10 years -- he scarcely believed it was possible. Sometimes, Sebastian awoke with a feeling of dread, he awoke wondering if he was actually dead and this was all just hell. Today had been no different.
The Co-president of the ever growing Monroe republic woke in a cold sweat, hand gripping the revolver beneath his pillow. The busty redhead warming the other side of his bed was still fast asleep, and he briefly wondered if he should kick her out, her squirming becoming increasingly annoying. The sky was still dark, though he could see flecks of orange and pink on the horizon, sunrise slowly greeting the rest of the world.
The man laid back again, hand moving off the Revolver and he stared at the ceiling in silence. It had been three years since the Militia began. Three years since the forming of their Republic. Some days were rough, some days he doubted everything they were doing. But they needed to form some semblance of a government, of law and order. Their camp had continued to grow, and no one ever thought twice about looking to the two men who had defended them for so long. No one even questioned it when Charlie was added to the decision making.
A shuddering breath pushed from his lungs before Sebastian stood, bare feet pressing to the cold wood. One. He shut his eyes, wrinkles forming in the corners as they clenched shut. Two. Flashes of images, of Shelley and his unnamed baby girl, bombarded his mind. Three. Red, everything was red. Crimson rivlets washing over everything. Four. His chest tightened with grief, his heart stuttering in his chest as he struggled to take a full breath. Five. He took a step forward, dressing quickly, leaving the sleeping woman in his bed. Six. The door pushed open without a sound and he moved like a ghost through the halls, eyes staring blankly ahead. Seven. Grief continued bombarding his senses. Ben, Shelley, the baby. Eight. He paused by the door leading into the courtyard, nausea twisting in his stomach. Nine. He braced his palm on the door, sucking in a sharp breath to steady himself, eyes shutting again. Ten. He opened his eyes again, steel flooding through the blue. He stood straight, pushing the grief back, pushing everything into the farthest corners of his mind. He only gave himself ten seconds. Ten seconds, every morning, before he had to be the General. Ten seconds of doubt and guilt and hate and grief.
He pushed the door open, eyes softening at the sight that greeted him. Charlotte stood with Miles, grinning at her uncle as he unwrapped and crudely dressed gift. Blue turned on blue, the grin on Charlie's face infectious, and soon he could feel his own lips quirking up. "What happened to waiting until tonight?" He taunted the girl -- no, she was a woman now. Just past her own eighteenth birthday. He wouldn't belittle how she had grown, he wouldn't deny her the right of being an adult. A small pink tongue jutted out at him, and he laughed. God it felt good to laugh. "And here I was just thinking how grown up you were," he taunted.
"Well if you hadn't slept in, you could have been here to help give it to him," she chirped back, turning her gaze from him to her uncle. Only she would think waking up after sunrise was sleeping in. He turned his eyes to the horizon, watching the various colors lighting up in the distance. "Open it already!" She was basically bouncing where she stood when Sebastian looked back at the pair and moved closer until he was standing beside her. "It's frown the both of us," she told Miles, grinning again at Sebastian before turning those eager eyes back to her uncle.
Miles glanced between them, trying his best to look annoyed at the fuss, and at being awake so early, but they all knew the truth. None of them slept much, none of them woke much later than the other. Years of war, of death, of loss -- it resulted in nightmares, in the need to connect with others who understood. And this, this was a tradition, for all of their birthdays now.
Finally the man just chuckled and pulled the twine from the brown wrapping, dark eyes brightening just briefly at the sight of a nice bottle of whiskey, before skimming over the smooth blade of a new sword.
"Yours shattered on the last mission," Charlie supplied, noting the confused twist of his lips. "And Bass and I agreed that seeing you with just one sword was like watching a fish out of water," Sebastian tried to fight the grin, watching Mile's face twist with annoyance at the rib.
"It's true. You swing one arm and the other goes to swing too and just founders about," he taunted, side stepping the punch aimed for his gut, ducking behind the laughing blonde.
"I have to head out, but I'll be back at noon for drinks," Charlie promised, leaning up to press her lips to her uncle's cheek. "Behave yourselves," he didn't miss the firm look she turned at him. He just lifted his hands in playful surrender. "I'm serious, Bass. Don't get him drunk before your meetings. We don't need another incident like last year." And then she was gone like a whirlwind that she was.
The brothers just chuckled and Sebastian locked his arm around Miles' shoulder, steering him back inside.
Hours ticked by with a slowness that nearly had Sebastian ripping his hair out. When the sundial -- and wasnt that just weird, sundials were all they had to tell time with again -- pushed towards twelve, Sebastian and Miles moved quickly towards the Bar.
They hadn't been sitting for more than fifteen minutes, taunting and reliving old memories nearly forgotten, when suddenly there was blinding pain. Everything was ringing, he couldn't hear anything, could barely even see straight. Sebastian groaned, trying to force himself up, trying to force himself to see straight. Suddenly he wished he couldn't see anything at all, the sight of an unconscious Miles damn well nearly ripping his heart out, but then everything was black.
When Sebastian came to, he was distinctly aware of a weight in his hand and on his thigh. He blinked the fuzz from his vision, head rolling to the side to see a slop of gold resting on him. "Charlotte," he croaked, squeezing the callused hand clutching his own. Tired blues slowly opened, a sleepy smile crossing her freckles face.
"Well, at least you're alive. We were worried that explosion might have done you in." She spoke softly, not moving for several moments, slowly coming back to her senses before she slowly sat up, her hand pulling away from him so that she could stretch. "Miles is in the next room," she spoke before he could even ask, "Mom and Danny are with him. He's…" The frown on her face made his heart clench, panic swelling in his chest. "He's alive, but that blast caught him the worst. Doc says he is lucky to be alive. If he makes it through tonight, he should be in the clear."
That was all four days ago. Miles had made it through the night, and the night after, but he hadn't woken up yet. Sebastian had been up the following morning, hunting down the bastards who threatened to take away his family.
"Bass, no!" Charlie's snarl broke through his thoughts, standing before a fat old man and his wife. The teen son and four year old twins standing just behind their parents. Sebastian's jaw twitched, hands balling into fists until his knuckles were white from the strain. "Bass, this isn't what Miles would want, they're children. Bass, please don't do this." He wanted to listen to her. He wanted to order his men down. He wanted to show mercy, but Miles hadn't woken up yet. Miles was still unconscious with a fever, a fever that could kill him. "Bass, if you do this, you will lose everything. One week," she pleaded, the pair standing away from the family of five and the execution line. Her fingers clutched the fabric of his uniform jacket. "One week, Bass. If he isn't awake in a week, I will put a bullet in all of them myself. Please." He finally pulled his eyes from the family to her face, and he knew the grief on her face was just a reflection of his own, but she relaxed and released a breath, her temple falling to his chest, shoulders deflating.
"Just him, for now." Bass rasped, voice still raw from the dust and the smoke from the explosion. He didn't even need to give the order, the soldiers shoving the family back into their home, the American Flag burning on the asphalt. The fat old man was drug from his family, snarling and spitting curses at the pair. Charlie's hand slid into his own, pulling him back towards Independence Hall, back towards his brother.
Miles woke the next morning. He watched as a single coffin was loaded onto the back of a carriage. He watched his niece place a hand on his brother's arm; he didn't miss the way his brother leaned into that touch, didn't miss the exhausted relief on both of their faces. And, when Miles questioned them as to what happened later, he wrapped them both into the tightest embrace he could manage. The three held onto one another, soaking in the warmth and safety of family; each of them thankful for the other, each of them relieved that a line wasn't crossed this time, each of them wondering what could have happened had that line been crossed.