Kuu's Attempt to Finish All Four Flavors, Part 4
Title: Scared of the Dark
Prompt: Buttermilk 1: Safety First
Topping: Chopped Nuts
Rating: PG-ish
Word Count: 1,140
Summary: Sergei and his gun again.
Safety first. That was one of the maxims that he always followed when it came to his gun. From the moment his father had told him that one day it would be his, he automatically followed the rule of safety first. And it wasn’t just when it came to his gun. He always made sure that he was safe before he did something. He always made sure that Syeira was safe, and Alexei as well. He didn’t want them to be in any sort of danger. If they were in danger, if something unfortunate happened, if either of them died because they weren’t safe… because he hadn’t been able to protect them… he didn’t know how he would be able to live with himself. There was too much guilt behind it. He was supposed to be their guardian. He was supposed to be their protector. They were supposed to go to him whenever they needed help with something, or whenever they felt scared. Syeira especially, because he was her foster brother. He was the only family she had now. And if she died because he hadn’t protected her… dear God, how would he be able to live that down? He wouldn’t. That was the answer.
Back in Russia, he had made sure that whenever he wasn’t using it, it was tucked in its holster and locked away in the little wooden drawer at the end of the hall. He’d barely had to unlock it once he felt that he had become good enough to shoot someone, some target, on the spot. And so that little brass key on his key-ring was always cold, untouched, unused. Until the day had come when he’d had to warm up that key, he’d had to touch it, he’d had to unlock the door and rip the gun from its holster and bang, bang, shoot. From that moment on, until they got to the inn, it had been in the holster, and the holster had been wrapped around his waist, tucked under his shirt. No one needed to know that he had a gun with him. No one needed to know that he had a deadly weapon. They might have thought that he was one of them. But that wouldn’t have made any sense at all. If he was living with Syeira, if he was protecting her, if people saw her with him, then why would they think that he was one of them? In any case, he kept the gun hidden at all times. Only Syeira had known about it at first. She’d seen him tuck the gun and the holster down at the very bottom of the suitcase, seen him cover it with clothes and food and supplies. She’d seen the hard look in his eyes, the way his dark eyes glittered with hatred. Hatred of the weapon, hatred of them, and especially hatred of himself.
His eyes were glittering in that way now, as he held the gun in his hands. Which was strange, because it was nearly pitch-black. The only light in the room was the moonlight streaming in through the open window.
“Sergei. Stop thinking like that. Give me the gun.”
He was taken aback by that. He hadn’t expected Sasha to call him by his real name. Most of the time, Sasha was a kidder. Sasha called him by the traditional Russian nickname that went along with his real name. Sasha called him “Seryozha” and grinned every single time he said it. He blushed angrily every time he heard that nickname. No one had ever called him that. Not even his own mother and father. They had noticed from the get-go that he was a very serious child, a very solemn child. That a nickname simply would not fit him. And so they had given him a short name, probably so that they would have to deal with the whole concept of nicknames. His own parents called him Sergei. His brother was Grisha, the traditional nickname for Grigory, and Sasha was Sasha, the traditional nickname for Alexander and every single variation of it, but he himself was Sergei. Not Seryozha. Sergei. And he liked it that way. But at the same time, he couldn’t help but like it whenever the other called him by that strange new cognomen. It was the only name Sasha would call him. Completely refused to call him by his real name except in the most serious of situations. It seemed that right now was one of those situations.
He gave Sasha the gun with a shaky hand.
“Now give me the holster.”
He gave Sasha the holster, watched as the other man slipped the gun into it and stood up. There was a strange look in his eyes. As if he were asking for something else. He sighed, a jagged sigh, and handed over the key.
“That’s better, Seryozha,” the blonde man said with a smile, moving over to the drawer and locking the gun and holster away. “Now, bed. Unless I have to put you there myself.”
He smiled to himself. That didn’t sound like such a bad idea. “Couch? I don’t want to go to bed…”
“Bed.”
“Couch.”
“Bed.”
“Couch.”
“I said go to your bed, dammit!”
“Well, I want to sleep on the couch!” He sat down upon it. “And you’re sleeping here, too.”
“’Scuse you, I have my own apartment!” And yet he didn’t seem to move at all. As a matter of fact, he seemed to be moving toward him rather than away from him. “What, are you afraid of the dark? Are you a big scaredy-cat and you want to sleep with me?”
He blushed. Fiercely. “I’m not afraid of the dark! I just don’t want to sleep by myself!” It was a weak defense, he knew, but at least he was telling the truth. He really didn’t want to sleep alone. He really didn’t want to be by himself right now. He wanted to be with somebody else. But Syeira and Alexei were asleep, and besides, he didn’t want to burden them with his thoughts. His thoughts might just scare them, might make them worried. And he didn’t want them to be worried at all. He just wanted them to be happy and safe. He wanted them to sleep peacefully, not have to worry about anyone coming after them. Tobias was much younger than they were, and he barely communicated with Tobias anyway. It would be much easier for him to talk to Sasha, to confide in Sasha.
He could see the other man grinning in the dark. “That’s okay, Seryozha,” he said quietly, sitting down upon the couch and lying back, his head on the armrest. “If you want me to stay, I’ll stay. As long as you’re not all over me when you sleep… again.”