Lincoln was tired, and worried, and all he wanted was to go home and relax.
He opened the door to the apartment and stopped dead, feeling like he'd been hit in the chest by a grenade.
The apartment was nearly bare. No mattress. No TV. Nothing at all left in the main room but the five-hundred pound sleeper couch. And Lincoln was sure that had been left because it couldn't be lifted. Oh, shit.
He slammed the door shut and locked it, then went into the kitchen. There was nothing. Radio, microwave—both gone. All that was left were their seven mis-matched dishes and the one dented pot they cooked from.
With dread, he went into the bathroom, and lifted up the lid on the toilet tank. It could still be there...
But it wasn't. The weed was gone. Of course. If they had known how to steal all his stuff, they'd know where to look for the drugs too.
And Michael had been the last one to leave that morning. The fucking kid hadn't locked the door.
He loved his brother, more than anyone else. He'd figured that getting him out of foster care and into his custody a month and a half ago had been the best moment of his life thus far. But right now, he just wanted to strangle him.
"MICHAEL!" he shouted.
Michael took a deep breath from behind the shower curtain where he'd hidden. He knew Lincoln was going to kill him as soon as he saw the empty apartment. The empty, unlocked apartment.
"I didn't mean to," he said. He wondered if Lincoln had heard him.
The shower curtain swished back, and Lincoln grabbed his arm.
"What the fuck happened here?" Lincoln yelled at his brother, yanking him to his feet.
"It was an accident!" Michael was terrified. Linc's grip on his arm was painfully tight. "I'm sorry!"
Adrenaline was flooding Michael's system in droves. This was going to be worse than the foster homes—he'd never done anything this bad before. Linc was going to kill him.
"I forgot to lock it," Michael whimpered. "I'm sorry Linc!"
He'd known it, but hearing it made him furious.
"JESUS CHRIST, MICHAEL!" He shook Michael hard, holding both biceps now. "You didn't lock the door?"
"It was an accident!" Michael repeated frantically.
"An accident? You know what part of town we live in! You know we can't get our fucking laundry without locking the door! How the hell do you accidentally not lock the door?" Lincoln was getting louder with each progressive word. "Tell me how!"
Michael shied away.
"Goddammit Mike!"
"I was late!" Michael yelped. "I was going to miss the bus, and I just ran—I swear I didn't mean to!"
Of course he hadn't meant to.
"Well, that's fucking wonderful. How is that going to help us tonight? They didn't even leave our fucking blankets!" Lincoln threw his hands up in the air. "You KNOW better!"
This was a nightmare.
His brother was going to hit him, any second now. He could feel it in the air. It slipped out. "Please don't hit me Linc!"
Lincoln froze. Don't hit him? He hadn't even realized that he'd raised his hands, but obviously Michael had.
But even through his shock, his fury blazed on. "Don't hit you?" His voice was cold. "Have I ever hit you, Michael?"
"I'm sorry!"
Michael was whimpering, his eyes clenched tight. Oh, God.
Lincoln was somewhere between fury and guilt. He did. He wanted to hit him. How had Michael known? Lincoln hadn't even realized it, not until Michael begged him not to.
Michael looked pathetic. It'd be like hitting a five year old.
He dropped his hands. "You should be old enough to know how to lock a fucking door, Michael. You know how things go. Two fucking seconds, you saved. It's gonna cost me hundreds of bucks to buy the shit we had!"
His fury was gaining on his guilt.
"Fucking hell, Michael! That's a lot of money you flushed down the fucking drain!"
And Michael knew it was, at least for them. He squeezed his eyes shut again, waiting for the blow.
Lincoln nearly obliged him, almost popped him one. Except that Michael looked so fucking scared.
Well, he should be scared, Lincoln thought angrily. But Michael had never looked so scared of Lincoln before.
"Why are you so scared of me?" Lincoln barked suddenly. "I've never hit you in my life! You think I'm about to start now?" He gripped Michael's arm.
Why was he so scared? Lincoln was going to beat him up, and he asked why Michael was so scared? No way Lincoln wouldn't punish him. There was no way..
"Please, Lincoln!" Michael covered his head with his free hand and waited.
"I'm not going to beat you, Michael!" Lincoln yelled. "Jesus Christ, you think I'd hit you in the head?" He pulled Michael's other hand down. "Have I ever hit you in the head?"
He nearly jumped out of his skin when Lincoln yanked on his arms, dragging him bodily from the bathroom. He winced away with no effect on his giant brother. Lincoln pulled him to the couch, then dropped down heavily on it, his hands still gripping Michael's arms.
Michael closed his eyes, afraid of what Lincoln might do. Then Linc's hands grabbed him around the middle and pulled roughly. Michael's eyes flew open in time to see the tops of Lincoln's feet and the dirty carpet.
Michael nearly fainted with relief when he realized he was over his brother's knees. Just a spanking. He could probably handle that. It had to be better than getting the shit kicked out of him at least, right?
Lincoln felt his brother's muscles go slack. What the fuck? Never in his life had he seen Michael not fight like a wild banshee at the threat of a spanking.
"I'm going to spank you, Michael," he said, wondering if his brother didn't realize what was happening. After all, Lincoln had never spanked him before either.
"I know," Michael whispered.
He knew. Was Michael too old for this? Lincoln blinked. The only way to know, he supposed, was to do it.
SMACK! Michael's muscles went tense again as Lincoln's hand landed. SMACK! SMACK!
Michael clenched his fists and gritted his teeth..
It really hurt! Lincoln had never spanked him before. Mom had always done it, and after she'd died... well, things had changed. But as much as it had hurt when Mom did it...Lincoln was worse! Not bad like a beating, but bad enough to make Michael feel absolitely miserable.
Michael's legs jerked. He was trying so hard not to cry.
Lincoln could tell Michael was hurting. He had to be—Lincoln's hand certainly stung. And Michael was starting to squirm. Lincoln knew his brother. He'd start crying pretty soon.
Michael whimpered. "Ow!"
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Lincoln's hand felt like fire against his ass. "Oww!" Michael burst into tears. "I'm sorry!"
He sounded sorry. But Lincoln kept on raining swats on Michael's upturned backside, because he was pissed. A couple good swats were not gonna bring back all their shit!
Michael's sobs grew louder, and he was struggling, trying desperately to get away from the pain. "P-p-please!" he managed to spit out. "I'm s-s-sorry! Linc! It h-h-hurts!" The last wail was frantic.
Lincoln stopped suddenly with the realization that his palm burned fiercely. He rested both hands lightly on Michael's back. Michael was draped there, limp as cold noodles, sobbing like a baby.
Obviously, he wasn't too old to be spanked, Lincoln thought. Hell, as long as Lincoln could get him over his knees, it'd be plenty of punishment.
He looked down at his crying brother, and guilt struck him. The boy looked so small there. Christ. Maybe the spanking was too much. He started to rub his brother's back, gently like their mother used to, trying to ease the tears.
Michael cried harder. "I'm s-s-so sor-or-orry, Linc!" he gasped.
He heard Lincoln sigh. "I know," he muttered. "Come on, Mike. Get up."
He rose with Lincoln's assistance, still sobbing. Michael stood there, hugging himself and looking miserable.
Lincoln felt the last of his anger melt away as he looked at Michael's face. "Ah, Mikey," he said. He stood and reached out an arm. "Come here." He really was a kid still.
When Lincoln pulled him against his chest, Michael hugged him back. "I'm s-sorry, Linc," he sniffled into his shirt.
"It's over, bud," Lincoln said. "Come on, calm down." He absent-mindedly ruffled Mike's hair.
There was a long stretch where Michael buried his head in Lincoln's shirt and Linc awkwardly patted his back, making the kind of weird comforting noises that you make in that kind of situation. "Shh, you're ok Mike," he mumbled.
Eventually, Michael calmed down. His eyes were red, and Linc's shirt was covered in snot, but the sobs had turned into random, hitching gasps unconnected to tears. Linc left an arm around Michael, whose left hand still clutched Linc's shirt.
"W-we don't have any stuff," Michael whispered.
Lincoln sighed. "Nope. But I'll get it figured out."
"We d-don't have money either," Michael said.
"No, we don't," Lincoln acknowledged.
"And it's gonna be really hard to get it up the stairs..."
Lincoln rolled his eyes. "Michael, do you want me to spank you again?" It wasn't really a threat, but there was a hint of exasperation there.
He felt his brother's head shake against his own. "No," he sniffed.
"Well then, stop talking about it. I said it's over."
Michael nodded, and Lincoln couldn't help that his lips quirked up as he ruffled his brother's hair.