It had been about a month since Desmond's miraculous revival and his triumphant return to the Farm, and all in all, it had been a relatively quiet month. The team from the Temple had taken one night to celebrate Desmond's survival and return, and then it had been back to business as usual. They'd split their time between monitoring Templar activity and trying to figure out what, if anything, Juno was up to.

On both fronts, things had been quiet. Almost too quiet. It was putting everybody on edge, because it was only a matter of time before somebody made a move.

On the Templar front, things seemed to have quieted overall, no doubt in part due to the failure of the Eye Abstergo satellite and the loss of Vidic and a good chunk of Templar agents in Rome. They hadn't lost any teams in a while either, which was an added bonus. It didn't mean the Templars weren't busy, though…they'd just moved on to trying new techniques.

"Abstergo Entertainment is a relatively new branch of Abstergo, focusing on multimedia products. Their major product? A console version of the Animus, where they sell their version of history to the public as a game, let them live the history that Abstergo lets them see. It's not their only product, but it's their most ambitious and their biggest seller, and it's our main concern at the moment."

Rebecca had pulled up their latest files on Abstergo, as part of their plan to catch Desmond up on what he'd missed while he'd been gone. As it turned out, he'd missed a lot, and he swore as she went through and showed off the console and its variations. "Christ, how are they even marketing this thing to people? Play our games, go nuts, see ghosts everywhere, fun for the kids? Jesus…"

Shaun nodded, pulling up a video file. A commercial for Abstergo's Animus OS Glasses. Christ, they were selling them as glasses too? What the hell were the Templars playing at here?

Desmond just watched in horror as the commercial unfolded, staring at Shaun as it ended. "Okay, so we know what they're doing. We just don't know the why…how do we stop them?"

"Well, we're working on the why and hows at the moment. Rebecca is working to analyze the commercials for subliminal messages, and we've got a team of hackers working to break into their network and uncover future plans the Entertainment branch may have, as well as sabotage the shared network their Animus products run on. What risk the Bleeding Effect is to the public…we're not sure yet."

Desmond just nodded, sighing. "What do you need me to do?"

Before Shaun could respond, William spoke up, shaking his head. "At the moment? Nothing."

"But Dad—"

"But nothing. You're in no shape to go out onto the field. Right now, you need to focus on getting back into the shape you were in before your near death experience."

"Gee, thanks, Dad. It's not like I didn't die recently or anything. Want me to grow a new arm while I'm at it?"

"Don't get smart with me, not about this. Focus on training and getting better. We'll handle the Templars."

And get back into shape he had. He hadn't realized how much weight he'd lost during those two week he'd spent unconscious in the Temple…nothing but skin and bones and stringy muscles remained. It wasn't until after he was home that he realized how wrong he felt.

So, Desmond had worked to get back into shape. That included eating to gain back all the weight he'd lost, so he'd have something to turn into muscles while he trained. Rebecca had set him up with a specially balanced diet to help him gain back all the vital nutrients he'd lost…which he'd promptly broken when he started eating whatever the hell he wanted again. It wasn't that he didn't like the protein shakes and nutrient bars Rebecca was practically force feeding him…it was just that he'd missed normal food. He tried to do this properly, he really did, but sometimes he'd just give in to the urge to eat a dozen donuts and a whole pizza on his own. Whenever he did that, he could always count on Shaun to crack out the fat jokes, and it almost felt like the way things had been back in Monterrigioni. Almost.

At least Shaun managed to keep his comments to when Desmond was eating bad food, and really, he'd died and come back, he'd earned the right to eat a whole pizza on his own if he wanted to.

When he wasn't working on his diet, Desmond was back in training, getting in shape and learning how to do things with one arm. To say it hadn't been easy was an understatement, and he knew he was a long way away from being the man he was before the end of the world. But he was getting there, slowly but surely.

He'd need to be in tip top fighting shape for when Juno made a move.

"I'm telling you, the blackout has to be connected to Juno somehow!"

"Rebecca, I don't think blacking out the Super Bowl quite fits with Juno's modus operandi of conquering humanity."

Rebecca just scoffed and rolled her eyes at a very unconvinced Shaun. "Seriously, Shaun? This fits perfectly with your theory about her, you should be agreeing with me on this!"

"Who's agreeing on what now?"

Both Shaun and Rebecca looked up as Desmond walked in, not quite sure what sort of argument he'd just walked in on. But from the smirk that Rebecca gave him, he had a feeling he'd instantly regret getting involved. "Desmond! So glad you're here! I need your opinion on something. You've heard Shaun's theory about Juno, right?"

"…er…no, actually, I haven't."

Rebecca shot Shaun a look, and the historian just shrugged awkwardly. "I planned on telling him, it just slipped my mind!"

"You remember to mock his eating habits but you manage to forget this? Really, Shaun?"

Before Shaun could respond to Rebecca with a comment that would surely have the two of them going off on an argument for at least 20 minutes or so, Desmond interrupted. "So, what is this theory of yours, Shaun?"

Rebecca still looked rather smug as she moved to sit down, smirking at Shaun, who chose to ignore her as he told Desmond his theory. "Well, Desmond, my theory is that Juno didn't come back quite as she expected to. I think what she was expecting was to come back whole, solid, powerful, ready to enslave humanity with a snap of her fingers. But something went wrong."

"And that would be…?"

"You, Desmond. You weren't supposed to survive, and I think your death was the final thing she needed to come back with full power. A life for a life, as it were. But, well, that didn't work. You're alive, so she didn't come back at full power, or even in a solid form. She's pure energy right now, unable to conquer and enslave anything. It explains why the only possible signs of activity we've seen from her have been Internet glitches. She's trying to gain enough knowledge to work on rebuilding herself."

At this, Rebecca jumped up, enthusiastically joining in. "And this is exactly why I think she's behind the blackout! Think about it! She's got very little knowledge of how modern humans or modern human societies work. She has no idea what the Super Bowl is, she could've thought it was some sort of gladiatorial tournament or something, and that draining the power from it would scare us. She thought wrong, yeah, but it's just the sort of thing she'd do while trying to figure out how we work!"

Shaun just scoffed, shaking his head. "The blackout was caused by faulty wiring. No more, no less. The glitches we've associated with possible Juno activity are likely due to her attempts at learning about us. What could she hope to learn or gain by blacking out a major sporting event?"

Desmond looked back and forth between the two, shrugging and nodding at Rebecca, who grinned triumphantly.

"I dunno, Shaun, I think Rebecca might have a point. It does sound like the sort of thing she'd do, especially if she's at a low power state like you think she is…"

Shaun just rolled his eyes and turned back to his computer, ignoring Rebecca as she high-fived Desmond behind his back.

So, basically, not a great deal had happened in the past month. For Desmond, that was almost normal in a way. His life as a bartender had gotten him used to unexciting routines where nothing particularly special happened, and he'd liked that. He'd get up, go for a run, take a shower, go about his day, then go to work at night. Rinse and repeat. It hadn't been exciting or world changing, but it had been a nice life.

Then, of course, his life had changed and he'd ended up spending a good chunk of late 2012 in the Animus, lying down and running through the lives of ancestor after ancestor after ancestor, searching and waiting for something to happen in the real world. He'd learned to get used to life moving slowly before suddenly picking up, and if his past experiences were anything to go off of, the slow period was preferable to the pick-up (which usually had something awful or catastrophic happen).

But being used to waiting didn't mean waiting was easy. Whenever Desmond wasn't in training, he was trying to spend time with Duncan. He still wasn't exactly sure why Duncan disliked him so much, but he was determined to make that kid smile like he had when they first met, before Duncan realized who Desmond was. When he wasn't trying (and failing) to coax Duncan to warm up to him or at the very least give him a chance, he was throwing himself back into his training, pushing himself harder and running farther than ever before. And whenever he wasn't doing either of those things, he was loafing around and doing what he was used to doing in his down time: bothering Shaun and Rebecca.

He was on his way over to Shaun and Rebecca's place, to partake in his favorite pastime of bugging them both and loafing around on their couch, watching them work (and distracting them both from their respective jobs). The sky was thick with dark grey clouds, and Desmond was pretty sure it was going to rain later. There was a slight twinge of pain in his stump, but he ignored it as he moved to knock on Shaun and Becca's door, whistling to himself. He smiled at Shaun when he finally answered the door, and didn't seem to notice the surprised look on Shaun's face at seeing him.

"Hey, Shaun!"

Shaun just blinked at him for a second, before smiling awkwardly at him. "Desmond! Not that it isn't lovely to see you, but…well, do you remember what day it is today?"

"Yeah. It's Thursday, right?"

Shaun just stared at him, shaking his head and sighing. "Techically yes. But it's also Valentine's Day, and Rebecca and I have plans."

Desmond blinked, surprised. He'd completely forgotten about Valentine's Day. It wasn't like he'd had plans for the holiday or anything, so it must've just slipped his mind. Though, now that Shaun had mentioned it…

…huh. Valentine's Day.

Shaun had plans with Rebecca, though? Desmond couldn't help but smile smugly at the British historian, who bristled at Desmond's grin. "Oh, and what are you smiling about, hmm?"

"Oh, nothing…Becca finally gonna make a man out of you tonight, Shaun?"

Shaun went pink at that (and oh, his cheeks clashed brilliantly with his hair at that), snapping slightly at Desmond. "Oh, ha ha, very funny there, stumpy. At least I'll be getting some tonight, unlike some people."

And oh, that hurt. He wasn't even fully sure of why it hurt so much. It was just Shaun overreacting to a joke, same as usual. He'd made comments like that in the past, and Desmond had always just laughed and threw a line right back at him. So why did he suddenly feel so empty and alone?

"Just try and have a little faith. Have faith."

…oh.

"Desmond? You okay there, mate? You spaced out on me for a second."

Desmond blinked, realizing that Shuan was staring at him. How long had he just been standing there quiet? He shrugged, giving Shaun a weak smile (it felt so forced, he wasn't even sure why…). "Yeah, fine. Like you said, I just spaced out for a sec. You kids have fun tonight, okay? Remember to use protection!"

Any concern that Shaun may have been showing at that evaporated, and he just shot Desmond an annoyed look as Desmond started to head off. "Hey, you shut up!"

Desmond just laughed, waving as he headed off, ignoring the stings of pain in his stump and the ache in his heart. He waited until he was a good distance away from Shaun and Becca's place, until he was sure nobody would be following or watching him.

Then, he started to run.

He ran and ran, ignoring the pains in his stump or the ache in his legs as he went faster and farther. He tried not to think about what day it was, or how alone he suddenly felt. He tried not to think about the blood on his hands, the loss of control as the hidden blade plunged into her stomach. The look of confusion and hurt in her eyes as they both collapsed.

Traitor or not, she hadn't deserved what had happened to her. What he'd done to her.

He'd told his father, back in the Temple, that he'd known that Lucy was a traitor when…when he'd killed her. That Juno had shown him the truth and he'd had some control over his actions.

He'd lied.

The truth was he hadn't had any control over his actions. Juno had taken over, and no matter how hard he'd fought her control, she'd won out, and Lucy had paid the price. It wasn't until he was in a coma, on Animus Island, that he learned the truth about her allegiances. And by that point, it hadn't really mattered. She was dead. He'd killed her. Whether she was a Templar or not…none of that mattered, because she was gone and it was because of him.

And even if he'd known…he'd liked Lucy. She'd been nice to him, she'd still helped him escape Abstergo. She cared about him…and he'd cared about her. Even if he'd known that she'd switched sides, he wouldn't have been able to bring himself to hurt her. He'd just want to know why.

But none of that was important now. Lucy was dead by his hand, and he was left alive and alone to live with the guilt and the what-ifs.

So he ran. He ran to try and forget, to ignore the empty feeling in his heart and the questions buzzing in his head (What if she was alive? What would he say to her? Would they be together today? Would she still work for the Templars, would she switch back?) .

By the time his head was finally clear and he'd stopped, it had gotten dark, the thick clouds from earlier making it difficult for him to tell what time it was, or how long he'd been running. Desmond took a few deep breaths, trying to get his bearings. Somehow, he'd managed to lose track of where he was running, and he'd ended on the outskirts of the Farm.

"…fuck, how did I get out here…"

Shaking his head, ignoring the distant rumbles of thunder in the sky, Desmond took another deep breath before heading back. It was getting late, and he didn't want to be caught out there when it started raining.

"I'm not sure it will ever end, Desmond…I can't do this forever."

At least, for her, it was over. Maybe she was at peace, somewhere, finally out of this war. And maybe, if he was lucky, he'd see her again someday.

But not tonight. Tonight, he was going home alone.

Duncan had woken up that morning to an empty house and a grey sky. His father was off on a mission, coordinating some teams somewhere, and would be back in a few days, so for now, it was just him and Desmond in the house. And Desmond appeared to be out.

Good. Duncan knew exactly what day it was, and was in no mood to deal with his brother and his attempts at conversation or pleasantries.

He'd headed downstairs and made himself a bowl of cereal for breakfast, sitting alone in the kitchen. It was…weird, without his mom here. They'd had a tradition for Valentine's Day. Every Valentine's Day, she would get up and make him heart shaped pancakes with strawberries, and he'd come down for breakfast and they'd eat together before she went to work and he went to training. It was just the two of them, doing something special together. He'd always loved it.

There were no pancakes this year. No special moments alone with Mom. And it was because of Desmond.

He knew, logically, that it wasn't Desmond's fault. Not really. But he needed somebody to blame, to be angry at, and Desmond fit the bill perfectly. He'd died and Mom had left because of it, and then he'd come back the savior of mankind, a pinnacle of perfection he could never hope to live up to.

He'd seen the way his brother was at training. He was a perfectionist, able to do difficult exercises with easy (one handed, at that!) The training group was doing a two mile run? Desmond was off doing six miles. They were doing twenty pushups? Desmond had done over fifty with one arm, and was still going. Obstacle course? Blade and gun practice? Desmond met and surpassed all expectations with no effort.

It drove Duncan nuts.

His father had always called Desmond lazy, said he was wasting his life doing nothing, but a lazy person couldn't just do so well in training so easily. Duncan gave everything he had during his sessions, but no matter how hard he tried, Desmond was better, and always would be.

He just couldn't stand it.

Grumbling to himself as he finished his breakfast, Duncan moved to put his bowl in the sink and get ready to go to his classes and his own training sessions. He could hear the sound of thunder in the distance (and he hoped it didn't start raining during class, that was the last thing he needed), and he ignored the nervous feeling in his gut as he got his boots and coat on and headed out.

Mom might have loved Desmond more, but at least there was still one place where Duncan could be special and important. He may not be able to beat Desmond, but at least he could be the top of his class. He put the effort in, after all. He wasn't lazy or a good for nothing who wasted his life.

As he closed the door behind him and headed out that morning, he just wished that his mom was still there to see him, to make him feel like he was special. To get rid of the anger and the feeling of loneliness that had been following him since she'd left.

When Duncan got back, tired from a long day of classes and training, the first thing he'd noticed was that Desmond still wasn't home. Good. That meant he could set up in the living room and work on his homework undisturbed, at least for a little bit.

Ever since he returned from the dead, Desmond had gotten into the habit of trying to bond with him. It was little things, like asking him about his day (which were always the same) or his friends (which he didn't have), or things like that. But he was always so enthusiastic, so happy, even when Duncan shot him down…he didn't understand why Desmond wouldn't get the hint. He didn't want anything to do with him.

It made it very hard to get work done, to say the least.

The second thing he noticed upon getting home was how empty the house felt. He knew his mom wasn't going to be there…but even though it had been over a month, he still expected to see her when he got home, or when he got up in the morning. And then, when she wasn't, and he remembered that she probably wasn't coming back…

Duncan was used to being in an empty house, but it didn't mean that he liked being alone.

So he threw himself into his homework, trying to distract his mind from how quiet the house was, or how alone he felt. It worked for a little while, at least until Desmond got home.

Desmond didn't seem to notice him on the couch as he headed into the kitchen, grabbing four slices of bread (really? Just bread? Desmond was weird) before heading upstairs without saying a word.

Huh. Maybe Desmond had finally gotten the hint and was finally going to start leaving him alone.

As soon as Duncan heard the shower go on upstairs, he went back to his work, knowing that he had a little more time before dinner came and he'd be forced to talk to his older brother.

By the time that Desmond was done with his shower, Duncan had finished his homework and was just sitting on the couch, doing nothing in particular. Desmond seemed to finally realize that he was there, as he moved to sit down on the couch next to him, giving him a small smile. "Hey. Dad home?"

Duncan shook his head. At least when it came to talking about Dad, he could try to be civil and polite to his brother. "No. He's off on a mission coordinating some teams. I think he'll be back in a few days, but I'm not sure."

Desmond just scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Of course he is. Left without saying a word, typical Bill Miles."

Duncan stared at Desmond for a second, the anger he felt towards his brother coming to a boiling point. He hated how Desmond talked about their father, how he just casually disrespected him and always seemed to think the worst of him. His dad had a reason for doing the things he did, why couldn't Desmond just accept that and move on?

He stood up suddenly, glaring at Desmond. He'd taken his mom away, he didn't seem to respect or listen to their dad, no matter what, Duncan could never be better than him. He couldn't take it anymore.

"He did say a word before leaving! He said it to me, while you were off who knows where doing who knows what!"

"Woah, it's okay, no need to yell, lil man—"

"I'm not little! Why are you even here, anyway? Why can't you just go away!"

He stormed out of the room before Desmond had a chance to respond, racing up the stairs to his room, slamming the door behind him before throwing himself onto his bed, hugging his pillow close to his chest.

If Desmond went away, maybe things would go back to the way they used to be…maybe his mom would come home, and they could be a family again, and he wouldn't feel so angry and upset all the time anymore.

He knew it wasn't fair to hate Desmond the way he did…but he needed to hate somebody. If he didn't have somebody to blame for all of this, he didn't know what he'd do.

Duncan just hugged his pillow tighter, trying to fight back the angry tears that threatened to fall.

Desmond sighed, wincing slightly at the sound of Duncan slamming his door behind him. He wasn't exactly sure what he'd done to set the kid off this time, but he'd never actually run off like that before. Usually, Duncan would just pull out an insult or ignore him completely. Maybe leave the room, but never storm out of there like that…

Something had set him off. Desmond wasn't sure what, and for all he knew, it could've been him (hell, it probably was him). But Duncan was clearly upset, and Desmond was his big brother. It didn't matter whether Duncan hated him or not…Desmond would be there for him to help him.

So he moved to get off the couch, ignoring the slight ache in his legs and the sharp twinges of pain in his stump (that thing had been acting up all day, he'd just learned to not pay attention to it) as he moved upstairs to knock on the door to Duncan's room, not exactly sure what he was going to say next. "…Duncan?"

"Go away!"

Desmond frowned. Typical response. "Duncan, I'm not going away, sorry."

"I said go away! Leave me alone!"

Desmond sighed, leaning against the door while resisting the urge to just barge in there. "What is your problem with me, huh? Why do you hate me so much?"

"Because I do! Because you're awful!"

"You don't even know me, how can you think I'm awful?"

"I know enough! Enough to know that you're awful, and I wish you'd just go away!"

Desmond sighed again, rubbing at his eyes. This wasn't working. If anything, he was probably making Duncan more upset, which was the last thing he wanted to do. He just wanted to know why Duncan was so angry, what he could do to make it better…why he hated him so much. "…I don't know why you hate me, but…I don't hate you. Whatever I did, I'm sorry."

For a minute, there was silence, and he wasn't sure that Duncan was going to say anything at all. Then, he heard his brother's voice, quietly responding, sounding not so angry, just…confused and upset.

"…Why did Mom have to like you best?"

…wait, was that what this was about? Seriously? Of all the dumb, unfounded reasons to dislike a person…it wasn't even true, Desmond was sure of that. He had to resist the urge to snort, because this was ridiculous. "You think Mom liked me best? Really? If I know Mom, and I think I do, than I know she didn't like me better."

He could hear Duncan snorting in disbelief. "Of course she liked you best! She left right after you died, she didn't even say goodbye or call or leave a note or anything! Whenever you got mentioned or came up in conversations she'd always get sad…she loved you best…"

Desmond suddenly felt angry, though he wasn't sure if he was angry at Duncan or his parents. This was what his brother thought? He had no clue.

This kid needed a reality check, and as Desmond pushed open the door to Duncan's room, he decided he was gonna have to give him one, whether he liked it or not. Duncan was sitting on his bed, holding a pillow close to his chest, and for a second it looked like he was going to throw the pillow at Desmond. Instead, the kid just glared at Desmond, hugging the pillow tighter. "Get out of my room."

"No. Listen up, because you need a fucking reality check. She was my mother, and yeah, she loved me, but I know for a fact that she loved you too, probably more than she ever loved me. Wanna know how I know that? She stood up for you. Do you have ANY idea what that means? All of the shit our dad puts you through, all that pressure he shoves onto your shoulders that makes you feel like you have something to prove to him when he might not give a shit about either of us? It was worse for me. She didn't stand up for me like she clearly did for you. She didn't let William hit you whenever you screwed up, she didn't let him smack you for every little mistake. You know what she did when William hit me when I messed up? She didn't stand up for me. She just let it happen. If she loved one of us more, it was you, because she loved you enough to say no to our father. My death didn't make her leave. It was a long line of bullshit she'd had to deal with from our dad, and she'd had enough. You hating me isn't gonna bring her back."

And oh, he knew he was being cruel right now, but Duncan needed to hear this, he needed to realize how much better he had it than Desmond. And maybe there was a part of him that was taking his own hurt out on the kid, and he knew he shouldn't…but Duncan needed to hear this, and the truth hurts.

Duncan glared at him, looking like he was going to cry, holding his pillow tighter to his chest. "Well, it helps! Why couldn't you just stay dead!"

"Because that's not how the world works. Because life is cruel and unfair and even the fucking savior of the world isn't allowed to be happy!"

Duncan's glare narrowed, and he put the pillow down as he got off the bed, moving to stand in front of Desmond. "You wanna know why I hate you? It didn't matter that you weren't the good kid. You were the standard I had to live up to. Duncan, do this, Duncan, do that, Duncan do you WANT to turn out like Desmond? But you know what? It never worked! I will NEVER get away from you or be as good as you. You were a lazy good for nothing and you're STILL one of the best on the Farm! And then you died and saved the world and I knew nothing would ever be good enough, Dad would NEVER see me as anything other than Duncan, the little brother of the man who saved the world, the backup son he probably doesn't need. And then mom left, mom stood up for you every time Dad threw your name around like an insult, and she LEFT!"

The kid was practically screaming at him, and when he'd finished his rant, he just stared up at Desmond, the atmosphere tense between them. Then he glared and moved towards the door. "So that's why. That's why I hate you. Now get out of my room."

For a minute, Desmond didn't move, didn't say anything, just staring at Duncan, who looked like he was going to start yelling or crying at any second. Eventually, he just sighed, shaking his head as he moved to leave the room. "... Fine. You can be angry at me for something I wasn't a part of. You can be alone with your anger and your hate. I've seen it destroy better men then a nine year old boy, but if that's what you want, then fine."

Desmond didn't give Duncan a chance to respond as he left the room, closing the door behind him. He moved to head back downstairs, to get a drink and try to clear his head (he'd been harsh, but hadn't he needed to be harsh? The kid was angry and hurt, but it wasn't Desmond's fault, why couldn't they just get along). Before he could get far, though, he felt a sharp pain in his stump, and had to fight the urge to cry out in pain. His stump had been acting up all day, but it had been small aches and pains, nothing serious. Nothing like this…

Of course this day could get worse. It could always get worse.

"But if that's what you want, then fine."

Duncan just stared at Desmond as he finally left the room, closing the door behind him. For a few minutes, Duncan just stood there, trying to process everything that had just happened.

All he'd wanted was for his mom to come home, to make him heart shapes pancakes and hug him and tell him she loved him, that everything was all right. He just wanted his mom back…

But she wasn't coming back, and he was left alone with his anger. And he hated it. Desmond was right, and he hated that he was right.

He thought he heard the rumble of thunder in the distance, and he flinched. It was too much. It was all too much. He quietly went back to his bed, picking up his pillow and hugging it close to his chest as he finally started to cry.

He wasn't sure how long he lay on his bed, sobbing into his pillow, crying out all the anger and the hurt until there was nothing left but a numb empty feeling. He probably would've stayed there for the rest of the night if he hadn't heard a loud moan of pain. Hugging his pillow tighter, Duncan sat up, rubbing at his eyes. As quick as he'd heard the sound, it was gone. Maybe he'd imagined it…he was tired and he'd just had a good cry, it was entirely possible that he was hearing things.

Then he heard it again. It sounded sort of like Desmond. Like he was hurt.

He wasn't sure what to do for a minute. He really didn't want to see Desmond right now, didn't want to talk to him, but if he was in trouble…well, if something happened to Desmond, his dad wouldn't be happy.

Duncan sighed, letting go of his pillow and pushing off the bed, going to see what was wrong. The noises seemed to be coming from the bathroom, so Duncan headed down the hall, preparing himself for the worst (and to not snap at Desmond. If he was hurt, he shouldn't do that.). Despite that, he wasn't prepared for what he saw when he got to the bathroom.

Desmond was lying in the bathtub, curled up into a ball, clutching at his stump, trying not to move. Every time he moved, it seemed like whatever was causing him pain (Duncan was assuming it was his stump, from the way he was clutching at it), acted up, and Desmond had to bite on his lip to stop himself from crying out again.

For a minute or so, Duncan just stared at Desmond, who didn't seem to notice him. He'd never seen Desmond like this before. Vulnerable. In pain. Imperfect. Human.

His brothre was always two things in Duncan's mind: the perfect, flawless savoir of the human race, or the worthless slacker who abandoned his family and ran away. But right now, he was neither of those things. He was just an ordinary man, in pain.

Desmond shifted in the tub again, groaning slightly as he did so, before noticing Duncan standing by the door, staring at him. He just raised an eyebrow at Duncan. "What're you looking at, kid?"

"You."

Desmond laughed, a bitter, hollow sound, as he shook his head, wincing slightly. "Well, get a good long look, because this is what a hero looks like."

Duncan wasn't sure what to say to that. He wasn't sure what to say or do, but Desmond was clearly in pain. So he wordlessly moved over to the medicine cabinet, grabbing a bottle of painkillers off one of the shelves, before moving to hand the bottle over to Desmond. "Here."

"Thanks."

Duncan just nodded, watching Desmond pop open the bottle and down about five pills. He hoped those would help. "What's wrong with your stump?"

"Not entirely sure. I think it's got to do with the weather…low pressure, makes the bones and nerves ache."

"You were fine earlier, though."

"Well, the storm got worse. Heh," Desmond shook his head, laughing bitterly to himself, "of course it did. It can always get worse."

Duncan never had a chance to respond to that as a loud crack of thunder echoed throughout the house, and he flinched, jumping a little bit. He hated thunder. It was a stupid thing to hate, and an even stupider thing to be afraid of, but he couldn't help it. Thunder was loud and violent and scary and he hated it. Desmond raised n eyebrow at him, wincing as he moved to try and sit up in the tub. "Scared of thunder, D?"

Duncan chose to ignore the question. He didn't want to talk about his fears. "I don't get it, though. The weather's been bad all day. Why would you go out if you knew your stump was gonna hurt?"

"I didn't know. I haven't been caught in a thunderstorm before," Desmond replied, voice strained. He was clearly still in a great deal of pain, and he seemed to be trying to ignore it as best as possible just to talk to Duncan. There was a part of him in the back of his mind that recognized this was the first real conversation he'd had with Desmond since before he knew who he was…and that before he knew who Desmond was, he'd actually liked talking to him.

Desmond shifted with a pained groan, moving to lie back down in the tub. Why was he even lying in the tub, anyway? Duncan frowned a bit. If he was hurting, he should be in bed or something. "Maybe you should go lie down…not in the tub, I mean."

Desmond smirked slightly at him, his voice thick with sarcasm. "Oh, right, I hadn't thought of that."

"Why are you even lying in the tub, anyway? Wouldn't a bed be more comfortable or something?"

"I came in here to try and grab some pain meds…it just hurt too much, though. Didn't want to be standing anymore. It seemed like a good idea at the time, okay? And now I just…don't want to move."

Duncan shrugged. In a weird way, it did make sense. He was about to say so when another loud boom of thunder cracked through the air, and he flinched, biting his lip nervously.

"Hey…are you okay?"

He wasn't okay. He was scared. But he was supposed to be strong, and tough, and not be afraid of anything…

…but if it was okay for Desmond to not be perfect, then maybe, just for one night, he didn't have to be perfect either. "I…I'm scared of thunder, okay…?"

Desmond just nodded, giving him a small smile. "You're allowed to be scared, little D."

…he was allowed to be scared. There was nothing wrong or bad about being afraid of thunder…

"It's okay to be afraid of things, Duncan. As long as I'm around, the bad things won't hurt you."

…just like his mother said…

Without saying a word to Desmond, Duncan ran out of the bathroom to his room, grabbing his pillow before rushing back, holding it close to his chest. Desmond raised an eyebrow at him, but said nothing.

"…can I get in the tub with you…?"

Desmond blinked, surprised at the request, before nodding, smiling warmly as he scotched over a little bit. "Sure. C'mon in."

Duncan nodded and climbed into the tub, clutching his pillow to his chest as he lay next to his brother. They were both quiet for a bit, until another boom of thunder rumbled, and Duncan whimpered quietly, hugging his pillow tighter to his chest, shivering slightly. Despite being in a great deal of physical pain, Desmond scooted closer to Duncan, gently putting his hand on his shoulder. "It's okay, D…it's okay. …I'm sorry I'm not mom."

Duncan nodded quietly. "I miss Mom."

"I know. I do too."

"…I'm sorry I got so mad at you…"

"It's okay."

Duncan blinked. It's okay…? That's all Desmond had to say to him? He'd treated him terribly since he got here, for no good reason, and he was just gonna brush it all off with an 'it's okay'? Why wasn't he mad? "Doesn't it bother you, though? I mean, I guess I don't have a really good reason for hating you…and I've been mean to you for ages…"

Desmond shrugged, voice strained with pain as he responded. "You're nine. Mom is gone and you think that Dad walks on water. I think you deserve a little slack."

Duncan didn't say anything. He noticed how pained Desmond still sounded, and he squirmed, turning around to face Desmond as he handed him his pillow. As scared of the thunder as he was, his brother probably needed it more than he did right now. "…Here. It's for your stump. It makes bad things better…it just takes a while to work sometimes, but maybe it'll help."

Desmond looked surprised at that, but smiled warmly as he took the pillow, placing it under his stump before gently ruffling Duncan's hair. Duncan squirmed a bit in protest at that, but he didn't yell at Desmond.

He wasn't sure how long they lay there in the tub in silence, the storm still rumbling overhead. All he knew was that it was late, and eventually, he slowly nodded off into sleep next to Desmond.

Duncan awoke the next morning in his own bed with his pillow next to him. He was a bit sore (Which was probably what happens when you fall asleep in a bathtub), and a bit tired, but mostly, he was confused. He remembered falling asleep the night before in the bathroom, next to Desmond…so why was he back in his own room?

Desmond couldn't have brought him in there, could he? He'd barely been able to move last night, there was no way he could've carried Duncan back in here. But Dad wasn't due home for a few days…

Frowning, Duncan got up and headed downstairs to fix himself some breakfast. To his surprise, he'd been beaten to the kitchen by Desmond, who was…oh. Oh.

Desmond was by the oven, making pancakes.

They weren't heart shaped or covered with strawberries, and it wasn't Valentine's Day anymore, but the gesture still brought a smile to Duncan's face. There was no way his brother could've known what he and his mom did every year on Valentine's Day. He was just doing this to be nice. Or because he was sick of cereal every morning, but it was probably to be nice. Desmond noticed Duncan standing in the doorway and smiled, waving him over.

"Hey, little D! Come help me with the pancakes."

For a moment, Duncan hesitated. Despite what happened between them last night, he still had a lot of issues when it came to Desmond. Nine years of being told nothing but terrible stories about a person can't be undone in one night.

But if he never even gave Desmond a chance, things between them would never get better.

Maybe…maybe Desmond wasn't so bad after all. Maybe he could try to be a little nicer to his brother. Just to see what happened.

"Little D, you gonna come help me? Or are you just gonna stand there and stare while I eat all these pancakes?"

Duncan blinked, before smiling slightly and shaking his head. "Don't call me little D."

And with that, Duncan entered the kitchen to help his brother with breakfast.