Thought The Gals Could Appreciate This Video I Made 2 Yrs Ago

for the emotional prompts, any of these for Bo?

" could... could you just hold me, a while? "

" you aren't a monster. "

" why are you still here?! why?! i destroy everything i touch! and yet you still stick around! "

(or Vincent or Lester tbh I love them all equally)

- 🔪

(( My toxic trait is definitely thinking I can write short & simple 'warm ups' ))

And because I have no self control, 🔪 anon:

I give you all 3 Sinclairs :') 🖤

“ Could…could you just hold me, a while? ” with Lester Sinclair

You couldn’t imagine what he felt. Your heart was broken, but Lester’s must have been completely taken from him altogether.

“Lester-”, you try yet again weakly.

“Leave me alone!”, he shouts, snatching his arm away from your touch and drunkenly stumbling forward in the process.

You had never seen him this way. This wasn’t your Lester.

Eyes that were only ever lively and affectionate, now red-rimmed and aggressively rubbed raw from refusing to let the tears escape. It was characteristic for Lester to look disheveled to a certain degree with the work he did, but this was entirely different. This was painful to see.

You felt utterly useless. Your heart ached to change this; to somehow attribute everything to nothing more than a bad dream. But there was nothing more you could do except silently cry and continue attempting to console him in any way he’d allow. You could tell he was finally beginning to break, and you’d be there when it happened no matter how many times he pushed you away.

He hadn't been able to sleep for two whole days now; refusing to eat, and consuming as much alcohol as it would take to let him forget for even a single insufferable moment. You did your best to deny him the bottle where you could, but knowing he'd just leave in his truck to seek it elsewhere worried you more. At least here he had you to make sure he was safe even when anguished out of his mind.

“Goddammit, (y/n)! Just- just fuck off!”, he tries to violently shake you off of him but he’s too weak now, and you know he doesn’t mean it. His words don’t hold the animosity he’d like them to because they’re so filled with suffering.

You only hold onto him tighter as you press your cheek against the straining muscles of his back in anguish. There are no words you can possibly offer him to ease the pain, but you hope your heart which is desperately beating against him, will help console him in some way; remind him that he still wasn’t completely alone.

“Please stop hurting yourself”, you plead sadly, “It…It’d hurt them to see you this way..”

It’s his breaking point. Lester lets out a wail so heart-rending that you’re unprepared; unable to keep hold of him as he slips from your grasp and falls to his knees with his head in his hands. He wants to deny what’s already in front of him so badly. Foolishly reassuring himself they’d walk through the doors of what was left of their childhood home at any moment now.

He’s weeping bitterly, voice hoarse and utterly broken from how much it hurts to keep calling out for them until his cries inevitably quiet into defeated moans. The sun is setting again, and you defeatedly sit next to his shaking form, hot tears unyielding in their passage from both of your exhausted eyes. You lean your head against his shoulder, hoping he won’t resist your touch this time, and he doesn’t. For a while, there’s just silence between you apart from the occasional sniffling that normally accompanies tears. Lester finally unable to hold out against the new reality so cruelly forced on him.

“Let’s get you home, Les”, you softly say.

He nods halfheartedly, feebly allowing you to help him stand and lean against you as you exit the house and get him in the truck. The entire drive is silent apart from the lurching and squeaking the uneven roads pull from Lester’s faithful pick up; you focusing on the familiar rural path towards your shared home, and Lester hollowly staring at nothing in particular out the window.

He’s hurriedly staggering out of the truck and throwing up on the side of the road once you arrive. Two days worth of mental anguish and physical neglect catching up to him all at once now that he was no longer in denial; the contents of his stomach proving to be little else besides liquid and bile from all of the alcohol.

You’re at his side in an instant, placing your hand against his forehead. It’s hot- too hot; his whole body is covered in sweat, and he’s weakly trembling now that the last bit of his strength has just been exerted.

Lester doesn’t process that he’s even in the tub until you’re already scrubbing at his skin with lukewarm water and soap.

“(Y/n)..?”, he groans, “My head-”

“I’m here, honey”, you assure softly while pressing your lips to his warm forehead, “I’m almost finished, we’ll get you changed and into bed, alright?”

You can tell he’s trying hard to focus on the sound of your voice, but you imagine his head is quite delirious from the fever. It hurts you to see him this way; both mentally and physically defeated as he fights to stay awake as best as he can. He’s a sickly pale, with dark circles to accompany his downcast eyes, and all traces of his toothy grin completely erased.

It’s his missing smile that impacts you the most; you can’t remember the last time seeing him without it- you swear he even smiles in his sleep. As you finish rinsing his hair out you wonder if you’ll ever see that smile again, or if that too, had passed alongside his brothers.

Fortunately, Lester is still awake despite his exhaustion which helps you to dress him that much easier. He’s sitting on his side of the bed while you carefully dry his hair. Jonesy pads her way inside the room, giving you both a sad whine while she lays down at the foot of the bed and drops her head.

“He’ll be alright, Jonesy”, you coo, “Lester just needs some sleep”

You help Lester get under the sheets once his hair is dry, kissing his temples tenderly. You’re about to step away to hang his towel to dry and pick up the house a little while he falls asleep, but he finds the strength to hold onto your sleeve before you do.

“(Y/n)..?”

“Yes, love?”

“Could…could you just hold me, a while?”, he brokenly asks.

His affectionate requests normally make your heart swell, but his voice is so miserably sad right now that it only breaks instead.

You give him a small, sorrowful smile and nod your head, “Of course”

You’re cradling his head in your arms once you join him under the covers; gently positioning him against your chest to be lulled to sleep by your steady heartbeat and find comfort in your warmth. Warmth that means you are here. Warmth that means you are alive, and at his side. You soothingly run your fingers through Lester’s hair until his breathing finally evens out and you’re sure he’s asleep.

“I’ll look after him, boys”, you cry. Hoping somehow, someway, they’d hear you.

You only had each other now.

“ You aren’t a monster. ” with Vincent Sinclair

He kills viciously; often doing so with a sadistic kind of thrill if he’s feeling anything at all to begin with. Paralyzing and waxing the living only ever elicits artistic satisfaction in him, and the violence and death he leaves in his wake don’t ever unnerve him. It seems as though nothing could be able to discompose his cold and collected exterior, but the berserk state he was in now clearly disproved that.

You had seen him. The real him. Something he had wanted to keep from you indefinitely; no doubt, a horrific memory you’d always keep in your mind now. He’s enraged, he’s distraught, he’s disgusted, but not at you. It hadn’t been your fault, and it still wouldn’t have changed his decision to step in and protect you.

Vincent lets out a furious sound made harsh and hoarse by his vocal cords before sending yet another set of tools and wax mask models crashing to the ground.

You could hear the forceful impacts from below, unconsciously flinching every time cherished works of art were destroyed by their own creator. Vincent’s angry, guttural vocals occasionally loud enough to register through the floor.

“It’s my fault”, you finally say weakly

“Nah, it ain’t yer fault..”, Bo whispers uncharacteristically gently.

He continues to bandage your bleeding arm with his brows knit together in frustration. The twins weren’t angry with you, just upset at themselves for ‘letting’ you get hurt. They were relieved your injury hadn’t been more severe, but you becoming hurt was always a sensitive subject for them regardless of the severity.

“But if I wouldn’t have gotten in the way, Vincent wouldn’t have needed to jump in and-”

“And it still ain’t yer fault, (y/n)”, Bo interrupts with an added sternness to his tone that doesn’t last, “Vince jus’ didn’t want t’scare ya since he..likes ya so much. Thought it’d make you see him different.”

You couldn’t forget Vincent’s stunned expression when the man he had defended you from knocked his mask off with his fist in their struggle. It was the most emotion you’d ever seen displayed on his features, and the first time entirely seeing his features at all without artfully sculpted wax to stand in the way.

The animosity that immediately overtook the gentle Vincent you were so used to had admittedly made you tense as he ripped the man apart with his twin blades. Incessantly lacerating with enraged snarls ripping from his throat until the man was nothing more than an unrecognizable mass of red. You had seen him kill before of course, but never like this. This was the first time seeing Vincent kill without the unwavering apathetic exterior that made him look almost indifferent when committing brutal acts.

You were still in the same position on the floor you had been in just before Vincent stepped in; one of your knees defensively propped up, and shaky arms supporting your weight from behind when you had frantically tried to place distance between you and your attacker. You were frozen still from the shock; a sight Vincent mistook for horror directed at his visage, rather than the situation, before escaping you altogether.

“That’s why he-?”, you stall, “But I’d love Vincent no matter what he looks like!”

“I know”, Bo nods while finishing up with your arm, “Vince jus’ needs ya t’say it is all”

“But he locked the way in”, you remind Bo looking to the floor from your seat within the small medical room.

“Go through the house of wax”

You couldn’t help the uneasiness eating away at your nerves when you quietly descended into the candlelit basement that was darker than usual. Wax models, masks, and the tools of his craft littered across the floor- many in pieces from what you were able to see in front of you.

“Vincent..?”, you call out to him, carefully choosing your footing.

You couldn’t see much, but you didn’t have to because he was in front of you before you had even registered his initial location.

“Vincent”, you sigh in relief, automatically beginning to wrap your arms around him.

He catches your wrists in his large hands, turning your injured arm towards him to examine. His mask is on again, but you can tell from his visible blue eye he’s regarding you at a distance.

“Bo patched me up, I’m okay”, you whisper tentatively, “…thank you for keeping me safe”

Even with your wrists still in his hands you’re close enough to gently lean your forehead against his chest, pressing your cheek into his familiar warmth. You feel him shift, but instead of embracing you like you’d normally expect him to, he moves you at arm’s length.

“What’s wrong, love?”

Vincent can hardly take your disheartened expression at his withdrawal. But the way you had looked at him, the real him, was something he couldn’t remove from the forefront of his mind. It was agonizing, but he’d still prefer you to be honest than to come to him now and fake that he hadn’t disgusted you.

‘I’m a monster’, he signs

“What?”, you murmur in shock, but he doesn’t retract his words.

‘You saw it too’, he insists, ‘Go. I won’t blame you’

“Vinny? Vincent?”, you’re desperately pulling away from his grasp in order to reach up to cup the sides of his shrouded face in your hands now.

“Look at me, Vincent”, you demand sternly as you delicately turn his head to meet your eyes, “You aren’t a monster. And I could never be scared or disgusted of you. I was only startled at how upset you became- I was worried about you”

It’s hard to tell with so little light surrounding you both, but you can see the tears threatening to spill from his defeated look. You can feel your throat begin to tighten with the onset of your own tears, but it’s important for you to try and keep your voice strong- he needed to hear you.

“Maybe I can’t change the way you see yourself”, you begin gently, slipping your thumbs underneath his mask to touch the skin beneath, “-but you can’t change the way I see you either”

Vincent tenses when he feels you begin to lift the hand crafted veil separating you, but he doesn’t stop you, “And I see only what I love”, you declare quietly once it’s removed and set down.

“I see you”

His tears are freely falling now, and even though he’s much taller than you, you do your best to reach him; gingerly cupping his jaw again to bring his beautiful face down to your lips. You’re kissing the right side of his face with such ardent affection that Vincent swears he can feel his heart swell and stop all at once. It’s easier to kiss him now that he’s keenly leaning into your touch, wrapping his arms around you where they belong. Your lips are featherlight, appreciating every dip and curve of the red scar tissue he was taught to hate so much. You love him. Every part of him.

“-and you are lovely, Vincent”, you breathe.

“ Why are you still here?! Why?! I destroy everything I touch! And yet you still stick around! ”

with Bo Sinclair

“Bo-”

“Let go, I'll do it my damn self, (y/n)”

“Bo, let me help you, you're hurt-”, you attempt again

“I said get yer hands off me! Don’t need ya fuckin’ coddling me like some damn kid!”, he shouts venomously

“Is that what you think this is?”, you reply in disbelief, “Well I’m sorry I care about you too much to let you bleed out on the floor, Bo!”

“Who the hell asked ya t’care?! Always actin' like I goddamn need you- I want ya gone! Get!”, he spats back

“..You don’t mean that”

You had tried to say it firmly, but your own voice betrayed you, making it sound more like you were trying to convince yourself.

So when he had bitterly pushed past you without another word, you swore you felt your heart sink to the pit of your stomach.

You tried not to take it as personally as he made it sound. Getting into a fight with Bo wasn’t uncommon with the way he struggled to regulate his emotions; one of the more unfortunate results of the abuse he’d received as a child. It didn’t make it right, of course, but your love for him had always made you patient and understanding.

It was beginning to get dark out, but the house suddenly felt far too suffocating in your current emotional state. If Bo’s wound had been more severe, you would have forced yourself to tough out his current mood in order to make sure he was well-tended, but Vincent was home too, and would no doubt keep an eye on him in your brief absence.

You just started walking. Not really bothering to consider a specific direction. It was easy to become distracted with your thoughts; your mind never seeming to rest even when you didn’t feel so emotionally sore.

The night was cool, a welcome change to the humid Louisiana days that often exasperated you, and no doubt, the reason you ended up so far away from Ambrose before you even realized.

“Shit”, you curse under your breath.

How long had you been gone now? The night sky had definitely gotten darker, making the rural path you were currently on look far more threatening than it actually was.

“Time to head back”, you mutter.

You were sure Bo hadn't even noticed your absence to begin with, so you didn’t bother to quicken your leisurely pace.

You listen to the plentiful crickets chirp out their nightly song as your shoes crunch along the dusty path, idly kicking the occasional rock as you go. The scarce fireflies that tease your vision within the tree line make you smile with the way they light up and disappear before lighting up again somewhere entirely different; like a playful game of hide and seek anyone is welcome to join if they only pay enough attention. Hearing the occasional frog pipe up to add loud croaks between the cricket’s steady chorus is also characteristic for this time of night; creating a melody you’re convinced you can no longer sleep without after having lived in Ambrose for so long.

When you enter the familiar little town again, you realize something is wrong. All of the lights are on to brightly illuminate your path- which usually only happens when the boys are in pursuit of victims.

You can hear yelling, but as you run in the direction of it you realize it’s Bo’s voice. You finally see him across the way yelling at Vincent in a manic frenzy when you reach the front of the garage.

“I’m tellin’ you they left goddammit!”, he shouts while roughly shoving off Vincent’s attempts to calm him, “Help me fuckin’ find em!”

“Bo?”, you call out as you near them now, “Bo, what’s wrong?”

His wild blue eyes are in the direction of your voice in an instant. You’re caught off guard when he roughly reaches you and grips your arms against your sides painfully.

“Don’t you ever fuckin’ run off like that again, ya hear?!”

He’s shaking your shoulders to make sure his words sink in before he’s crashing his lips against yours with a fervent intensity over and over.

“Bo-”, you mewl in between his passionate assault.

He pointedly ignores you as he moves down to bite and suck on your neck, causing you to gasp heatedly. But just as quickly as he had began to stir you up, he’s now pushing you away; cruelly making you aware of just how much you crave his touch as he firmly stares you down.

“Why’d ya come back”

It's said more like a statement than a question, but the way his brows are knit together in frustration suggests he's genuinely wanting an answer from you.

“I-”, you falter as you try to catch your breath, “What do you mean? I just went for a w-”

“Told you I wanted ya gone, that I didn't need ya- so why are ya still here?!”, he demands now

Your mind is still reeling from the flux emotional intensity you constantly find yourself experiencing with Bo, but you realize he’s not actually angry at you right now.

He’s blaming himself- even hating himself for the way he ends up treating you without meaning to sometimes. But even after all this time, he still can't bring himself to understand why you stay by his side despite it all.

“Because I want to be here, Bo”

"Why?!”, he pressures further, “I destroy everythin' I touch! And yet ya still stick around!- the hell's wrong with you?!"

His words are beginning to lose their edge despite their volume. Hostility giving way to the feelings of inferiority and inadequacy he so desperately fights against every day; feelings cruelly implanted into him by the same people responsible to have raised him with the care and support he deserved.

Raised voices and aggression are only ever fronts to scare off what he really fears most: vulnerability.

“Because I love you”, you admit freely.

You know it hurts him to comprehend how you genuinely mean it, but you don't mind reassuring him of the fact for the rest of your life if necessary.

You close the distance between you gently, almost regarding him like a wounded wild animal as you lift one of his marred wrists to your lips.

“-even when you think you don’t deserve it, or aren’t good enough, I will be here to prove you wrong”, you continue while wrapping your arms around his middle.

You place your chin on his chest to look up at his eyes that have now tiredly settled into a forlorn expression behind blue, “What you were put through…that wasn’t your fault Bo. Which means you can’t blame yourself for everything that happens now, but even so- you still fight against what they forced on you”

“And as long as some part of you keeps wanting to change for the better-”, you continue, reaching up to kiss his solid jawline, “-you can’t possibly be what they tried to make you think you are"

romanticizing your life is such a powerful tool and it’s a shame that it’s mostly used by people on tiktok to justify the purchase of expensive breakfast smoothies when there are few better ways to force oneself through unpleasant shit than imagining a cinematic backstory for your extremely quotidian suffering

Words to use instead of ‘said’

**Using the word ‘said’ is absolutely not a bad choice, and in fact, you will want to use it for at least 40% of all your dialogue tags. Using other words can be great, especially for description and showing emotion, but used in excess can take away or distract from the story.

Neutral: acknowledged, added, affirmed, agreed, announced, answered, appealed, articulated, attested, began, bemused, boasted, called, chimed in, claimed, clarified, commented, conceded, confided, confirmed, contended, continued, corrected, decided, declared, deflected, demurred, disclosed, disputed, emphasized, explained, expressed, finished, gloated, greeted, hinted, imitated, imparted, implied, informed, interjected, insinuated, insisted, instructed, lectured, maintained, mouthed, mused, noted, observed, offered, put forth, reassured, recited, remarked, repeated, requested, replied, revealed, shared, spoke up, stated, suggested, uttered, voiced, volunteered, vowed, went on

Persuasive: advised, appealed, asserted, assured, begged, cajoled, claimed, convinced, directed, encouraged, implored, insisted, pleaded, pressed, probed, prodded, prompted, stressed, suggested, urged

Continuously: babbled, chattered, jabbered, rambled, rattled on

Quietly: admitted, breathed, confessed, croaked, crooned, grumbled, hissed, mumbled, murmured, muttered, purred, sighed, whispered

Loudly: bellowed, blurted, boomed, cried, hollered, howled, piped, roared, screamed, screeched, shouted, shrieked, squawked, thundered, wailed, yelled, yelped

Happily/Lovingly: admired, beamed, cackled, cheered, chirped, comforted, consoled, cooed, empathized, flirted, gushed, hummed, invited, praised, proclaimed, professed, reassured, soothed, squealed, whooped

Humour: bantered, chuckled, giggled, guffawed, jested, joked, joshed

Sad: bawled, begged, bemoaned, blubbered, grieved, lamented, mewled, mourned, pleaded, sniffled, sniveled, sobbed, wailed, wept, whimpered

Frustrated: argued, bickered, chastised, complained, exasperated, groaned, huffed, protested, whinged

Anger: accused, bristled, criticized, condemned, cursed, demanded, denounced, erupted, fumed, growled, lied, nagged, ordered, provoked, raged, ranted remonstrated, retorted, scoffed, scolded, scowled, seethed, shot, snapped, snarled, sneered, spat, stormed, swore, taunted, threatened, warned

Disgust: cringed, gagged, groused, griped, grunted, mocked, rasped, sniffed, snorted

Fear: cautioned, faltered, fretted, gasped, quaked, quavered, shuddered, stammered, stuttered, trembled, warned, whimpered, whined

Excited: beamed, cheered, cried out, crowed, exclaimed, gushed, rejoiced, sang, trumpeted

Surprised: blurted, exclaimed, gasped, marveled, sputtered, yelped

Provoked: bragged, dared, gibed, goaded, insulted, jeered, lied, mimicked, nagged, pestered, provoked, quipped, ribbed, ridiculed, sassed, teased

Uncertainty/Questionned: asked, challenged, coaxed, concluded, countered, debated, doubted, entreated, guessed, hesitated, hinted, implored, inquired, objected, persuaded, petitioned, pleaded, pondered, pressed, probed, proposed, queried, questioned, quizzed, reasoned, reiterated, reported, requested, speculated, supposed, surmised, testified, theorized, verified, wondered

This is by no means a full list, but should be more than enough to get you started!

Any more words you favor? Add them in the comments!

Happy Writing :)

Troy Jollimore, from "Vertigo", Syllabus of Errors

Cursed Sinclair Brothers Headcanons No One Asked For:

Bo:

Wears black socks with sandals.

Knows all the moves to Footlose and 75 miles until Heaven from “Best little Whore House in Texas”

Has been seen singing into the hand of his tools/knives while in the middle of killing people.

He has a “Dance” playlist that he listens to time to time, and he dances to it while fixing cars and killing.

Actually, while he was in the basement with a victim, he started singing “I wanna Dance with Somebody”. And the victim came in with the backup.

Vincent:

Also knows the moves to “75 Miles until Heaven”.

Jump scares his brothers all the time! Like, he is known to hide and jump out of nowhere! Trees, bushes, the roof— nowhere is safe.

What he wears to bed: a pair of duck slippers that quack every time he walks, wears hair curlers, and a bright pink bathrobe. He also does those green face masks, too, with cucumber slices on his eyes.

His coffee mug says: “Too Pretty for this Shit”

Lester:

Can quote the whole Bee Movie.

Eats coffee grinds after being used to make coffee.

One time, he barked at Bo while arguing with him. It went like this:

Bo: *yelling at him*

Lester: bark bark bark bark!

Bo: …

Lester: …

Vincent: …

Bo: What the fuck!?

They never talk about it still to this day.

He wears these on Sundays to piss Bo off:

me going through my favorite slasher x reader tag like I’m not delusional

Something something mermay🧜‍♀️

Memory - Sinclair Brothers

fic based off of this little idea i had <3 just the boys when they were younger!

WORD COUNT: 3050

WARNINGS: angst, general sadness underneath happy moments, abuse mention/slight description, emotional/physical/mental abuse, neglect, young!sinclairs, pre-movie, not a warning but vincent signs but idk if i make it super clear all the way through it, dead animal mention, animal cruelty? the animal is dead but just incase, underage drinking, things could be ooc but they’re kids so, twins are 13 about to turn 14 and lester is 8

Vincent sat at the edge of the forest, chin resting on his knees, arms wrapped around his legs. His mask was off, placed gently beside him on his jacket to keep it off of the ground, and his hair had fallen into his face. It stunk of his house, of his mothers perfume, and he swore it was smothering him just like she was. “Vincent!” Lester’s voice calls out for him from within the forest and he looks up from his shoes (Bo’s old ones he had given to Vincent after he grew out of them) and couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

His younger brother, a whopping eight years old since yesterday, comes sauntering out of the forest covered head to toe in dirt, a big gap-toothed grin on his face. “Hey, Lester.” Vincent signs slowly, grinning wider at the intense look Lester has while watching his hands move. Lester was starting to get the hang of understanding Vincent’s signing so long as he kept it slow. Vincent can remember just a few years ago when Bo and Vincent would fight in sign at night as to not wake their parents and Lester would sit perched on the edge of the bed, hands clasped together in his lap and his mouth open in awe as he watched how quickly the boys hands’ moved.

“Hiya!” When he’s a few feet from Vincent, Lester takes one final large hop, landing just in front of his older brother. Gravel goes everywhere and Lester giggles, kicking at the rocks under his feet slightly. Vincent notices the hole beginning to form in the front of his shoes and makes a mental note to find a pair around the house for him. “Where’s Bo? Up at the garage?”

Both boys turn their heads to the right, looking over at the garage further down in town. They couldn’t see anyone but Vincent knew that’s where Bo was because that’s where he always was these days. Vincent couldn’t help but feel slightly jealous of the time Bo spent with Charlie, the mechanic. He had grown used to his brother being by his side, kicking and screaming and hollering every second, and his absence was noticed immediately. To some, like his parents, his being gone was good. But to Vincent, it wasn’t. He knew Bo, knew that he wanted out of this town and out of this life.

He wanted to get away from it all and that meant Vincent too.

Not that Vincent blamed him; quite the opposite, actually. He grew up in close quarters with Bo, saw the way he was strapped to his high chair for hours on end until his wrists bled only for it to happen the next day and then the next. He saw the bruises and cuts that littered his body when he’d get ready for bed. He heard the things his parents said about Bo to his face and he sure as hell heard what they said when he was gone. He wanted Bo to go, but not without him.

“Knew it!” Lester says, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “What’s up with ‘ya, Vin? Thought you was with momma today?” Vincent cringes at the reminder and Lester instantly stops moving, sensing it. The kid had a good read on people’s emotions, always ready to listen or help when someone, even his mom or dad, were feeling down. Vincent can’t remember the last time he did that for Lester. “Somethin’ happen?”

Vincent nods and Lester flops down in front of him, sitting criss-crossed. Lester waits for him to sign and, after shaking away the feeling of being silly, he does. “Momma got mad because I’m still not good at the sculptures. She’s getting weaker and she needs me to help her but I can’t. I’m bad at it.” His face scrunches up slightly, head tilting down further. He was embarrassed.

Here he was, 13 going on 14, telling his problems to his little brother, a kid who doesn’t need to know about how mom threw Vincent’s sculpture of her against the wall of the basement, shattering the wax into a million shards in tune with his already broken heart. He doesn’t need to know the details, he decides as his hands fall back into his lap. Lester had been spared from both their parents' rage (for the most part) thus far but only because they were too preoccupied directing that anger at him and Bo. Especially Bo.

“Well, that ain’t true, Vin! You’re awesome at all that stuff!” Lester says and Vincent knows Lester believes that, but he also knows it’s not true. He was alright at art, at sculpting things from his mind, things he had seen in movies or read about in books, but he wasn’t good at the realistic stuff, not like his mom. “Is it ‘cause of the… real stuff?”

“You know about that?”

“Yeah,” Lester is sheepish as he admits it, looking away from Vincent and down to the dirt ground underneath him. “Snuck down one night while momma and daddy were talkin’ to you and Bo about it. I ain’t telling anyone, don’t worry!”

“Lester,” Lester wonders for a brief second how Vincent was able to get his disappointment across as well as he did without speaking, but he simply thins his lips into an apologetic half-smile. “Don’t tell them you know.” There’s an unspoken sentence there that hangs in between them both. Or else they’ll hurt you. Lester holds his pinky out and Vincent’s lip curves upwards as he does the same, hooking his around his little brothers. “It was about that.” He signs when he lets go and Lester nods, eyebrows furrowing together.

Vincent can practically see the gears turning in Lesters little head and he can hear the ‘ding!’ of a lightbulb go off. “Oh, I know! Why don’t you practice!” Vincent waits for Lester to elaborate, not moving a muscle even when Lester jumps up in excitement. “C’mon! I gotta show ya’ somethin’!”

Lester holds his small hand out to his older brother and Vincent takes it, following behind him into the woods without a single question. Even if this was nothing, which Vincent was seven hundred percent sure it wasn’t, the distraction would be nice. He hadn’t been out here in a while.

The last time he had, it had been with Bo. It was a year or so ago, back when Bo and he were attached at the hip, as if the surgery hadn’t worked, and they had gotten grounded and sent to bed with no supper. Bo had suggested they sneak out and Vincent agreed; he’d follow Bo anywhere. That ‘anywhere’ ended up being the middle of the woods, just beside the creek. “I go here when I needa get the hell outta the house.” Bo had said to Vincent, his voice quiet.

The woods had been dark and it had seemed like every noise was amplified, making Vincent’s skin crawl. The flashlight he was holding wasn’t strong enough, just seemed to make the shadows jump out more, make them take the shape of the bullies at school and at home. “Bo, I’m scared.” Vincent had signed to him and Bo had just laughed, slowing his pace down to walk beside his brother.

“Ain't nothin’ to be scared of, Vince.” He said when they finally made it to the spot by the creek that Bo had set out for. “You and I are the scariest sons of bitches these woods have seen. I’ll protect ya, anyways. Just like I always do.” Bo then showed Vincent the bottle of whiskey he had stolen from their fathers a few weeks back and had grinned when Vincent took a sip without a fight. “See! You’re a man!”

It only took another small swig of the liquor to have Vincent feeling different and he stopped there, remembering how his dad got when he drank too much. Bo stopped too, tucking it back into his backpack and hiding it underneath his jacket. Then they sat there, staring off back into the town, the lights from houses flickering off as the minutes ticked by. Vincent had tapped Bo on the shoulder and when he looked at him, he started to sign.

“I’m sorry for not protecting you.”

“What’re you talkin’ about, Vince?”

“From mom and dad.” Bo’s jaw tightens but he doesn’t stop Vincent and he’s glad because he keeps going, whiskey running through his veins. “I should stand up to them for you. It ain’t fair the way you get treated, the way they make you out to be bad. You aren’t bad. You’re better than me, that’s for sure.”

“Now, stop that.” Bo says dryly. “You know I ain’t better than you. Everyone knows it.”

“You are,” Vincent emphasizes, almost like he’s desperate for Bo to really understand him. “You take care of people. You don’t have to defend me from the kids in school but you do. You don’t have to take the blame for me so mom and dad don’t hurt me. You don’t have to make sure Les and I are taken care of.”

“You’re my brother.”

“And you’re mine.”

Bo huffs but through the dimmed flashlight beam Vincent can see his words have struck him. He hopes its in a good way. “Guess I am pretty cool,” He deflects, grinning at his brother. Vincent smiles back; he’d take what he could get from Bo. Bo looked back over at the town, now completely dark. “Imma get us outta here, Vince. You, me, Lester; we ain’t getting stuck in this rotten place, not if I have anything to do about it.”

After that night, Bo seemed to change. He was quieter, more subdued. He stayed out at the garage, learning about cars and how to fix them, how to drive them. It was a part of the plan to get them all out of there but the longer it went on and the longer Bo would stay out, the less certain he was about his brother's intentions on taking them with him.

He knew who he was without his brother. He was a freak. He was the one to target, to pick on and make cry and make hurt. He was the thing to point and laugh at because there was no one around to defend him.

Without Bo, Vincent was nothing. It was selfish to want Bo back and he would end each prayer he made asking for Bo to stay with him with an apology. To whom exactly, he wasn’t sure. Maybe God for bothering him with such requests. Maybe Bo for asking for it knowing how it would hurt him. Maybe himself for not believing in his own abilities to survive.

Every prayer and apology went unanswered.

“Here we are, Vin!” Lester’s voice brings Vincent barreling back to reality. He was no longer in his bedroom, waiting for the creak of the floorboard to signify his brother's return, but instead deep in the forest, just by the creek. He recognizes the surroundings immediately. Swallowing hard he walks over to Lester who was standing a few feet away, shifting his weight foot to foot in excitement. “Lookit!”

Vincent finally reaches his younger brother and looks down at where he was pointing and tilts his head. There was a dead squirrel. “A… squirrel? You wanted to show me this?” He knew Lester was into dead animals and roadkill, knew he had a strange fascination with them, but he had never dragged him twenty minutes deep into the woods to show him one before.

“Yeah! Its not all mangled, not like the ones I find out on the road!” Lester waits for Vincent to understand and when he gets nothing but a shrug of the shoulders he deflates slightly. “I…I figured you could use it to practice. Y’know, momma surely didn’t start with people, I figured if you had something smaller to work on, you could get the tech… technique down, right?”

“You know what, Les?” Vincent bends down, grabbing a stick just next to him and using it to carefully lift the corpse of the squirrel up, surveying the damage. He swallows down the bile rising up his throat and the goosebumps raising on his flesh at the sight of it. Vincent looks up, dropping the stick and looking into Lester’s hopeful eyes. “I think that just might work.”

--------

It didn’t look right. His mother had gone to bed early and his father was surely drinking himself to death, so when Vincent and Lester got back to the house as the sun was setting, they had the basement all to themselves. “Can I watch you, Vin? Oh please, please, let me! I wanna see how you do it!” Lester had pleaded, hands clasped together and bottom lip jutted out. Vincent laughed at the sight of Lester fluttering his lashes at him and had agreed.

Hours later, well past both boys' bedtimes, Vincent had finally finished the last layer of wax, had smoothed it out carefully like he had done to his own figures hundreds of times before. It looked off, though. Too thin in some places, too thick in others, not enough detailing here and there and almost too much in other parts. Vincent grunts, arms folded tightly across his chest. Lester stood beside him, head tilting side to side like an art critic in one of the movies Vincent had seen before.

“It looks so cool!” Lester finally says, looking up at Vincent with a large grin. Vincent shakes his head, lifting his hands to begin to tell Lester everything that was wrong with it, when Lester shakes his head. “Can I keep it, Vin? It’s awesome! It looks just like a wax sculpture but you’d never know the real thing was underneath!”

“You really wanna keep this thing? I could try to make a better one…” Vincent questions and Lester nods quickly, eagerly, hand reaching out to drag along the tail of the squirrel lightly. “Well… if you’re sure you want it, then yeah, go ahead.”

Lester hugs Vincent tight, his little arms barely wrapping around the broadening frame of his brother and Vincent hugs him back, heart swirling with warmth. “Oh, thank you Vincent! You’re the best big brother ever!”

“What about me? Am I chopped liver or somethin’ Les?” Lester and Vincent turn, still hugging each other, and see Bo at the bottom of the steps, leaning against the walls with a fake frown on his face. He was wearing mechanic overalls a size too big but his name was embroidered right there on the front pocket. “I see how it is, kid.”

Lester giggles, letting go of Vincent and running over to Bo, grabbing his hand and pulling him over to the table where Vincent’s sculpture sat. “Lookit! There's a real squirrel under this, ain’t that cool Bo? Don’t touch!” Bo gasps in shock when Lester swats at his hand. “You’re all greasy! I don’t want this to get messed up! Vinny made it for me, he’s lettin’ me keep it, can you believe that?”

“Don’t hit, you little brat!” Bo says but there’s no venom behind his words. Vincent watches with bated breath as Bo leans down and tilts his head, much like Lester, as he looks it over. Vincent can see every damn flaw on the thing and he’s sure Bo can too. Bo looks over at him with a cocked eyebrow. “You made this with a real squirrel?”

“Yeah,” He signs sheepishly. “Lester thought it would help me get better if I practiced with this stuff.” Bo nods, eyes trailing off towards the corner where most of Vincent's current projects sat and he hones in on the shards covering the floor. His eyes darken when he looks back at Vincent. “It was momma. I messed up the sculpture.”

Bo sucks his teeth harshly, lips thinning into an angry line. “Sure as hell ain't true; your shit’s better than momma’s half the time and that squirrel ain’t an exception.” Lester gasps at the swear word and Bo stifles a laugh with a cough. “Sorry, Les, forgot you were here. Don’t go repeatin’ that now, alright? Not till you’re older. Now,” He picks Lester up and the young boy yawns, resting his head onto his shoulder and Bo nods his head for Vincent to grab ahold of the squirrel. “Let’s all get to bed before we get in trouble.”

After tucking Lester in his bed and placing the squirrel on his small bookshelf beside the small collection of animal bones he had begun to collect, Bo and Vincent silently settle into their own beds. “Vince? You up?” Bo asks in the darkness and Vincent lets out a soft grunt in acknowledgement. “I meant what I said about your shit being better than mommas.”

Vincent doesn’t know what to say, so he remains quiet. Bo sighs, turning over in bed so his back was no longer turned from his brother and he stares at him, waiting. “Thanks, Bo. She’s really good, though. I’m not good at the…stuff she wants us to do. No one else knows about it but us.”

“I know.” Bo hates it too, but he knows better than to disagree with his mom. He’s quiet for a minute and right when Vincent thinks he had fallen asleep, Bo starts to talk again. “I’m getting a car fixed up. Gonna be able to leave soon.”

“Really? All of us, or just you?”

“All of us.”

A million questions run through his head. Where would they go? What would they do? Where would they stay? What would happen to their mom and dad? Bo knows the questions he has but he doesn’t have any answers. Vincent grunts again and the two boys fall silent. They could leave. Really leave. He could make his own art, Bo could learn about music, Lester could do whatever he wanted. They could figure it out. They could get out from the iron rule of their parents and be who they wanted to be, do what they wanted. They could be free.

All three boys fall asleep with smiles on their faces. All three boys dream of a fire in the House of Wax.

bruh I got distracted while drawing this and forgot I had a pot of boiled peanuts heating on my stove.. I've never ran faster than when it boiled over and filled my kitchen up with smoke 😭 can't trust me with anything y'all istg

reassurance is so important to me, let me know what i mean to you.