Author's Notes: Disclaimer in Chapter One.
You RBFOD/Scrutiny people may see a little wink-wink, nudge-nudge allusion to a familiar face in here. I actually had half a mind to include some of this content in "Antietam", but decided against it. Consider this your "what would have happened" had I not been evil.
Alamo Girl, you rock. That is all.
Oh, and because I forgot in Cain's chapter (it WAS almost 3 AM, and I'd forget my head if it wasn't attached, no matter what time it is), this story is dedicated to the Beebo, because she gives the best recaps of "SVU" and "Bones" in the history of EVER and redid our closets yesterday. Me love you, like, whoa.
Jeb
He'd never tell his father this, but having him back in his life was sometimes worse than thinking the man was dead.
He'd never speak of the unfathomable discomfort he felt when the elder Cain tried to insert himself back into his life, speaking as though he had any clue whatsoever of the goings-on of the last eight annuals. He'd never admit to wanting to push his father away from him after their first awkward hug in the resistance camp, wanting to demand—with force, if necessary—to know what the older man's angle was, and why he felt justified in questioning not only his ability to command, but the decisions he made as leader of the rebel faction.
He'd never tell of how he'd barely been able to keep from punching his father in the face when he stepped in to save Zero's life. He'd never admit to punching the shit out of a tree and bloodying his knuckles so badly in his furor after leaving the tent that he'd needed to see the cell medic and receive stitches. He'd never tell of his plan to go back to the Iron Maiden in the woods after the Eclipse, and kill Zero anyway, no matter what his father said his mother would want.
He'd never say his father had no right to make a decision regarding his mother's murderer, because the older man wasn't there for the aftermath, and could not have possibly understood the hell Adora and Jeb had been through to that point.
He'd never say that at first, he wondered who the hell his father thought he was, telling him he had to have heart, when all he remembered as a boy was that "heart", according to his father, was a sign of weakness; one that inevitably led to heartbreak. He'd never say that he no longer needed or wanted a father's guidance, especially from the man who'd been captured and locked away while his family was forced to pay the consequences of his joining the Resistance. He'd survived this long without it, and didn't find the change remotely necessary.
He'd never admit that he'd never fully felt comfortable around his father, or that he had little desire to inform the man of all the things he'd missed over the annuals. He didn't want to share the fact that he had quietly married his blonde medic girlfriend in a justice of the peace ceremony on his mother's birthday. He didn't want to explain where he'd gotten the scars on his body and soul, whether it be from a childhood accident falling out of a tree, or when he was shot twice trying to protect a caravan of women and children moving from one camp to another. He'd never say that his father had no right to demand or expect anything from him, and that the tethers between father and son had long ago frayed and snapped.
He'd never state that he didn't even know if he wanted to know his father anymore, that part of him thought it was just easier for the past to stay buried.
He'd never confess just how angry he was when he saw the look in his father's eyes when he talked about DG, this alleged Slipper-slash-princess they'd never heard of before, who had gotten herself captured but was still somehow going to free them from the tyranny of the Sorceress. He'd never say that he knew the older man was full of shit in saying he was just trying to help her. He'd never tell his father that the thing he was best at in life was reading other people quickly, and that his father had a terrible poker face and was as easily read as a picture book when it came to DG. He'd never admit that he'd known his father had developed feelings for the girl, and that after the older man rode away with the Headcase and the Viewer, he'd taken his frustrations out on the same tree again, and reopened his wounds, receiving more stitches and sympathy from his wife.
He'd never speak of how he could not dare look at DG, for he saw the exchanged glances and touches between his father and a girl only a few annuals older than himself, and it made him want to throw up. He'd never tell his father how disrespectful it was to keep his wedding band on, and act this way toward another woman. He'd never admit to wanting to shake his father and tell the elder Cain he couldn't have it both ways; he either lived in the past or the present, and he needed to make a decision to save either his son or DG from more heartache. He'd never say that it was the least the older man could do; they'd all had to make sacrifices along the way, but his stasis in the tin suit had shielded him from those necessary evils.
He'd never say that he felt like his father continually chose strangers over his family, and that he'd never understand it, as long as he lived.
He'd never say that when he embraced his father before they rode to the tower, he was fine if it was their final goodbye; at least he'd have some closure this time around.
He'd never say that he wished he could pass on some of the torment he felt every night when he inevitably dreamed of the day his mother died. He'd never say that in his darkest hours, he wished his mother had been the one locked in the suit, not the other way around. He'd never admit that the best of the Cain family was already six feet under, and that it was the ultimate cosmic joke that they were alive while she was dead.
He'd never say that his parents' deaths had all but destroyed his capacity to love, and shattered any remnant of faith he may have clung to throughout his adolescence. He'd never say that his father being returned to him only worsened the situation, for the once unshakeable truth had fallen like sand from his fingers, leaving him more confused, and thus more unhinged, than he'd been in a long time.
He'd never confess that he planned to leave for the furthest edges of the realm and settle into a quiet, comfortable life with his wife and their unborn child, and that he was still unsure whether or not they'd leave in the middle of the night without a word to anyone, especially to the older man. He'd never say that he knew without the shadow of a doubt that he'd be okay without his father by his side; he'd survived a thousand lifetimes without him, and he knew as well as he knew his own name that he'd continue to be fine on his own as he started a new existence.
He'd never admit to any of it, because some things were better left unsaid.