Dalton's Boys are so alike but so very different, he thinks, watching them. Well, it's usually what he does, watching these twins, learning their mannerisms, figuring out when one is sick or sad or angry. Brent, he's usually calm and patient, agreeable to anything Dalton wants or needs. Brandon, he takes a little longer to come around. For twins, they're polar opposites in attitude and it's fascinating to watch close up like this.
But tonight is different. Tonight they're all a little off. Because what had begun as a simple feud with Silas Young had abruptly become personal. He'd insulted them, had insulted the Boys. Their lifestyle. A lifestyle that, granted, many fail to understand, but this is the first time someone had dared say anything aloud about it. On top of that, he had challenged Dalton to a match for ownership of the Boys... and although that is a problem, Dalton thinks it isn't the main problem. Dalton can see already, the cracks forming in the Boys. Brent struggles to smile whenever he catches Dalton's eye but Brandon is determined to look everywhere but at Dalton. He allows this for awhile, watching the two as they prepare for bed, setting out his clothes and running through the nightly rituals of showers, teeth brushing, and hair taming, and it makes him smile, this small visual into what their childhood must've been like, side by side through the minituae of life from the moment they took their first breaths.
His smile slips, however, when Brandon slinks into the room, eyes still downcast as he pulls on some Zubaz and one of Dalton's older shirts, crawling into bed without a word spoken. Brent hesitates in the doorway before shutting the bathroom light off, casting everything into darkness. He gravitates towards Dalton as always and hugs him, grinning when Dalton makes a soft little huffing noise, never much for hugging until these Boys had come into his orbit and opted to stay. "Good night," Brent murmurs against his shoulder, Dalton's fingers teasing at his hair, before he pulls away.
"Good night, Boys," he offers, watching Brandon through the darkness, unsurprised but saddened when he doesn't respond. Exhaling faintly, he squirms around under his own sheets until comfortable, closing his eyes. Brandon's pained gaze follows him as he dozes off into a fitful sleep.
It feels like only moments have passed when he's awakened to a dark room and something odd in the air, his senses going insane as he sits up and looks around. It's quiet, but yet... there's something... and then he hears a soft sniff across the room and he quietly gets out of bed, kneeling by the twins' bed. Brandon is on this side and he can tell immediately it's him, because Brent is sleeping peacefully next to him and, although Brandon is trying to be quiet, his voice hitches when Dalton lightly touches his arm. "Brandon," he whispers, stroking his fingers down the Boy's back.
"I'm fine," he chokes out, sounding anything but fine. "I'm sorry I disturbed you, go back to bed, Dalton."
Dalton stares at the back of his head, at what's visible of Brent from this angle, and quickly makes his decision, standing up and scooping Brandon up, carrying him over to the other bed and dropping him down as quietly as possible. Brandon gasps but, for the sake of his brother, keeps his complaints to a minimum, eyes locked on Dalton. Dalton kneels in front of him and strokes his face gently. "What's wrong, Brandon? Hm? I know you're the quieter of my two favorite Boys, but still. This isn't like you." He tries to smile but quickly fails when Brandon chokes down another sob. "Hey, hey." He hugs him, possibly the first time he's initiated one with either of the twins, and blinks into the darkness. "Tell me, please."
"You've given us so much, Dalton," Brandon finally forces out. "So much... This life is great, and I... I enjoy spending time with you, it's just... what if Silas Young is right? What if our lifestyle is... what if it's wrong?"
Dalton slowly pulls away, trying not to react out of hurt, which is what he's feeling right now. It's one thing to hear it from a bigot like Silas Young, trapped in past ways and convictions, but for these words to pass from the lips of one of his own Boys, young and beautiful and with his whole life ahead of him... "Does it feel wrong to you?" he wonders idly, ducking his head down to catch Brandon's eyes, dark and so full of uncertainty and pain that it makes it hard for Dalton to breathe. "If you want out, I won't stop you," he says lowly, brushing his fingers along Brandon's knuckles. "I will miss you, but I understand."
More tears drip down Brandon's face and Dalton lightly wipes them away, smiling sadly at him while patiently waiting for his verdict. Glancing at his peacefully sleeping brother, he exhales and looks back at Dalton, taking in the fear and love warring for dominance in his eyes. Fear that he'll lose me, Brandon thinks dazedly. Love enough that if I wanted to go, he would let me. Decision made, Brandon throws his arms around Dalton and clings, trying to lose himself in the older man's warmth as Dalton hugs him back, pressing a light kiss to his temple. "May I... May I stay here? Tonight?" Brandon whispers to him and Dalton nods, adjusting the sheets to let him in.
Dalton's arms are wrapped loosely around Brandon when the other bed shifts and Brent appears in front of them, huffing in fake offense. "Not fair," he murmurs before catching Dalton's eye. As soon as he nods, Brent's entire face lights up as if shone upon by the sun and he rushes to the other side, climbing in and wrapping his arm around Dalton, squeezing his waist.
Sandwiched in by his Boys, Dalton smiles, the sleep he drifts into now peaceful and deep and beautiful.