"Linc! Liiinc!"
Lincoln turned around and pulled the blanket over his head. Maybe if he pretended long enough not to hear his little brother, he would stop… it had never worked out so far, but he kept on hoping. After all, he had not fought his mother for weeks to get his own room and some privacy just to let the little one slip in.
Half a minute later, Lincoln understood his mistake: if he heard Michael, surely their mother heard him, too.
As if she'd waited for his realization, there was a knock on his door. "Linc?" Mum's voice was so soft he almost didn't hear her over the wailing. He growled something incomprehensible to let her know she could enter.
"I'm sorry, honey. I tried to reassure him but he wants you."
Lincoln growled again. "Stupid monsters, he' just…"
"I know. I'm sorry." He could tell that she was. Not only by the way she was leaning against the doorframe, giving him all the space she could, but also by her voice. It was even softer now, and there was a shiver in it that Lincoln had learned to understand as anger, directed not at him or his brother, not at the world, not even at their father, but at herself. Mum was feeling guilty for asking him to help, and even though there was a part of him that felt quite satisfied – after all, it wasn't his fault either that dad had left, and he had to look after himself now, which was hard enough – most of Lincoln hated that she felt that way. It wasn't his fault, but it wasn't hers either. And it sure as hell wasn't Michael's.
"It's okay, mum." He sat up and rubbed his eyes. "I'll go talk to him."
"Linc!" Michael jumped up on his bed. "It's there again!"
"There are no monsters, Michael", Lincoln all but shouted as he marched past the four-year-old, shoving the closet door open. "See? No monsters. They weren't there before, and they won't come. Ever. Are you happy now?"
He regretted the exasperation in his voice as soon as he saw his little brother's face quiver. Michael looked at him, his blue eyes wide, obviously fighting back his doubts so he wouldn't irritate him. Which of course was more irritating than anything else. Lincoln took a deep breath. It wasn't Michael's fault, he reminded himself again. The kid was only four – he didn't know how the world worked, and Lincoln knew he should be glad about it. He was fourteen years old, and deep inside he felt as helpless and horrified as his brother looked. Knowing things didn't mean you could change them, after all.
If he could, he'd make his father come back.
And then he'd probably kill him.
"Linc?" As always, Michael seemed to sense Lincoln's mood. He skidded to the side of the bed, indicating for his brother to sit down next to him. With a sigh – he wouldn't get to sleep alone tonight – Lincoln followed.
"I'm sorry I woke you up."
"It's okay, Michael. That's what big brothers are here for." He put an arm around the little one and felt him relax. "But we've been talking about this. You know there are no monsters, nothing you see in those cartoons is real. You know that." He looked at his brother scrutinizingly, and after a moment, Michael nodded sheepishly. "I know."
"Good." Then why won't you sleep? He bit back the question. It wouldn't help to hurry his brother, he'd only scare him. And if there was one thing Lincoln had learned in the past weeks, being scared of your family was the worst feeling in the world. Worse than being bullied, worse than losing people you love, like they'd lost their grandma two years ago. It had hurt – still did, sometimes – but it was nothing against the dread he'd felt at coming home, not knowing if his dad was there. If he was drunk or angry, if mum had hidden the frying pan. If dad had found something else to hit her with. Involuntarily, Lincoln pulled Michael closer. Their mother had done everything she could to keep it from her sons, but even her youngest had noticed the scared look in her eyes. Scare that had turned to bloody murder when their father had gone for Lincoln one day.
The bruise on his cheek was long gone, and so was the man who had caused it. But when Michael whispered that he was afraid despite knowing there was no reason for it, Lincoln understood.
"The thing you need to realize, Michael", he said, suppressing a yawn, "is that the only thing you fear – is fear."
"What?"
"The monster in the closet – it is your fear. You're a clever boy, you know there is no wild animal with fangs or wings or…"
"Or a spiked tail!"
"Or a spiked tail" Lincoln nodded. "The only danger is your own fear. Cause it keeps you from thinking straight. And from sleeping. So actually, you should be happy that all that fear is in the closet over there. Because that means it can't bother you in here."
It was crude logic at best, but after a moment, a smile bloomed on Michael's lips.
Lincoln frowned. "Alright now?"
His brother nodded eagerly.
"Can I go to bed, then?" He winked to soften the gruffly tone. "You know, some of us have to go to school tomorrow." Where there were other monsters to face.
"Sure." Already, Michael was looking guiltily again as he pulled back. "Thank you, Linc."
"You're welcome" he yawned as he stood up. Only now he saw mum standing in the door, beaming.
Lincoln turned around. "Hey, Michael? You know I'll always be there for you, right?"
The answer was a soft snore that made both his mum and himself giggle. Then she led him back to his own room that had until recently been his father's bureau. "Thank you. You're a wonderful brother, you know that? And a wonderful son." For once, he didn't shrug her off as she hugged him, only wondered at how fragile she seemed. Had he really grown that much?
"Now go to bed." She was still smiling but Lincoln saw the exhaustion in the lines around her eyes. "Some of us have to go to school tomorrow, as I've heard."
She turned around quickly, leaving Lincoln with an uneasy feeling he couldn't quite place.
He remembered the feeling, though, six months later, when mum was rushed to the ER in the middle of the night and he sat in the Donovan's living room, clutching Veronica's hand while Michael was crushing his, frozen with fear.
He remembered it three weeks after that night, when mum was buried.
He promised himself he would never ignore that feeling again. And he held to that promise – up until the night when he was sent down into a garage to kill Terence Steadman.