Although in terms of warnings, there is only mention of use of alcohol, I have decided to give this piece a T rating to err on the side of caution. I prefer not to be flagged for the first piece I submit on this site.

This piece is just something I thought of and couldn't shake. A small look into the complicated mind of Sebastian Monroe.

Note: This fic was written quite some time before the season finale (hence quite some time before Bass loses his mind a bit).

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these beloved characters. If I did, I would not need to pay my college loans ;)


"All wars are civil wars, because all men are brothers." – Francois Fenelon

Brothers.

We've been brothers our whole lives.

Not in blood, but in bond. Miles Matheson and Sebastian Monroe had known one another since early childhood and grew up living, laughing, crying, and fighting side by side. Family in every sense of the word.

"M." It's for both of us: 'Monroe' and 'Matheson.'

General Monroe stood by the window in his polished office, his fifth (or sixth?) glass of alcohol – he lost track of which bottle his subordinates had brought him this time – in his hand, and watched as the sun slowly descended over the horizon.

Miles was on his way to Pennsylvania with Nora and the Matheson girl according to his Intel. Miles could only be a day or two away by now, and Neville continuously questioned the General's state of health. At first, Bass (nearly) felt an initial touch of affection for the concern, but that spark of appreciation was quickly snuffed out by irritation when the questions became more frequent. As one in command, one must conduct oneself with a confidence that demands respect, a confidence that shows no weakness. He was completely fine – sane – and his soldiers needed to believe that.

I don't care about the men.

Every waking moment was not spent thinking about Miles and each footstep that steadily closed the distance between them. They were not spent dreading what might happen if Miles chose to finish what he had started. They were not spent agonizing over the memory of the moment when Miles almost succeeded the first time, and the shock, confusion, and pain of betrayal that followed, slashing his heart to pieces and opening a wound that still bled and burned harsher than the alcohol he tried –and hasn't stopped – drowning himself in.

You're my family.

Miles and Bass joined the military together immediately after high school graduation, though for different reasons. Miles believed that the military was established to keep order and peace, for fighting and defending those who could not defend themselves.

Somebody's gotta do something…or else there's gonna be nothing left.

Bass would have followed Miles to the ends of the earth and beyond, and the military was no exception. That's what brothers did. And, given his horrible habits as Miles tended to remind him all too often, he'll be dead before he reaches thirty anyway.

If you die then I'm dying with you.

He enjoyed the fighting. The physical and mental exertion was enough to take his mind off of what his life would have been like had he stayed home, and who he left behind.

He hated the killing, and would pretend to be unfazed when Miles was watching.

In the deep recesses of his mind he thought of how strong Miles could be in the face of death and Bass' desire to prove his own strength overshadowed his fear.

Show no weakness.

He was strong enough to handle death despite the horror and guilt that wracked his consciousness with every life he took.

He was strong enough to handle death.

It should've been me.

And then his family died.

I've got nothing left.

It was Miles who kept him alive, who tethered him to sanity.

You got me.

Brothers.