t lean. He’s got to stay properly standing, after all.
He tries to see what Maxwell sees. Strange-familiar flora and fauna come together to form a picture that seems just a little uncanny. Despite their speed through the clouds, their view doesn’t really change.
“You don't need to stay out here with me. It's cold,” Maxwell says after a long silence.
Wealwell wants to stay, but he doesn't trust himself to speak. He nods, stays for a few more moments, and leaves. If he casts a look back every few steps to check if the silhouette of his brother has moved, well, no one was watching him to tell.
Samwell leaves his room, leaving just Wealwell and Maxwell in the small space.
Maxwell stays behind, eyes fixed on Wealwell. There’s a small tilt to his head.
Wealwell wonders what he sees. Is it just an injured brother? Some hanger on in the crew? Does he see through the shell to the tiny, formless thing that Wealwell is at his core?
The silence grows. Wealwell drops his eyes.
“I’d be happy to have you on an adventure even if it didn’t involve making money. You know that, right? It doesn’t have to end in investment or gold or whatever.”
His brother is as earnest as ever. As much as Wealwell wields bravado as a facade, he doesn’t know anyone with a sense of self like Maxwell. Wealwell had watched as Maxwell grew from a child out of place inside his own home, into a young man with a quiet confidence in believing in justice and his own ability to make things right. Watched as a lifetime of searching for adventure was finally fulfilled.
Where did that leave Wealwell?
He plasters a smile onto his face and meets Maxwell’s eyes. “Of course I know, brother.”
Maxwell shakes his head. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it more. We wouldn’t have made it this far without you. And even if you did nothing, you’re still one of my best friends. I’m really glad you’re here.”
Wealwell feels all his words lodge in his throat. Instead, he beckons his brother over and opens his arms. Mindful of the injuries, Maxwell crawls into bed with him like he hadn't since they were children.
Wealwell falls asleep with a smile on his face.