(no subject)

[theamazingdalet]

There’s no light from under the door when Balthazar returns, so he slips inside as quietly as possible.

Cass is a perfect lump under the covers, only his hands and the top of his head visible, even when Balthazar flicks on the desk lamp. He can spy just a hint of the sleeve of Cass’ new pyjamas, the ones they picked out of the catalogue, not technically a matching set with Balthazar’s, but touchingly close.

Balthazar smiles fondly.

Then blinks.

As he climbs into bed, he can tell for sure.

Cass’ bare hands emerge from his sleeves. Balthazar has never seen them, never seen Cass without his second skin: the beautiful, skin tight garments that cover him neck to fingers to toes, day in and day out,

that now lay folded on the desk with his sweater, like any other clothes in the world.

Maybe it was his grandfather who dressed him that way, Balthazar thinks. He can’t imagine it was his mother. True, Balthazar wouldn’t remember anymore, but he does know she never dressed him like that.

The old man only passed a few days ago. Cass asked to move in with Balthazar immediately, but otherwise did his best to hide his feelings, which seemed to add up to more than simple grief. In Deadman Wonderland, it’s easy to see how protectiveness might turn to control, a heavy shell that Cass now, finally, might be able to shed.

What will come next? Balthazar muses as he pulls up the covers. Perhaps a taste for foods other than sweets? Cass has shown no interest in Balthazar’s meals, but he does enjoy watching him cook. Will he want to learn?

No, Balthazar shakes his head, dropping it onto the pillow. He can’t get ahead of himself. Cass has lived here his entire life. In all likeliness, he’ll get dressed in the morning like any other day, and slowly, little-by-little, sort out the pieces of his life, frozen in time in this hellish place.

And Balthazar will be there to help him. They can still start with the clothes. He could offer Cass his jeans to go with the sweater, even just while they’re alone. The catalogue is a world of possibilities, and Balthazar has no shortage of Points. What would Cass like to wear?

…rings, he thinks tiredly.

They catch his eye as he reaches for the lamp.

One on each of Cass’ fingers. perfect white circles just above his knuckles, indenting his skin ever so slightly. Just like rings, only a touch too small.

The phrase “surgically precise” comes to mind.

Balthazar’s eyes trail up along Cass’ wrists, catching only a glimpse of the scars there as well before he hurries to turn out the light.

They’re old, clearly, so it’s not his business, he knows, but– he can’t help the intrusive question:

Was Cass’ grandfather responsible, or did he only cover it up?

---

Balthazar awakes early, tugged foggily from an uncomfortable sleep and a dream of being younger than he can recollect, trailing after a white coat he somehow recognizes as his mother.

But it’s never too early to eat, and Balthazar pointedly ignores the persistent stone in his stomach, leaning over to Cass, lips gently brushing his cheek and hovering over his ear.

“…breakfast?”

Cass groans faintly, a long, low protest that he’s even alive at such an hour. Balthazar laughs as Cass secures his pillow tightly over his head.

---

To his surprise, however, Cass is upright when he returns, waiting patiently for his mug of hot chocolate which Balthazar dutifully hands to him. Cass inhales deeply, savouring the scent and sipping it slowly as Balthazar takes a seat by his side, sliding a tray onto his lap and dividing up their meals.

“I had a funny dream last night,” Cass murmurs cheerfully.

“Oh, lucky you,” Balthazar huffs with a chuckle.

Cass flashes him a smirk. “We were outside on the grass, you know, by the ice cream cart? and there was an enormous white rabbit, I think- I think it was from one of the picture books in the lab, but, at  any  r ate…”

The words fade away into a blur.

A wave of nausea rolls through Balthazar’s head, thick and heavy. His body prickles painfully with a sudden too warm flush, a dull pounding in his ears growing louder as he stares.

He can’t help it. He thinks he might faint.

There is a perfect, white ring around Cass’ neck.