The mission was exhausting, the six Hargreeves children beaming despite the tiredness that was taking over when they traipsed in for dinner. Three, four, five, and six had already given their side of the story. It was down to number one and number two. A lull in conversation was enough to give Two the courage to speak up.
"You should have seen how I threw my knives, father," Two beamed. "I hit the—"
"Not now number two," Reginald's voice brought the small boy's thought to a halt, jaw hanging open as he gaped at him. "I am waiting for number one's opinion."
Two's nostrils flared and he balled his hands into fists. His shoulders shook in rage. This happened every time their father asked for a rundown of the day's missions. The others got a chance to speak but he got cut off every time so it seemed as though number one had the important information. He developed a stutter from the constant interruptions when it came to speaking and his father's way of turning to One for information did little to help it.
"S-s-sorry f-father," The rage dissipated the moment he opened his mouth. His ears went bright red and his gaze dropped to his feet. Hours spent practicing talking in the mirror had done him no good.
"S-s-sorry," Reginald sneered and mocked his stutter. "I do n-n-not t-t-t-tolerate st-st-stutterers in this household." The siblings burst into laughter at that. Two's stomach dropped. His brothers and sister were intent on making fun of him. Their mockery was equally as cutting as their father's.
"Y-yeah, N-Number Two," Three smirked. "You left out what you told the guy."
"D-d-do-don't m-m-move, wasn't it?" Six quirked a brow at him. He and Four burst into laughter.
"Pathetic," One added with a smirk.
"Leave him alone," The siblings fell silent, eyes shifting from Two to the interruption. Number Seven narrowed her eyes at the five of them. "You're only going to make things worse."
"Seven, I d-d-don't n-need—" Two trailed off and shook his head, feeling his eyes well up with angry tears. He pushed his seat away from the dinner table and stormed out of the room. His father's claim of not having dismissed him was fully ignored. He could be heard stomping his way up the stairwell. The door slamming would mark his arrival in his room.
He flung himself onto his bed and put his pillow over his head. His form shook from the silent tears. He sniffled loud enough to not hear the door open nearly half an hour later.
A hand touched his back and lightly traced circles over it. The touch froze when he flipped over so he could glare up at whoever caused the intrusion. Two's defensive position dropped when he spotted Grace. The tough mask was gone, replaced with the eight-year old's sobs and look of sorrow.
"I d-didn't m-m-mean t-to—" He cried and wrapped his arms around his middle. He flinched when Grace slipped her arm around his shoulders but soon settled in close to her to accept her embrace. "He didn't n-need—" He could barely get the sentence out so he bit his lip and closed his eyes, wishing he was anywhere besides stuck in his bedroom in the dismal manor.
"There there," Grace sighed and trailed her fingers over his back. "You need some rest then we can practice."
"Pr-practice?" He sniffled and looked up at her, hazel orbs wide when they met her gaze.
"We'll have you talking like a Hargreeves in no time," She grinned. Her expression faltered when Two's fell.
"I d-don't want to t-talk like father," He shook his head. "I w-want to talk like me. And I w-want the others to t-take me seriously."
"You will still be you," Grace reassured him. "If anything, we can work to avoid a repeat of tonight?" She quirked an eyebrow at him. "I will check on you in the morning."
"I would like that," Two nodded and wrapped his arms around Grace's middle. "C-can you sing?"
"Of course," She nodded. "Now sleep well, little one."