Belonging

"What are you sorry for? You need to stop apologising, Oliver, you ain't done nothing wrong. What were you gonna do to stop bullets, hm? There was nothing you coulda done. Don't be so hard on yourself," the woman tutted in response, pulling the chair out for him and lovingly ushering him into it, kissing the top of his head quickly. "Honestly, be more proud of yourself; be as proud as I am of you. Wes could be dead if you didn't get here so quickly, you should be proud of that at least--"

"You ruined that cop's face," began Landon, the third youngest of the brothers and the one just two years older than Oliver was. They were close in age, but the drastically different lifestyles was clear to see. Landon was tough, physically strong and the only cuts he had came from hard work on the farm or dealing with any outsiders that strayed too close to the home he and his brothers all still lived in. It did upset him (like the others) to see their younger brothers in such a terrible state, and so it was only natural to want to look out for them again. "That's somethin' I'd be proud of. You did good, Oli, we all think so. And... And Wes, you'll do good too. You can kill one of the cops, show Ma you can do that now, yeah?"

"...Mm..." Wes mumbled in reply, the sound being the only thing he could really manage. Being back at the table with his brothers was a strange feeling, especially when there were three people nearby all tied to the radiator... including Maria. Every time he glanced up, it was impossible not to look over at her, and it only made him cringe. He didn't really want her to hear what his family was like and what ideals they held, and he really didn't want her to see him looking the way he did at the moment. He hadn't seen himself, but he felt like he was a mess, and he was pretty sure his face resembled that accurately.

"The girl ain't worth it, Wes." Landon murmured under his breath once following his brother's gaze. "No girl is. We don't need anyone, yeah? She's an outsider, she... she's trouble. Look at your fucking face; she's to blame for that, I reckon. If you didn't dive to protect her, you wouldn't be that badly hurt. It's her fault."
 
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"It wasn't her fault," Oliver defended as he, too, glanced over at the unconscious woman. "Like I said, she helped us get out of that hellhole we were in. If it weren't for her, we'd probably be dead. Sure, she ain't no superhuman but she helped Wes a lot. Just - don't be such dicks to her, okay?" He pleaded before picking up the fork with shaky hands.

He was good at hiding it and had been since the second time he brutally murdered someone but the whole situation horrified him. Despite the praise, he knew he could have handled the whole situation. It wasn't his fault he blacked out, especially when coming out of it to only realize he had been hurt as badly as he was.

"You don't understand how shit the last ten years have been," He eventually admitted with a nervous laugh. "For both of us. I mean, we both landed our asses in asylums because they thought we were some monsters. Electroshock therapy, pills... you don't understand how horrible everything is until you're forced to that sort of thing. I'm... babbling, I'm sorry. It's been a long day."
 
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"...We get it. You've been through hell, we get that. We ain't gonna let anything happen to you guys again-- Mama won't, especially. It's alright now. You can take time to heal up and then start helping out around the farm when you're up to it. Your bedroom is exactly the same, Ma wouldn't let us even go in there," he smiled back in return, straightening the napkin out in front of him awkwardly. He didn't know what to really say to his brothers when Oliver was admitting the reality he had been through; a reality Landon couldn't possibly understand. All he really could do was promise that he -and the others- would look out for them.

"You aren't bothering your brothers, are you? They've been through a lot, Landon, quit pestering them," their mother tutted as she entered the room with two bowls, gesturing one of the older boys to head in and collect the rest. Wesley was probably capable of eating by himself, even if it hurt to open his mouth, but the woman immediately decided to sit opposite and feed him instead, if only for the maternal support it offered. "Tell me if they're bothering you, Oliver. You and Wes are my priorities, I want you to be comfortable now you're back home."
 
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"They ain't bothering us," he reassured with a chuckle of disbelief before moving to take a very careful sip of the soup only to hum in content. There was just something about a nice, home cooked meal that made the man relax. That being said, he could only relax so much with the pain he was in - it did ease his anxiety though. Taking in the few of his brothers in the room, he offered a wary smile.

"You... all look a lot older - not you, mama. You haven't aged a day," he praised quietly. "I'm sure Wes and I don't look like how we did before, aha... I gotta say, I was worried that y'all had moved away or forgotten us. Wes was certain that everyone would still be here," he admitted to at least bring some positive light to his brother.

"We met up completely by chance. I... got in some trouble at the asylums they sent me to and they eventually placed me in the same one Wes and Maria happened to be. They were pumpin' Wes with all bunch of toxins but I got him off of it, yeah? Though some of that shit from the asylum would help the pain and whatnot."
 
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"You should have a beer, that'll help take the pain away for awhile. Go and get the boy a beer, Landon," grunted one of the other brothers after a moment, and despite his protests and groans, Landon was happy to head out and oblige. The more he could do to help his younger brother, the better. After years helplessly searching for him and Wesley, to no avail, he was eager to do whatever he could to make their lives that little bit more easy, even if that was doing something as simple as fetching them a beer each.

Corinne was less than happy, however, when Maria was mentioned again, her smile turning into a slow grimace. The idea of any of her sons finding themselves someone didn't please her, given her obvious and documented hatred of outsiders. She didn't trust them, and she felt she had every reason not to. Wesley was her youngest son and the one that had always needed the most protection. Out of all her sons, she didn't want any outsider near him, so Maria's constant mention, and the fact Oliver seemed to want to defend her, didn't make her at all happy.

"She's not to be trusted, Oliver, let's make that clear. She isn't a part of this family," she murmured slowly, turning back to face Wesley with an equal look of seriousness. "If she could be trusted, of course I'd invite her in with open arms. If she understood us and took part in our hobbies, I'd be delighted that our Wesley found such a lovely girl. I doubt that's the case; she'll be trouble if we don't bash her brains out. I don't want another word said on the matter, she ain't important to me right now."
 
"You don't know her, mama," Oliver protested, though quietly as he took another sip of the soup. "She got us here, helped us, a-and... now you're just going to kill her? Wesley loves her, and... if you want to make him happy, you would let her live. At least drop her off somewhere so she doesn't die." he insisted, the idea of someone in the family going against their mother is almost sacrilege. Ten years of being away from her helped with that independence, of course.

"Can we not... talk about this?" He pleaded, letting his only working hand move to cautiously feel the dislocated and bullet-riddled other arm. He was exhausted, concussed, and just... wanted to ignore all of this. The number of people in the room was overwhelming on its own right, especially since he was more used to the isolation of the asylum.
 
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"You're right, I don't know her personally, but I know her by default. She's an outsider and they're all the damn same, Oli. I ain't gonna sit here and let my sons be taken from me again because of some floozy - but you're right, we shouldn't talk about this. Eat up, get some strength back. You need to eat plenty of my cooking and have a nice long rest in bed," smiled Corinne, happy to drop the subject if it meant keeping her sons happy. She wasn't willing to bend to their demands, feeling he knew better than they did, but dropping it for now seemed like the best option.

Of course, having Oliver stand up to her and openly go against her like this should make her angry, but it didn't. She was simply disappointed but placed the blame on the outside world ingraining their beliefs in her son. In her eyes, he had been indoctrinated, and that was hardly his fault. It only consolidated her already apparent hatred of the world outside her front door and, unfortunately, Maria represented that.

Wesley wanted to defend her and also defend his brother by having his back, but every time his mouth opened to do so, nothing but pained groans and mumbles left it. Because of his family and the fact his face was all sewn up (which made him feel like some sort of monster), he had no doubt Maria would want nothing to do with him - but, as upset as he was by that potentiality, that didn't mean she deserved to suffer torture and death at the hands of Corinne and her sons. She was a good person who had only ever helped him and Oliver; she at least deserved to live, even if it wasn't at Wesley's side as he hoped.

"...We gotta deal with the cops at least," the mother continued, carefully wiping Wesley's mouth free of drool for him, her loving smile widening at the flicker of a smile he managed to make, in spite of the pain it must have caused. "You and Wes can sort 'em out, Oliver. A little gift from me, hm? Show 'em nobody messes with us. They hurt you and look what they did to Wes' face. They deserve it-- you can't argue with me on that one."
 
"Yeah, no shit. They don't deserve to fucking live after what they did," he agreed, his voice growing deeper as he stared at the unconcscious police. It was one thing that was far too engrained into his mind, the fact that police couldn't be trusted, and every sore bone in his body was desperate to grab the cops and bash their skulls against the floor as hard as possible. He kept his heavy breathing down, though, and simply looked away before continuing to eat very carefully.

"... do I have to do it now, mama? I want to lay down, my head hurts. I need some rest, I don't... think I got enough energy to really dismember those pigs," he admitted with a growing frown as he absently rubbed his neck, cringing a tad at how stiff it was. "Keep 'em knocked out for a day, it'll be plenty of time, right?"
 
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"Of course it can wait-- you look so pale, Oliver. I'll make you some warm milk and bring it up to you when you head up to bed, mm? You need as many hours resting as pos--"

Stopping Corinne's motherly concern for her son was the sight of the youngest, flinching at the casual remarks of violence and murder. It really wasn't anything new, of course. Wesley had always been nervous and cautious when it came to his family's unconventional hobbies. Whenever his brothers would eagerly crowd around their mother as she punished whatever outsider that had strayed to close to their home, Wesley would stay back, shielding his eyes and refusing to get involved, despite the gentle encouragement.

Even now, even if the victims would be the men that had shot him in the face, he found himself swallowing nervously, his eyes locked on the soup his mother was patiently feeding to him. He did feel like he was a child again, both because his mother was feeding him and because of how familiar the feeling of nervousness was to him, but Corinne did see vast changes in her son. He was the same Wesley, of course, and the flinches reminded her that he was the same person - but the fact there was no brightness behind his eyes killed her. Wesley, for all his nervousness, had been a curious child who was bright and cheerful and, above all else, clever.

Years of being on tablets and medication he didn't need had, as one psychiatrist cruelly taunted, 'melted his brain'. He had gotten better since Oliver's intervention, that was true, but he was a long way away from being completely okay. He couldn't think straight, he couldn't comprehend things quickly, he got confused easily... Corinne noticed all of that within seconds of seeing her son again, and how bad a state Oliver was in too, and it infuriated her. Wesley might not like it, and the police officers might not be responsible for everything her sons had been through, but she found no reason to be sympathetic to them at all.

"...Shh, Wes. Eat up-- you still gotta like Mama's soup, it was your favourite," she shushed, noticing how distressed her son was becoming, though one coo and a peck to his cheek seemed to resolve it. "...Oli, take your brother upstairs, run yourselves a nice bath while me and your brothers get the cops down to the basement. You and Wes don't need to help, you just go and get some shut-eye."
 
He didn't know what it was but Oliver couldn't help but feel a sudden surge of jealousy. He hadn't seen his mother in years and yet Westley seemed to be getting all of the attention?! He had done the driving, he set the plan in motion. Now despite having only one working arm, he had to carry his brother? Grimacing in annoyance, he did what was told of him anyway and reluctantly pushed from his chair, choosing not to finish the soup. In fact, he wasn't hungry anymore.

"Fine. Do we even still have a bed?" He flatly asked, his throat sore as he awkwardly helped Wesley. "We've been gone for so long, after all, I wouldn't be surprised." He grumbled Unser his breath, forcing back his urge to snap. The pain he suddenly felt in his arm didn't help, he imagined, and all he truly wanted was a cigarette.
 
"I don't appreciate the attitude, Oliver. Why on earth would you think I'd get rid of your things? That's hurtful; I'm your mother and I never once lost faith that I'd get you back-- I don't know why you'd think I'd do something that cruel, Oli," began Corinne, her lips pulled into a tight line at the unsubtle annoyance presented to her from her second-youngest child. If anyone outside the family dared to talk to her in that way, she would make it her aim to get back at them, however violent things inevitably became. She was notorious in the small community for not allowing anyone to talk badly to her, though she never had to deal with it from her sons before - until now, at least, and she wasn't entirely sure how best to proceed, given how awkward a situation it was to her.

"...Do you want to talk to me about it? Your brothers can go and help Wesley if you just wanted to sit down and talk to me alone? I... I've missed you and I get that you've gone through a lot, but don't shut me out now I've got you back, that'd be silly," she smiled as she quietly poured herself out some water, a sharp look sent to one of the older boys, signalling them to aid Wesley upstairs instead. "C'mon, come sit down, Oli. You're in no position to go wandering alone, I get that. I might have to get you a sling for that arm, hm? I'm sure it'll heal up good and proper in no time; you've always gotten into scrapes and healed up mighty well afterwards."
 
As Wesley was taken from his side to be helped, Oliver actively avoided everyones eyes with reddened cheeks of frustration, his legs - which were also incredibly sore and cut up - shifted weight. He didn't want to talk to his mother, mostly because he didn't really know what to say, but he knew better than to object as he was led to sit, his sore and bruised eyes brimming with tears. Once led to sit down, he sat anxiously on his own hand while the damaged one rested on his lap.

"I don't, I... I dunno..." He meekly responded, his attitude completely different from his attitude back in the asylum. He had always been the quiet type but this was a whole new level of discomfort. "I did all this work and I still have to help Wesley? That's what I've been fuckin' doing and I'm still not important, huh?"
 
"...Your brother isn't as capable as you are, Oliver. You've seen what they've done to him, they've ruined him; he can barely think straight. And he's been shot in the face, I... I had to literally stitch him back together, it was horrifying and-- and then I had to clean you up a-and your arm is-- it's badly broken, I-- never want to see you hurt, you should never doubt how much I love you," she grimaced, reaching out to take her son's face gently in her hands in an attempt to both quash his rising anger and show him how much she cared. She didn't think she would ever have to actively made a point of showing that, always believing that all five of her sons knew how deeply she loved them all. Hearing Oliver doubt that made her just as teary as he was.

"Enough of that, you're as important to me as your brother is. I'm overwhelmed here, darlin', this is-- it's-- I'm trying to hold myself together and I've always turned to you to... help me out; I trust you so much more than I do your other brothers. Wesley's not the brightest, your older brothers can be far too lively. You're the one I know I can rely on and maybe it's my fault for piling all that pressure on 'ya, huh? God, I'm sorry, darlin'. Tomorrow, you can rest all day and I'll wait on 'ya hand and foot, give you all my attention. I'd do that anyway, obviously, because I'm your Mama and you'll always be my baby, so-- don't doubt how much I care for you, that hurts me, Oli."
 
"I just, I - I was just... scared, a-and Oliver has a girlfriend and has someone who cares about him and I've had to try and figure everything out on my own a-and... it's not fair," he replied in a whimper, though immediately regretted speaking at all. He was never one to express his emotions at all, and certainly not well. It probably wasn't good timing but after spending weeks at the asylum only made him uncomfortable. The closest thing to a companion outside of Wesley was Josiah and he was still sporting the bruises and cuts on his knuckles.

"It's fine - I'm sorry. I'm just... tired," he whispered after a long moment, his feet awkwardly squirming in discomfort. "I'll get to bed, I'm sorry.,I just - I dunno, everything is just an excuse, right?"
 
"Yes, well, that girlfriend of his won't be a problem for any of us soon, once I figure out what exactly to do with her. I can't keep her in the basement forever, I'm not kind enough," she laughed to herself, waving a hand to put that conversation aside - it was one she knew she would have to hold with her older sons, given Oliver and Wesley's apparent refusal to allow any harm to fall upon the nurse that had helped them out so much. In an ideal world, Wesley would put an end to her and fill the role Corinne always hoped he would grow into, but she wasn't prepared to put that pressure on him after everything he'd gone through - and the same went for Oliver.

"Let's just get you up to bed, we can talk in the morning. I'll make pancakes, your favourite. That girl and those cops will be gone by the morning, you don't need to worry. I'll handle this," she reassured as she tiredly pushed herself to her feet and lent out her arm to support the other. "You and Wes can share your old room; I still have the bunkbeds all set up. I changed the sheets and cleaned up in there, I knew you'd both come back home. Mother's intuition, I suppose."
 
"The bunk beds? We'll probably break 'em if we get on top of it," he tried to tease, though there was little humor in his shaky and croaky voice. He smiled warily at his mother as he was led away, though he knew instantly what he had to do. He couldn't just let Maria just die after everything she had done for them, for Westley. She was an okay person to him, sure, but she risked her life, family, and career for them. The least he could do was let her go free.

That's exactly what he began to attempt to do. He was beyond exhausted and his body screamed for him to sleep but he couldn't, not when he had the weight of Maria's life on his mind. He had chosen the bottom bunk for a reason, knowing it would make less noise coming down. Peeking around the house cautiously, he slowly began to creep down the stairs, fearful that an older brother or his mother would motive him.
 
After being reunited with her sons, something she always hoped would happen but also something that she felt might never occur, Corinne was understandably exhausted, so any chance of her waking up during the night was slim. Her three eldest sons, after working hard throughout the day and disposing of the policemen in the woods somewhere, were equally as exhausted. Wesley had also gone through more than one person should ever go through, having to deal with the consequences of the medication he had falsely been fed for years and the pain of having his face practically stitched back together again after the bullets he was hit with.

However, he wasn't remotely able to get to sleep, so when he heard his brother leave the room and tiptoe downstairs, he was curious enough to head after him. He had always been closest to Oliver, but after the experience they had gone through together to get home, he didn't want to be in a room without the other. If Oliver was doing something, or planned to, Wesley wanted to be at his side helping him, however tired and emotionally wrecked he was.

His confusion over Oliver's movements cleared up when he saw where his brother was heading to, reaching out from behind to stop him, his eyes nervously peering about to ensure their mother wasn't about. As difficult as it was for him to talk with his cheek sewed up and a tooth or two missing from the gunshot, he managed to murmur something coherent out; an effort he took a second or two to be proud of himself for.

"...You can't, Mama will be mad," he began with another cautious glance around, forcing himself to smile despite the faint taste of blood that arose because of it, grimacing at the fact he had torn a stitch or two from the expression. "I... let's go to bed... Mama knows what she's doing, we shouldn't... uh... go behind her back, Oli."
 
"I can't have Maria die, Wes. She didn't do anything wrong, I-I... I couldn't have that on my conscience. Mama said herself that she's going to kill her and I don't think she deserves this, not when we dragged her into this. We can get her out of here and... I dunno, drop her off? She won't tell on us, I don't think so at least," he urged in a whisper as he fiddled with the basement door, sighing in relief when he realized it wasn't locked.

"I would think that outta everyone, you'd be on my side," he admitted as he carefully moved down the steps, having to hold his arm up so it didn't just pop out of the socket. He ignored the pain, though, and instead focused on the task at hand. "If you don't want to help, go back to bed. I'd rather mama be mad at only one of us," he whispered, taking in the basement warily.
 
"I am on your side, I... love Maria, she's lovely and kind and-- she was the only person who cared for me at the hospital. I just don't think it's wise to... go against what Mama wants," he repeated urgently, creeping down the steps whilst trying not to let the limp he'd developed cause him to fall downwards. Admittedly, he didn't want Maria to die, but he also didn't particularly want her to leave; not when he had every intention to stay at home with his family now he had them back. What he wanted was to have Maria around the home, perhaps convince his mother how much he liked her and have her become a part of the family.

At the sight of the basement, blood-soaked from the policemen's murders, he doubted that Maria would ever want to stick around after everything she had seen, which made turning against his mother all the more inevitable. He would rather do that and let Maria leave, safe and alive, than have her be killed, even if it meant turning against his mother to achieve that.

"...I don't want her to go though, I-- I need her, Oliver," he whispered with another nervous look around, his eyes locking on Maria with another grimace. "Can't we just tell Mama to keep her alive down here? I-I'll take care of her."
 
"She told me she would take care of her before we woke up. If that's the case, how would you stop her?" He countered, his eyes landing on the unconscious and bloody Maria. Just because Wesley has jumped to save her didn't mean she was completely untouched by the fighting, as was evident by the blood that had stained her baby blue dress, the spot in her side thankfully having dried, which meant that it wasn't just a fresh wound. Swallowing hard, he approached the girl whilst tip-toeing around the cops cautiously, doing everything he could to keep calm and not suddenly 'freak out'. Undoing the knots quickly, he turned to his brother.

"Can you lift her? We... We can drive her to the hospital, or something. She probably won't remember where the house is, right? I mean, we were shot at before we were even properly on the property. We could drive her - my one arm works good, right? I can drive us there, you gotta pick her up. Ideally, we'll drop her off and run back home. She won't remember where our place is, she'll ask to be taken home and... yeah."
 
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