Hello, Sean

msmooseberry

Summary:

The story of the wolf brothers ended badly.

Notes:

A translation of Здравствуй, Шон by Торика.

Endless_Torment did translations of two other fics by Торика - Griffel on gloss and Good people.

Work Text:

It's stifling hot in Mexico and a sticky sheen of sweat literally feels like a second skin. Daniel scratches his arms raw and sinks them into the ocean elbows-deep, the water is disgustingly warm and stinging. It makes everything itchy and he wants to scratch his arms even more, but still stubbornly tries to believe that Sean would've loved the ocean. Only he could hardly imagine what it was really like.

Hello, Sean, how's it going? We're in Mexico. You too, are in Mexico.

Six years ago Daniel pushed the car until it reached Puerto Lobos with Sean's body behind the wheel: if the driver's seat had been empty, it would've invited state patrol to ask some unwelcome questions. And when the tell-tale red-and-blue lights started blinking on the horizon Daniel couldn't hold back an anguished cry as he hauled Sean's arm back on top of the wheel and turned his head to imitate the instinctive gesture all drivers make when they follow the passing patrol car with their eyes. While Daniel manipulated his brother he practically didn't breathe, his chest was aching something awful and his insides were plummeting.

I've learned so many new things, Sean. I wish you could see them too. Although... I'm glad you won't. You wouldn't like them.

Mexico is dirty. The girls wear too much make-up, the guys wear the same shirt for years on end, which often makes Daniel sick to his stomach. The cashier lady from the shabby convenience store, the only one in the whole neighbourhood, suggests drowning his revulsion in cocaine, and Daniel clears her own register to pay for it. The dubious purity of the drug clouds his head and sends knives and shards of broken tableware up into the ceiling. Daniel is suffocating, fantasizing about how Sean would scold him for doing coke, but even stoned out of his mind he can't picture it well enough.

You taught me to fight for my family, Sean. But you forgot to mention that some battles can be lost.

After several hours in the car Sean became stiff. When Daniel pulled him out to drag into the backyard of their father's house, his knees and elbows remained in a bent position, as if he were still sitting in the driver's seat. In an attempt to straighten his brother's legs Daniel broke some bones, and the sound of them cracking must've travelled all the way to the other coast, constricting Daniel's throat in an invisible vice grip. He shovelled hot Mexican sand onto his brother's body and couldn't stop thinking that the skin on his cheeks was going to melt away from the tears.

You shouldn't have let me add anything to your story, Sean. You knew what to do best.

Daniel bleaches his hair after breaking the third mirror that stares back at him with a face treacherously similar to Sean's. Daniel now rarely looks into mirrors and does new tattoos instead, since it dulls the incessant itch at least for a little while. Some are based on old photographs, some – on Sean's drawings. Daniel is terrible at keeping what's dear and precious to him safe, so he prefers to have his memories injected under his skin with ink and needle.

I still don't know Spanish, Sean. You don't really need Spanish here. Threats sound pretty much the same in any language.

On the third day, when Daniel tried to squeeze through a crowd of sweaty Mexicans to pay for his milk, someone shoved him aside, and in a stream of incomprehensible and probably obscene words he heard something harsh and angry, which was, however, surprisingly close to 'enano', and Daniel smiled with soft sadness on impulse, then crashed down to his knees and wept. The milk got snatched out of his hand by someone who was a carton short, his fingers got stomped on by someone who found him in the way. Daniel didn't immediately notice it.

You said bad people deserve to die. There are no good people in Mexico, Sean.

He meets a girl named Kat at a bar. She has a year or two on him and looks as old as Lyla did when he last saw her. She's got full sleeves, pierced eyebrows, and she's always chewing a fruity gum, blowing multiple bubbles a minute. She irritates Daniel, but she's the only one who knows English well. Which means she is the only one who can understand what he tells her about Sean.

"I also have two dead brothers. One got shot, the other overdosed."

"And you don't miss them?"

"One of them raped me when I was twelve. He was piss-ass drunk and too lazy to jack off, so he used me. Big brothers suck."

"Not all of them."

"I bet yours thought of fucking you at least once. No sex for half a year at sixteen would drive anyone crazy."

Daniel doesn't speak with Kat anymore. Anyone would find speaking with her quite a challenge: she no longer has any teeth, nor a tongue. Nobody would want to use her now: her vagina is messed up, as if a hand grenade was stuffed inside and then set off. She wouldn't be able to properly explain what happened to her either. Daniel hates it when someone speaks ill of Sean.

I miss you, Sean. Do you miss me, wherever you are?

Daniel couldn't gather the courage to take his brother's sketchbook right away. He ruined the first page: the ink got blurred from salty droplets, the paper bubbled up, and Daniel panicked, shut his only treasure and didn't touch it for the next few days. Months passed before he let himself leaf through Sean's soul from start to finish. He'd seen all those drawings, he knew what they meant. Sean had given him the sketchbook to doodle before, but on his own Daniel only dared to scribble eight words on the bottom of a blank page, "The story of the wolf brothers ended badly."

I'm sorry, Sean. I'm so, so sorry.

Daniel puts flowers into the beer can, cuts out Virgin Maries from the Christmas fliers that Mexican kids push insistently into people's hands. Daniel sometimes draws and leaves the pictures on his brother's grave, and smiles sadly in the morning when he sees their absence. He knows that it's just the strong ocean wind but allows his inner ten-year-old, who believed that Dad is looking after Mushroom up in heaven, believe that Sean is taking his offerings as well. And this is what gives him the tiny bit of strength to step into another pointless day.

Have a peaceful rest, Sean. Mexico will keep you safe.