It’s not... unusual, the nightmares.
Just the opposite, actually. Before the Road they had been filled with shrinking red light, with the screech of metal and searing pain because he was dying, dying-
After, they’re mostly of the Road.
It’s hard for them not to be, when he-
When his magic-
It’s hard for them not to be. He wakes up screaming for dead souls more than he doesn’t. Or- he had, until he finds Tommy.
Tommy finds him, really.
Tommy found him. He’s thought that would make the nightmares go away.
It didn’t. It just made them... different.
Worse.
Worse because he dreams about his magic killing his brother the way it did Alice, Lilia, Sharon-
Worse because he watches his brother die, again and again and it is always his fault and he doesn’t know if he can bring Tommy back a second time. He does not intend to find out.
Worse because now his brother shares a room with him. And Tommy always wakes up when he screams.
He finds some spells. Agatha scoffs at him using analog magic- he tells her to fuck off. She doesn’t oblige, of course, but she does suggest a few things to try. She isn’t all bad.
Just mostly bad. But he means it with love.
Anyway, he finds some spells. Some to help him sleep, some to try and muffle his fears, some to keep him quiet-
They work decently. He stops waking Tommy up, at least.
Which is good. Because Tommy wakes up from his own nightmares more than enough. He shouldn’t have to be bothered by Billy’s, too.
They work decently. When he screams it’s silent, and the dark circles carved under his eyes fade, just a bit, as he starts sleeping through the night a little more reliably.
They don’t work perfectly.
He wakes up screaming. It’s not new- he always wakes up screaming, or at least more often that he doesn’t.
He wakes up screaming. A second later he wishes he hadn’t, because the light beside Tommy’s bed flicks on.
Shit.
He presses his hands over his mouth, trying to muffle his ragged breathing as he buries his face against his knees, letting the comforter soak up the tears streaming down his cheeks.
Please go back to sleep please go back to sleep-
“Billy?” Tommy calls drowsily, immediately dashing that hope. “You, uh. Y’good, bro?”
“I’m fine.”
He tries to say that, at least. But his breath hitches, and a sob comes out instead, and then the bed dips from the new weight on it as Tommy sits on the edge, drumming his fingers on his thigh in a rapid motion.
“Hey,” he whispers, and Billy presses his face harder against his knees, drawing them tighter to his chest. “Billy.”
“I’m fine.” It comes out thin, wavering- completely unbelievable -but at least it comes out. The bed shifts again as Tommy slides closer.
“Oh, are you?”
“Please go back to sleep.”
Tommy’s hand brushes his shoulder, a quick question of permission. Tommy didn’t really touch people without asking first, anymore. Or let people touch him, besides for Billy and Kate, most the time. And isn’t that Billy’s fault, too? If he’d had more control over his powers- he could’ve found a different place for Tommy, a body that was loved and not-
“You’re spiraling,” Tommy says accusingly. “You’re supposed to let me help you when you’re spiraling. That’s the deal, Billy.”
“Sorry,” he chokes out. Tommy immediately softens, moving closer to wrap his arms around Billy, his face pressed against his shoulder.
“What’s wrong?”
“I-”
“If you’re gonna lie to me I’m gonna go get Mrs. Kaplan.”
“You can call her Rebecca, y’know,” he mumbles, mostly so he doesn’t have to answer Tommy’s question. Tommy could also call her mom, too, she’d offered that to him, but that’s something Billy is well aware is never happening.
“Doesn’t matter what I call her,” Tommy huffs. “If you’re gonna be stubborn ‘n an idiot I’m gonna go get her so that you stop bein’ a fuckin’ dumbass.”
“I’m not-”
“Why are you crying, Billy?”
He twists his hands in the blanket, digging his teeth into his lip, trying to breathe through the tightness in his throat. “It- it’s nothing.”
“It’s three in the morning,” Tommy shoots back, squeezing Billy tighter. “Which means it’s too early for bullshit. What’s wrong?”
I saw you die. My magic killed you. I couldn’t save you, not forever.
I killed you.
“It was just a nightmare,” he forced out, blinking back the sharp sting of tears. “That’s all, Tommy. Go to sleep.”
Tommy groans, falling back on the bed and pulling Billy down with him. “Geez, you really are being an idiot. I’m not letting you brush me off, dork. What was the nightmare about?”
“Get off of me,” he protests, shoving his brother’s arm away. “Just drop it. I had a nightmare, boo hoo, go to bed.”
Tommy rolls his eyes, propping himself up on his elbows. “Shit, dude, you’re like almost as bad at this whole “talking about your feelings” thing as Agatha is. And she literally died rather than talk about ‘em. You should not be beating her.”
“I’m fine talking about my feelings,” he insists stubbornly, rolling on his side so he doesn’t have to face his twin. “You need to mind your own business.”
“You woke up screaming,” Tommy points out dryly. “It most definitely is my business.”
“It was just a nightmare!”
“About?”
He grabs his pillow, squeezing it against his chest and burying his face in it. “Nothing.”
About you dying. About me killing you. About me losing you to my magic because there is nothing to say that I won’t.
Tommy’s arms wrap around his stomach, holding him loosely as Tommy presses his forehead against Billy’s neck. “Hm.”
“What are you doing?” he demands weakly, batting at Tommy’s arm.
“Um, hugging you?” He can feel the little snort of laughter that Tommy lets out, his brother’s breath warm against his shoulder. “Aren’t you supposed to be the smart twin?”
“Stop it.”
“Stop hugging you?”
“Stop trying to make me talk about it!”
Tommy’s arms tighten around him, his voice muffled by Billy’s pajama shirt. “Last I checked, I’d stopped saying anything.”
He scowls into the pillow, squirming uselessly for a second to try and escape Tommy’s grip. It doesn’t work. “Just go to bed, Tommy.”
“I am, dumbass.”
“In your own bed!”
Tommy just reaches down quickly, pulling the comforter over them. “Nah. I’m good here.”
“Tommy,” he whines, rolling over.
Tommy smirks at him smugly. “Mhm?”
“You suck,” he forces out, biting back another round of tears.
“Yeah, well, your fault. You’re the one who brought me back, ha.”
He barely manages to press his face against Tommy’s shoulder before he’s sobbing, shaking as his brother startles, then holds him tighter.
“Wha- Billy, are you- look, whatever I said I’m sorry-”
“Just stop,” he begs through tears, clinging to Tommy’s shirt. “Just- I wish you’d leave!”
Tommy freezes. He can feel it, feel the absolute stillness that comes over his brother. Then, softly, “What?”
Backpedal, backpedal, please don’t let Tommy hate him- “That’s- that’s not what I-”
“Billy.”
He pushes Tommy away, shoving himself against the wall, knees drawn up to his chest. “You don’t understand-”
“I don’t, no!” Tommy snaps, sitting up. “What-”
“If you left I wouldn’t be a danger to you!”
Silence.
Tommy stares at him, eyes wide and confused. “Billy,” he says slowly, then cuts himself off. “Billy,” he tries again, “did you... is that...”
Billy presses his face against the worn fabric of his pajama pants, letting it soak up the steady flow of tears. “I-”
“Was that what your nightmare was?” Tommy hesitates. Adds, “Hurting me?”
“Killing you,” he admits weakly, barely audible, voice breaking on the words. “I...”
“Billy.”
“I couldn’t control it, and you were dead Tommy and it was so horrible and I couldn’t stop it, I caused it and I- I just-”
“Billy-”
“And I couldn’t-”
“Billy, please just-”
“I caused it and you were dying and dead and it was all my fault and-”
“Billy!”
He stops. Looks up.
Tommy’s crying. Tommy is- why is he-
Tommy pulls him against his chest, snaking his arms around him. “Billy.”
“I killed you,” he breathes, tangling his fingers in Tommy’s shirt. “I-”
“I’m alive.” Tommy hugs him tightly, burying his face in Billy’s curls. “I’m alive. You brought me back to life, Billy.”
“But I-”
“-saved me,” Tommy finishes insistently. “You saved me. That’s what you did.”
“I-”
“Billy.”
He sobs against Tommy’s chest, clinging to him. “I don’t want to hurt you-”
“You won’t.” Tommy sounds so sure about it. “You couldn’t.”
“You don’t know that, Tommy-”
“I do.”
“How?” he begs, and Tommy laughs faintly.
“Because I do.”
He forces out an unsteady breath, closing his eyes. “You don’t know that.”
“I do. You know I do, Billy.”
“But-”
“Billy,” Tommy says, pulling back so he can meet his eyes. “You will never hurt me.”
He’s so close to fighting it- Tommy doesn’t know that, Tommy is wrong -but instead he nods.
Takes a breath.
“Okay.”
Tommy watches him for a second. “You need sleep. You’ll believe me more in the morning.”
He nods again, tangling their fingers together. “Will you-”
“-stay?” Tommy finishes.
“Yes.”
Tommy smiles, slightly. “Yeah. I’m not going anywhere, bro. Promise.”
And Billy almost, almost believes him.