Archive of Our Own

Anders wakes up like he’s been shocked, jerking up off the bed and tumbling over the side.  He groans as he hits the floor, elbow smacking on the crooked nightstand and foot getting trapped in the sheets so he’s twisted awkwardly on the floor.  With a sigh, he yanks his foot loose and falls onto his back, staring up at a white ceiling as he tries to remember the night previous.

Nothing comes back to his immediate concern, and so Anders pushes himself up off the ground and peers over the edge of the bed, frowning when he sees both a man and a woman sprawled across the disheveled bed.  The woman shifts, her blonde hair spilling across the pillow and revealing her face, and Anders nearly bites his tongue in his attempt to stay quiet.

He picks his way across the room, gathering his clothes and trying not to think about the scattered ropes and leather, and he’s just tiptoeing out of the room when he hears the man’s voice, “The fuck did the dwarf go?”

Swearing softly, Anders struggles into his trousers and yanks on his shirt before hurrying through the small flat to the front door.  He slips out, pats down his pockets to make sure everything’s accounted for, and jogs down the stairs.  Only when he’s outside and put a good distance between him and the building does he stop to tug on his shoes, slip into his jacket, and pull out his phone.  Ty is his most recent call, and yes, he remembers that.

Ty answers on the third ring, “Anders, it’s early, and I’m hungover.  What do you want?”

“Refresher course on what happened last night,” Anders says, lifting his shoulder to hold the phone there while he pulls out his wallet and flicks through it, checking the contents.

“You got all—tongue tied with some woman and went home with her.”

“Just a woman?”

“Uhm—yes?”

“Cheers,” he says before hanging up and dialing Dawn, who picks up immediately.

“Where the hell are you?” she snaps into the phone, and Anders sighs, tucking the phone between jaw and shoulder again so he can straighten his clothes and attempt to look presentable.

“On my way to the office.  I’m sorry.”

“I—okay.  It’s, uh—it’s fine,” she managers to stutter out, and Anders makes a mental note to say please and thank you and sorry more often—and be pleasant, damn it—because Dawn shouldn’t sound so surprised, and it makes his stomach knot uncomfortably.  “When will you be here?” she asks, gathering herself.

“Uh.”  He finishes readjusting the buttons of his shirt, checks his watch, and swears, “Fuck.  Half hour.  Coffee?”

“I am not—”

“No, I’ll get it, I mean.”

“Oh.  Well.  Okay.”

“You’re wonderful, Dawn, what would I ever do without you?”  And he hangs up, pocketing his phone before dragging a hand through his unruly hair.

By the time he reaches the café, he’s sending thanks to the universe for deciding boots were a good idea last night, so his feet aren’t aching when he gets to the counter, orders two coffees and a muffin, and charms his way into the back where the staff bathroom is.  After splashing cold water over his face, stealing a swig of the mouthwash they have hidden, and raking wet fingers through his hair, Anders feels like he’s getting closer to presentable.

The muffin is out of this world, or maybe he’s just obnoxiously hungry, and he hasn’t eaten since Tuesday, so that’s probably it—he can’t remember if it’s Thursday or Friday—and the coffee tastes like heaven.  He’s surprised he even knows what he likes anymore, he hasn’t gotten his own coffee in so long, and, somehow, he gets Dawn’s right, too, because she smiles like she can’t believe it when she sips it and it’s right.

“I’ve managed to get them to call back, but they’re on hold right now,” she says as she lowers the coffee, and he starts to nod and head back toward his desk when she frowns and reaches out a hand.  He stays, quirking an eyebrow, and she sighs, coming around her desk to reach up a hand to flick over his eyebrow.  “You’re bleeding,” she says, and he blinks, wondering how he didn’t notice that in the mirror.  “Is everything okay?”

There’s real concern in her eyes, concern he didn’t have to trick there, and it makes his heart stutter a little.  “Yeah, fine,” he says, ducking away from her touch and striding over to his desk, trying to put distance between Dawn, who wants Anders, and his client, who wants Bragi—because no matter what his family thinks, they’re two entirely separate people, and he’s got this dull ache that throbs inside of him everytime they shove the two together.

He’s on the phone for two hours, booted feet kicked up on his desk, and it’s relaxing to forget about everything else and just soothe away his client’s anger.  When he finally hangs up, there’re a few files on his desk to look over, some papers to sign, and then he’s practically leaping out of his chair.  “I’m going home to shower and change, and you’re holding my calls, and then we’re going out to lunch,” Anders says as he slips into his jacket, and Dawn looks up to protest, but he keeps going, “I had a shit night, okay?  And I’m starving, and I’d really just like some normal company.”

Dawn has that look on her face that she gets sometimes, halfway to confused and halfway to concerned, and it’s that look that makes Anders just want to sit her down and explain it all because then maybe she’ll have the strength to leave him, and he’ll have the strength not to stop her.  “Okay,” she finally says, and he stops at the door when she stands up, “But I’m coming with you.  Last time you promised lunch, I ordered out because you never came back.”

Anders can’t help the small smile that flickers across his face at how well she knows him, and he waits for her to gather her things before he holds the door open and lets her through.  She laughs when he heads for her car, and it’s a pleasant drive from the office to his flat, Dawn telling him about an old friend she ran into at the shop the other day.  She seems surprised when he actually asks how she’s been, and even more so when he actually pays attention during the story, asking a question at the end, but then they’re at his flat, and he doesn’t have to think about her surprise anymore.

“Feed the fish?” he asks as he turns right for his bedroom, and Dawn makes a soft noise of consent as she turns left.

He makes his shower quick, though he lingers a little under the hot water, letting it beat away the ache in his muscles.  He tries not to look at the evidence from last night, but the rope burns on his wrists are something he can’t avoid.  It’s filtering back in pieces, and he had only gone back with just a woman, but he remembers the man waiting outside as they approached, remembers shrugging when he kissed the woman hello and asked to join—he’s been with men plenty before, and even enjoys it sometimes, too—and then they’d had drinks that Anders had wanted to avoid because the last time he was drugged, he almost lost his cock.  And then that’s where it starts to fade in and out, little flashes of being tied to a bed, of a heavy weight on top of him, of, very briefly, not being able to breathe.

With a gasp, Anders shuts off the water and leans against the wall, trying to catch his breath, trying to remember if they knew his name.  Sometimes—only sometimes, when he’s feeling weird—he gives fake names, and he’s usually glad for it because sometimes he ends up feeling sick in the morning, hating himself for letting it happen all over again.

He brushes his teeth properly, wrapped only in a towel, and, when he goes out into his bedroom, Dawn’s left a new set of clothes on the bed for him.  He stands before his bed for a few moments, just staring at the folded clothes, trying to decide why he deserves her, and, when he can’t think of anything, he focuses instead on drying and dressing.  Hair done and dressed, he heads back out into the flat, boat shoes on his feet because he feels safe with Dawn.

They have lunch at a little place Dawn’s been raving about lately, and Anders knows Ty took her there, and he decides, when he sees her bright smile as they’re seated, that he’s going to do everything in his power—and he means it this time, he really does—to get them back together.

They’re silent until their drinks arrive, and Anders isn’t having alcohol, and Dawn opens her mouth at the sight of his water, so he beats her to the punch, and asks, “So, how have you been lately, Dawn?”  And he actually listens as she starts to give him some offhand answer, faltering when she notices he’s paying attention, so he smiles lightly, and she’s off talking.  They spend lunch chatting amicably like they haven’t in so long, and it reminds Anders that they used to be friends—actual friends, no sex in between, just someone he used to ring just to talk and go out just to have company and buy her presents on the right occasions, and then she lost her job and came to work for him, and somehow, someway, he forgot how to be her friend.

When the bill is taken care of, they walk out along the pier, stopping near the end to lean on the railing and look out at the ocean, and they’re silent until Dawn loops her arms around one of Anders’ and leans her head on his shoulder.  “Tell me what’s wrong,” she says softly, and he leans his head on top of hers and sighs.

“Everything’s so fucked up.  It always was, but it’s worse now, and I don’t know how to stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Myself.”

Dawn doesn’t respond, just squeezes his arm, and they stay like that for a while until Anders picks up his head, and Dawn steps back.  “Thank you for this,” she says, smiling, and Anders nods.  “I had fun.  It reminded me we actually used to be friends—that you’re still in there.”

“How’s that?” Anders asks, trying for a smile even though he’s terrified.

“You,” Dawn says, tapping a finger over his heart, “You’re still in there, the Anders I used to know.  I guess that means that there’s hope for stopping the Anders that you think everyone else wants to see.”  Anders blinks, and Dawn sighs, folding her arms across her chest.  “Your brothers are a perfect example.  I see how you push them away, how you try to make it easier for them to hate you, and even if you think they do, it’s because you don’t let them help.  But you’re still in there, and I think they know that, too, and that’s why they keep trying.  Maybe you should let them.”  Dawn shrugs before adding, “C’mon.  We need to get back to the office.”

And Anders lets her lead the way back down the pier, tucking his hands in his pockets.  On the way back to the office, he talks about Ty, and, everytime Bragi starts to leak through, he pushes him away and focuses instead on Dawn and mending her relationship with Ty.  In the end, he uses Bragi just to convince her to ask Ty out for dinner that evening, and he considers it a job well done when, an hour after they’ve gotten back to the office, his phone rings, and there’s a text sitting there from Ty, is this your doing?

i thought you wanted my help, he texts back, and he looks over to Dawn, who looks a little confused, but has a small smile on her face.

thank you, Ty says in response, and Anders leans back in his chair, letting his eyes slip shut.  He sees Helen when he closes his eyes—every fucking time now—and he thinks about the way she used to loop her arms around him when he was at work, tucking her face into the crook of his neck and laugh about how his beard always tickled.

He loved her, he realizes, and still might, and he knows that she’s haunting his mind, waiting for the moment he lets his guard down, so he shakes his head, sits straight, and works uninterrupted until Dawn is getting ready to leave, and he waves away her concern.  He watches her leave, and he waits until he hears her car before he lifts his phone and sends a message Ty’s way, don’t take her to the place by the pier.  went there for lunch.

A small voice in the back of his mind says, let him fuck up, he deserves it, and he pinches the bridge of his nose as he hits send, wondering where the hell that thought came from.  He jumps when his phone rings, and he looks down to see Ty’s name there.  “What?” he answers, and he can almost hear Ty roll his eyes, can almost hear the returning retort, but his what is tired and hollow.

“Are you okay?” Ty asks, and Anders lets out a choked laugh.

“No,” he says, and, for some reason, doesn’t hang up.

Ty’s quiet for a few beats before he sighs and says, “I’m coming over.  I’ll have dinner with Dawn another time.”

“You will not,” Anders snaps, but even that’s an exhausted effort.  He leans his head down into the pool of his arms and puts Ty on speaker, closing his eyes and pressing them against his forearm.

“Anders—what’s going on?  You were like this the other night, too.  Has something happened?”

Anders bites his lip as he feels hot tears prick the corners of his eyes, and maybe it’s lunch with Dawn and the dubious consent of last night, but he breaks a little and says, “I loved her, Ty.”

“Helen,” he says on an exhale, and Anders’ breath hitches as he tries to swallow the tears.

“I know she was fucking with my head, and I know the goddamn tale, that it would end badly, always, but I—I couldn’t help it.  I fell in love with her, and she was—murdered in front of me.”

“Anders—”

“Have fun tonight,” he says before he hits the end call button and falls apart, right there at his desk, sobbing quietly into the crook of his arm.

——

He knows Axl is pissed at him, and has every right to be, but he still finds himself at his flat, trudging up the stairs, and knocking.  It occurs to him a second too late that Gaia might answer the door, but he’s saved that unwanted attention when Zeb pulls open the door, immediately steps outside and closes it, and crosses his arms over his chest.  “You’re not wanted here,” he says defiantly, and Anders rolls his eyes before pushing him aside and striding into the flat.

“Axl!” Zeb shouts as he barrels in after Anders, giving a little squeak when Anders pushes open the door to Axl’s room.

Inside, Gaia’s eyes light up and she straightens where she’s sitting on Axl’s bed.  Anders avoids her gaze and instead looks at his brother, hoping he can get his point across with a simple, “Can I speak with you?”

Axl frowns, not entirely the reaction he was expecting, and stares at him for a long moment before nodding and getting up off the bed.  “I’ll be right back,” he says to Gaia, and Anders notices how he avoids her gaze, too, and he thinks it’s because she doesn’t respond, just stares at Anders.

They step outside, the front door shut behind them, and Anders paces away from it and puts his back to the porch railing, leaning against it.  “I don’t want this,” he says, jerking his chin toward the flat, and Axl nods.

“I know,” he says, surprising Anders, and he mimics his position, leaning against the outside of the house and folding his arms over his chest, “What’s up?”

“I just—I’m gonna put as much distance between myself and Gaia as I can, Axl.  I don’t want to get in the way of what you have, and while I’m pretty sure I can control Bragi, I’m not entirely sure she can control Idun.”

“That’s very big of you.  Cheers.”  Anders nods, looking away, and Axl sighs, pushing away from the house and coming to stand by his brother.  “Why are you here?”

“Ty’s out with Dawn, and I’m trying to make a habit of not drinking alone anymore.  If you’re otherwise engaged, though, I’ll just—”

“Still gotta find Frigg, right?” Axl says, “Just let me grab my jacket.”  Axl disappears back into the house, and Anders heads back down the stairs to where his car is waiting, sliding behind the wheel and checking his phone until Axl dumps into the passenger seat.

They end up at a club where Anders pushes Axl out onto the dance floor and heads for the bar.  He keeps an eye on his little brother as he introduces himself to a group of girls, who giggle behind their hands and go to town flirting with him.  None of them seem to immediately strike him, so Anders busies himself at the bar, getting whiskey strong enough that it’ll burn on its way down and numb the edges of his mind a little.

He’s well on his way to getting pissed when Axl claps him on the back and orders something, chatting away about the girls, and Anders listens patiently, nodding.  “No Frigg here, though, I don’t think,” he says with a shrug, and Anders pushes away from the bar, stretching.

“Wanna get out of here, then?”

“Sure,” Axl says before he tips back his drink and heads off to bid farewell to the girls.  Anders takes care of the tab, shrugs into his jacket, and they’re off to another place.  This one’s classier and not as loud, and Axl seems taken with a beautiful brunette sitting by herself at the end of the bar, so Anders nods him over and goes to fix himself with a few fingers of vodka.

He’s on his second when a voice purrs in his ear, “Well, hello, handsome.”

He turns, and his heart stops, clenching tight in fear.  Anders fixes a pleasant smile to his face and says, “What a coincidence.”

“I think not, really,” the blonde says, sliding onto a stool next to him.  When Anders looks to his other side, her man is there, and he lets out a shaky breath, putting his back to the bar.

“I really don’t fancy company tonight,” he says smoothly, “Sorry, love.”

“Oh,” the blonde sighs, her fingers dancing down his arm and coming to rest over his thigh.  She leans close, and her breath whispers over his ear, “But I do.”

“Get up,” the man growls in his other ear, and Anders just starts talking, words tumbling out of his mouth, and he doesn’t even know what he’s saying, he just knows they’re Bragi’s words, and he needs to get out of here.

It’s the blonde’s laugh that stops him, and the way her fingers curl tight around his wrist when he stands.  “Sorry, dear, but I very much doubt that’s going to work on us.”  He looks back at them, blinking, and her grin is wicked.  “Lofn, sweet Bragi,” the blonde says, dropping into a mock curtsey, “And my lover, Váli.  Goddess of forbidden love and god of revenge.  Not exactly a match of legend, but we work well together sometimes, and you—oh, with you, we could do so much.”

“I’m really not interested,” Anders says, taking his wrist from her grasp and tipping the rest of his vodka down his throat.  He leaves the glass on the bar and makes to leave for Axl, but Váli is suddenly there in front of him, over six feet of muscle and anger.

“Outside, or I’ll bash your fucking head in right here,” Váli says.

Anders nods slowly.  “Fair enough.”  He doesn’t dare look for Axl now, doesn’t want to attract their attention to Odin.  Outside, Váli takes hold of his upper arm and steers him away from the bar, down a ways until they turn into an alley, and Anders wants to laugh at how typical this is.

“Something funny?” Váli spits at his grin, and Anders shakes loose of his hold, stepping back and looking them over.

“An alley?  Really?” he says, quirking an eyebrow.  He expects some kind of smart retort, so when Váli’s fist comes sailing through the air, he’s caught off guard and ends up staggering into the wall, hand coming up to cradle his jaw.  “Motherfucker,” he growls, working his jaw in small rotations.

Before he can throw another insult, Váli grabs him roughly by the lapels of his jacket and tosses him against the brick wall, one hand releasing him to whistle back toward his face.  It’s a few minutes before he stops, and, when he lets go of Anders’ jacket, he sinks to the ground, chest heaving.  He spits blood onto the ground, lifting a shaking hand to wipe his nose, and Lofn laughs sweetly, coming to kneel before him.  “Oh, little Bragi,” she purrs, tucking two fingers under his chin to raise his gaze to hers, “Not even going to fight back?”

He spits in her face.

She lands a swift kick to his side, and he cries out, folding over as his ribs throb.  She wipes furiously at her face, stepping back, and Váli looks to her.  “Not here,” she says, “Get him.  We’ll go back to the flat.”

“No,” Anders manages to groan, letting his head fall back against the brick wall, “Just—fuck, leave me alone.”

Váli snorts laughter at him before reaching down and hauling him to his feet.  He stumbles, cursing himself for drinking so much—because he was alone even if Axl was with him, and he knows he was asking for this—and Váli pulls him down the alley, one hand tight around his upper arm until Anders knows he’s going to have five finger-shaped bruises there.

They leave the alley, and Anders sees the small black car down the street.  “No,” he says, struggling against Váli’s hold, trying to back away, “Please.  No.  Not again.”

“Would you shut him up?” Lofn demands as Anders digs his heels into the ground and fights desperately, fingers clawing at Váli’s hand.

“With pleasure,” Váli says, annoyance clear in his tone, and Anders opens his mouth to scream, but blackness takes him before he can.

——

He wakes with a sharp gasp, blue eyes flying open to stare at a white ceiling, a familiar tightness stretching his arms above him.  He looks up, down the length of his left arm, to find his wrist bound to a headboard, and his eyes shut again with a soft exhalation, his lower lip trembling as he fights tears.  He can hear voices in the distance, and it makes his body ache with a sharp reminder.

Steadying his breathing, Anders opens his eyes again and pulls experimentally at the ropes, but there’s no chance of them coming undone.  He’s still somewhat clothed, he realizes, his trousers and shirt intact, but his jacket and shoes are by the open door, and they haven’t bound his ankles.  Grimacing, Anders pulls on the ropes, arms straining until he forces himself into a semi-sitting position, his shoulders screaming at the awkward bend.  He inhales, holds his breath, and then twists, stretching out his legs toward his left hand, biting through his lip as his right shoulder tightens painfully.  He pushes at the bindings desperately, so thankful he picked up his gym routine after he got back from Norway, yoga included, but then something pops in his right shoulder, and he can’t stop the scream that rips from his throat.  He sags, limp against the bed, his breath coming fast and harsh.

“Ouch,” Lofn’s voice drifts over to him, “That’s gonna be a bitch.”  A sob pushes its way past Anders’ mouth, and he turns his face into his shaking arm.  “Váli!”

“No,” he whispers, “Please.  Just leave me alone.”

“Would you like him first this time, darling?” Váli asks, and Lofn laughs softly.

“I think I would, actually.”

At some point, in a pain-induced stupor, Anders is grateful that they drugged him last time, and he thinks he begs for it again this time.

——

When he wakes, he’s still tied up, but the room is empty, and there are no voices echoing through the rest of the flat, so Anders fights and screams until his left wrist is loose, bloody and scraped raw.  He quickly undoes the binding around the right one, tears falling free down his face, his whole body shaking as he stumbles off the bed and promptly falls to his knees.  He wants nothing more than to sink into unconsciousness, but he’s still in this hell of a place, and so he forces himself to his feet and over to his clothes.  He struggles one-handed into his trousers, cries out when he’s putting on his shirt, slips into his boat shoes, and grabs his jacket before stumbling out of the bedroom and falling against the wall.

Anders makes it outside and into the narrow alley next to their flat before he collapses, sagging against the wall and drawing his knees to his chest.  He lets the building sob in his chest come loose, shaking through him until he’s pressing his temple against his knees and wishing they’d just killed him.

It’s still dark out, he realizes all at once, and he fumbles for his phone, trying to decide who to call because there’s no way he can make it back to his flat on his own.  His fingers decide for him, and he doesn’t know who he’s called until a soft, sleepy voice answers, “Hello?”

“Dawn,” he chokes out.

Instantly, she’s awake, and he can hear her shuffling and swearing.  “Anders?  Is everything alright?”

“I—I don’t—I don’t know where I am.  I was—Dawn, I need help.”

He inhales messily, tears spilling down his face, and he barely registers Dawn speaking to someone until he hears, “Ty.  Ty, wake up.”

“Ty?” he asks blearily.

“He told me everything, Anders, everything.  And it was like—once I knew, I remembered him.  Where are you?”

“I don’t know,” he mumbles even as he’s struggling to his feet.

“Look for a street sign, something.  I’m coming to get you.  It’s Anders,” she adds to Ty.

“I’m—walking,” he says, forcing his feet to carry him away from the flat, keeping close to the buildings, in their shadow, “Fuck.”

“What?  What is it?”

“I was—I was just—just here the other night, and I have no—no fucking idea where I am.”

“Do you see a street sign?”

Anders looks up, squinting, but, before his eyes can travel much past the sidewalk, he sees them, laughing as they walk down the opposite street.  “Oh god,” he gasps, and tumbles into an alley, stumbling as far back as he can before he crashes to the ground, dropping his phone.

“Anders!” Dawn calls through the phone, and then he blacks out.

——

Ty looks over expectantly at Dawn as she yells his brother’s name into the phone, and then she’s turning, shaking her head.  “He’s not responding.  He didn’t know where he was.  Ty, he was—I think something happened.  He was crying, and he sounded delirious.”

Ty swears and digs out his phone of his jeans pocket, chewing absentmindedly on the inside of his cheek while he waits for Mike to answer.  Finally, he gets a groggy, “It’s early.”

“Anders is in trouble,” he rushes out, and Mike snorts.

“The fuck if I care.”

“Mike!” he yells before his brother can hang up.  He pauses, listening to Mike mumble something to Michele, and it’s only when Mike grunts that he says, “I need your help finding him.  Something’s wrong.”

“I’ll meet you at his,” Mike says before he hangs up.

When they get to Anders’ flat, Mike’s waiting outside, rocking on the balls of his feet.  He gets into the back of Ty’s car and frowns at Dawn until Ty says, “I told her—about us.  She remembers me now.”

“Well,” Mike lets out on an exhale, “That’s—interesting.  Go straight; he’s been in one place for a bit.”

Ty follows his directions until they’re coming up a hill and pulling over halfway up.  Dawn stays in the car while Mike and Ty climb out, Mike leading them a ways up the street and down an alley.  “Shit,” Mike says suddenly, jogging forward, and Ty shakes his head as he catches sight of Anders, collapsed on the ground, limbs all bent in wrong directions, like he was out before he hit the ground.  Mike drops to his knees and carefully turns him over so he can get his arms under him, but Anders shakes back to consciousness with a shout, pulling away from Mike and staring at him with wild eyes.  “Hey,” Mike says, holding up his hands, “Anders, it’s me.  It’s Mike.”

Anders stares at him, unseeing for a moment until he blinks, blue eyes focusing.  “Mike,” he whispers, and Mike nods.  Anders sags backward against the wall, chest heaving.

“What the hell, Anders?” he murmurs, leaning forward and tilting his face into the light.

“Jesus,” Ty hisses at the state of his face, bloodied and bruised.  “The hell happened to you?”

“Remember that—that blonde woman I left with the other night?”  Anders continues at Ty’s nod, “Hey, she’s Lofn, goddess of forbidden love.  And there was this—Jesus fuck, he’s big.  Váli, god of revenge—her lover thing.”

“They did this to you?”

Anders grunts, pushing away from the wall only to cry out and fall back against it, eyes squeezing shut.  “Dislocated shoulder,” he whispers, and Mike sighs before reaching forward and looping Anders’ good arm around his shoulders.  They stand, and Mike starts to lead them away, but Anders stumbles and nearly falls.  Mike catches him, and they both look over in shock as Anders lets out a choked sob, leaning in against Mike’s side.

“Anders,” Ty says softly, coming forward.  He waits until Anders looks up at him, his face dirty and streaked with tears, his eyes hollowed out with exhaustion.  “Shit, man, what did they do?”

Anders barks a short laugh.  “The first time or the second time?” he asks, shaking his head.

“Bragi!” a voice suddenly shrieks, cutting the night like a knife, and Anders jerks away from Mike, staggering backward.

“Get me out of here.  Please,” Anders says, fear rampant on his face, and Mike nods, reaching out to steady him.  They get Anders out of the alley and hurry toward Ty’s car, carefully getting him into the back.  As Ty pulls away, the voice calls out again for Bragi, and Anders starts sobbing brokenly.

——

“Mike,” Michele says as she comes into the waiting room, and everyone looks up and over.  Michele frowns, beckoning to Mike.  “Can I talk to you in private?”

He nods, getting up and following her out of the waiting room and down a hall.  “Is he okay?” he asks when Michele stops.

She takes a slow breath, not looking at him, but instead at the clipboard in her hand, and it’s not until Mike lays a careful hand on her arm and says her name that she looks up at him.  “No, he’s not,” she says tightly, quickly amending her statement when shock transforms Mike’s face, “He’s alive.  He’s—fine, but he’s not okay.  Mike—how much do you know about Anders?  Truly?”

“What’s going on?” Mike demands, stepping back and crossing his arms.

“I—I really shouldn’t be divulging this information—doctor patient confidentiality and all, especially considering he’s an adult and in no need of a medical proxy.  That said, he’s also—there are—” Michele breaks off, looking back down at her clipboard.  She doesn’t know why this is so hard.  It’s Anders, but maybe that’s why, because it’s Anders, and this shouldn’t be happening.

Mike waits, his gaze on her, until, finally, she can’t hold it in anymore, “He was raped.  Repeatedly.”

Michele looks up, but Mike is just standing there, unblinking.  She thinks she could have told him anything else in the world, and he would have taken it in stride, but this—this puts him right over the edge.  “What?” he says in a very small voice.

Michele swallows and says, “There are rope burns on his wrists.  I’m assuming he was tied up to keep him from struggling.  His left wrist is badly bruised and has a slight sprain.  He probably dislocated his right shoulder trying to get his left out.  You said that he mentioned he had spent the night with a particular god and goddess before this time, so, from the evidence, I can assume he’s been raped, multiple times, both nights he was with them.  Not to mention severely beaten, including two broken ribs and a few bruised ones.  It’s a miracle he managed to get out of there in the state he’s in.  You can—you can see him, if you’d like.”

“He was—raped,” Mike says, still expressionless.

“Do you want to sit down?”

“They—they did that to my brother?”

“Mike—” Michele tries, but he’s already turning and leaving, and she does nothing to stop him.

In the waiting room, Ty looks up as Mike strides back in, furious.  “Axl,” Ty says, already getting up.  They go over to where Mike’s stopped by Olaf, talking quietly to him, and he looks up as they approach.  “What is it?” Ty asks.

“Stay here.  You’re a mortal now, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I may not be Höðr, but I can fight.”

“Kill,” Mike corrects him, and Axl’s eyes widen.

Ty nods.  “What did they do?”

“They raped and beat your brother,” Mike hisses, “More than once.”  Ty grinds his teeth together, nodding again.  “Stay here, Axl.  Anders is going to need someone around to protect him until we get back.  Okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Axl says, and then they’re gone, Mike and Ty storming off together as Michele slowly approaches the waiting room.  “Are they really going to—”

“Yes,” Olaf cuts him off, standing, “Can we see him?”

“Of course.  Family only, though.  This way.”  Olaf and Axl follow her out of the waiting room, leaving the others behind, and Michele leads them through a few hallways until they reach a large room with glass walls, the blinds drawn over them.  She opens the door and leads them inside, where Anders is lying beneath white sheets, various machines whirring around him.  “He’s asleep right now,” Michele says, going over to check on him, and Olaf and Axl follow slowly, “But he’ll be awake by morning, and probably sweet-talking his way out of here.”

Axl nods before going over to an armchair and settling into it.  He can’t take his eyes off Anders, can’t stop thinking about how he’d been with him only a short while ago, how he’d looked up and suddenly he was gone, and he’d been so angry with him, but now—now he feels short of breath when he looks at him and wonders how long this has been going on.

——

He wakes up staring at a white ceiling, and, for a brief moment, he wants to scream and run, but then he hears the myriad noises around him, and he freezes, looking around and seeing machines and an IV in the back of his hand.

Anders closes his eyes, focusing on his breathing until it’s steady again, and then he moves, pushing up off the hospital bed and pulling the tube from his nose, the IV following.  There’s movement in his peripheral, and he looks over, muscles tensing up.  It’s only Axl shifting in an armchair, though, sound asleep, and so Anders continues, tugging off the patches on his chest and throwing the blankets away.  The heart monitor screams his death, but he ignores it and slides off the bed, catching onto the edge as his knees buckle beneath him.  His arms shakes as he lifts himself back up, but he forces himself to move, to push away from the bed and stumble across the room to Axl where a small pile of clothes rest.

He manages to get them on quietly, though his shoulder is throbbing with pain when he’s finished.  The door opens, and he turns, Bragi on the tip of his tongue until he recognizes Michele.  She holds his gaze for nearly a full minute before slowly clicking over and shutting off the machines.  Anders watches her, not moving, until Michele turns and softly says, “Come outside so we don’t wake Axl.”  He blinks at her and doesn’t move until she’s reached the door again, and then he follows her, boat shoes scuffing against the floor.

He assumes Olaf brought the clothes from his flat because they’re comfortable, a pair of jeans, a loose white t-shirt, and a sweatshirt that he zips up halfway.  In the hallway, Michele is looking down at a clipboard, though she looks up when he closes the odor and starts talking, “I’ll get your sign-out paperwork ready in a minute, but I want to review what you should be doing at home.  Because you were attacked by a god and goddess, Yggdrasil is pretty much useless while our powers are still lowered.  I’ve made up a schedule of medication, but you still have two broken and one bruised rib and a healing shoulder, so you need to take it easy.  I’d suggest bed rest for at least two weeks, considering our slightly heightened healing rate, but it’s going to be painful for a while, as will your shoulder.  Your brothers, uhm—” Michele breaks off, and Anders lets out a sharp breath, turning away, his arms coming up to cross over his chest.  “I had to tell them,” she says softly, and she wants to step forward and try her hand at comfort when Anders’ inhale is shaky and bridging on tears.

It’s long moments before he finally turns back to her and says, in a voice run raw with trying not to cry, “It’s fine.  Where are they?”

“Olaf went to get food for him and Axl, and Mike and Ty left earlier when I told them.”

“Why are you letting me go without telling them?”

“I’ll tell them when you get back.  Come on.”  Michele heads off, holding her breath until she hears Anders following, and she casts a glance over her shoulder as she turns a corner, and her heart cracks at the sight of him.  This is Anders, the most ridiculous douche bag she’s ever met, and he’s been broken.

His face is a mess of black and blue, and there’s a smattering of bruises around his neck like fingers that Michele doesn’t want to think about.  His usually tidy hair is mussed, blonde curls making him look younger, and the way he shrugs into his sweatshirt, hands stuffed in his pockets, makes him look smaller.  He makes his footsteps silent, a habit that scares Michele because who would ever think to do that unless they were always hiding, and it occurs to her suddenly that this isn’t the first time this has happened.

She gets him checked out and puts together a bag of meds while he’s signing the appropriate forms.  When she returns, he’s sitting in the waiting room, his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms looped around, his face tucked away.  Michele approaches slowly, making sure to click down hard on her heels so he knows she’s there, but he doesn’t move, even when she sits next to him.  “Anders,” she says, and he lifts his head, turning his face away, but she still catches him wiping at his face before he lets his feet drop down to the floor, shoes only just skimming the ground.

“Thanks,” he says roughly, taking the offered bag, and Michele stops him with a hand on his arm before he can leave.  She watches him swallow, but he doesn’t look up at her, just stares down at her hand on his arm, and his hands are trembling.

“How many times has this happened before?”  He looks up at her, and she sees it all there, and it makes her breath catch in her throat.  “Anders—”

“Thank you for everything, Michele,” he says, standing.

She follows, stepping in front of him and saying quickly and quietly, “If you need anything, just call.  When you’ve run out, I’ll have a refill, but I’ll bring them by your place.  Just let me know when you’re almost out.  Do you want me to say anything to your brothers?”

Anders meets her gaze for only a second before he mutters, “Tell them I’m fine, and I don’t need them.  They’ll be relieved to get back to their lives.”  Michele watches him go, agape, his words sitting heavy inside her.

——

Mike finds her with another patient, and he raps his knuckles on the door and remains outside.  She excuses herself with a smile and prepares on her way to the door.  Once she’s closed it behind her, she takes Mike by the upper arm and leads him away, shaking her head when he starts to talk.  She brings him back to Anders’ empty room, where the rest of the family and Dawn are gathered.  Only when the door is shut and locked does she turn to them and cross her arms over her chest, glaring at Mike.  “This is not the first time this has happened,” she says finally, “And I don’t know what you’ve done to make him think you despise him so much, but Anders is falling apart at the seams, and it’s only a matter of time before you lose him.”

To her immense surprise, Mike ignores the second half and demands, “What do you mean, not the first time?  What did he say?”

“He didn’t have to,” she hisses, “He was able to keep himself calm and poised while he was still here, which speaks volumes about the amount of times he’s had to do this, and he seemed completely unfazed by what I was telling him.  I think he’s sustained much worse injuries before, and this is definitely not the first time he’s been—assaulted,” she settles for, though she frowns at the way Dawn is looking down at her shoes.

Mike notices it, too, and says, “Dawn?”

She shrugs slowly before saying, “He always blew it off, if ever he came in hurt, or if he received unwarranted attention, and there was that one time I saw—well, he—he said he’d fallen down his stairs drunk one night, but I’d never seen so many bruises and cuts before.”

“Unwarranted attention?” Ty repeats, “Like—stalking?”

“I think so,” Dawn admits, looking over at him.

“Why did he never tell us?” Axl mumbles, bewildered.

“Why?” Michele exclaims, staring at him in disbelief, “I think it’s pretty obvious he feels none of you care about what happens to him.  I know this is Anders we’re talking about, and I will be the first to admit that he’s an absolute shithead, but the man I let walk out of here was not someone I recognized.”

“What did he say?  Do you know where he’s gone?” Mike asks.

“I assume home.  He asked me to tell you that he was fine, that he didn’t need you, and that you’d be relieved to go back to your lives.”  She stalks over to Mike, and he straightens as she glares at him.  “You need to help him—” she whispers angrily, “—before something else happens, whether by his own hand or someone else.”  Before anyone can respond, Michele has stormed from the room, and Mike scrubs a hand through his hair, turning to his brothers.

“What happened with the god and goddess?” Olaf asks, and Ty barks a short laugh, shaking his head.

“Gone,” Mike says, “Couldn’t fucking find them.  I don’t know how they’re doing it, but I have no sense of where they are.”

“Someone should stay with Anders, in case they find out where he lives,” Ty says.

“We should all go over and check on him, and then we’ll decide shifts,” Mike grumbles, already heading for the door.

——

When Anders finally gets home, he puts the deadbolt and chain on, grabs a glass and a bottle of whiskey, and heads for his bedroom.  He turns on the shower before undressing, and he pours himself a few fingers that he takes into the shower, leaving it on one of the shelves.  He lets the hot water beat over his aching body for a few minutes before he makes short work of cleaning up, and he finishes his drink before shutting off the water.  He pours another once he’s got a towel around his waist and then he brings the bottle into his bedroom where the white bag of pills is waiting on his bed.

He sets the bottle and glass on the bedside table, dries off, and slips into a pair of briefs and a shirt that’s a few sizes too large, letting it swallow him up before he crawls into bed and under the blankets, tearing the bag open and filling his palm with the allotted amount of various pills.  He downs those with a swig of whiskey, and then another, and again until his throat is burning, and he pulls the duvet over his head and presses his face into his pillow, trying desperately not to cry.

Anders breaks, a sob ripping through him until he’s gasping into his pillow, hysterical.

——

“Fucking chain,” Mike grumbles, digging in his pocket, but then Olaf’s pushing him aside and kicking the door open.

“Or that,” Ty mutters.

It’s quiet inside, and they enter carefully, looking around.  Mike makes his way around the corner to the bedroom and frowns when he steps inside.  A whiskey bottle is still open on the bedside table, and a few bottles of pills have fallen scattered on the floor.  They’re closed and still full, so he ignores them for now and instead pads over to Anders’ bed, where a tiny lump resides.  He carefully pulls off the duvet, frowning as he finds Anders, curled in on himself, blankets drawn up over his shoulders, his face half-hidden in his pillows, but Mike can still see how red and puffy they are.  He sits on the edge of the bed and runs a hand up over his soft curls, thinking about when he was little and he used to hate getting his haircut until Ty would start walking around with his hands stuck in Anders’ growing afro.  He smiles at the thought, but then his brother is stirring and unfolding a little.

He blinks blue eyes open, looks up at Mike, and the reaction is instantaneous.  Mike jumps up off the bed, holding up his hands, palms out, as Anders gives this broken cry of fear, scrambling away from him, the unmasked terror on his face making Mike’s chest tighten.  “Anders,” he whispers, “It’s Mike.  I’m not going to hurt you.”

Anders holds his gaze for a moment before holing up, expression transforming into blank indifference.  He swallows and asks, “What are you doing here?”

“Anders, you were just—” but Ty breaks off when Anders flinches at his voice, fingers curling into fists.

There’s a long, tense moment of silence before Anders gets off his bed and makes for the door, pulling it open.  “Get out,” he says, not looking at them.

“Anders—”

“Get.  Out.”

“Ty, just go,” Mike says, seeing the way Anders’ hands shake, and they leave the room, the door slamming behind them.  Ty keeps walking, but Mike stops, and he closes his eyes as he hears Anders sink to the floor.  He moves back toward the door and sits against it, legs stretched out in front of him.  “I’m not leaving you,” he says softly, and he knows Anders can hear it from the hitch in his breath.

“Mike,” he says brokenly.

“Anders, I’m right here,” he promises, leaning his head to the side, “I’m right here.”

Inside the room, Anders drops his head into his arms and cries.

——

Mike assigns everyone a job from the floor—Ty and Axl out to see what they can find of Lofn and Váli, Olaf to check on everyone else, just in case, and Dawn volunteers to go out for groceries, though she feeds the fish and whispers something to them before she leaves and it makes Mike wonder how much he doesn’t know about his brother—and then he stays there once the flat is empty.  Anders has quieted by the time everyone is gone, and Mike can’t tell if he’s by the door still or not, so he just leans his head against it and says, very softly, “I’m here if you need someone.”

There’s no response, and minutes tick by in silence until he hears Anders sigh and shuffle to his feet.  He locks the door and pads away, and Mike keeps sitting there.

He thinks about what Michele said, that this isn’t the first time this has happened to him, and it makes his stomach churn, a wave of nausea passing through him.  He can’t piece it all together, that Anders might have been falling apart all this time and they never knew, that he kept us this façade that was so damn believable that he just kept treating him like the asshole he’d become, and he wonders if his brother ever really had become a different person, or if Mike just turned him into one.  He thinks about finding Anders in bed with Val, actually thinks about it, sees it all from Anders’ point of view, and it makes sense, if he squints a little.  He knows Anders truly believed he was helping him, and he tries to swallow that down and let it settle, that he’d turned right around and spat in Anders’ face, which is understanding, really, but he kept hammering at it, kept digging it deeper and deeper until he didn’t recognize his brother anymore, and was that his fault?  Did he help create the man that Anders became?  Because he knows he isn’t entirely to blame, knows that Anders is Anders, and this side of him was always there, but he thinks he might have dug it out and laid it bare for everyone to stab at.  He thinks, maybe, the Anders on the other side of the door is the real one, the broken one, the one that reminds him of his baby brother—because he’d always seen Anders as the baby, and he figures that’s because he’s always been the closest to him, regardless—the one that he’s always pushed away, again and again, until there was nothing left but Bragi.

It hits him like he’s being drowned.  It all washes over, a sudden dawning that fills him until he feels like he might burst.  That first time, with Val, that’s where it all began, when Mike spat Bragi back in his face, tore Anders out of his life and left him blinded to only see the Norse god, and that’s what Anders has been projecting ever since.  That’s what’s got him in these situations, but now it’s gone too far, and now his little brother is lost, floating in uncertain ground.

“Anders,” he says, this exhalation of something, a mixture of agony and disbelief and shame.

To his utter surprise, the lock clicks on the door before it’s pulled open, and Mike looks up, sees Anders there, and pushes to his feet, keeping his distance.  But then Anders is swallowing and shifting as he crosses his arms, fingers digging in tight against his biceps, stood there in his too big t-shirt that makes him look tiny—because he was always so damn little, even as a kid—and Mike just wants to fold him away in a hug and never let him go.

“Can I get you anything?” he asks instead, and Anders starts to shake his head and then stops, shrugging one shoulder.  Mike hones in on that, keeping his voice soft and easy as he asks, “Food?  Tea?  Something stronger?”

“Tea would be nice,” Anders mumbles, looking down at his feet, and Mike’s chest constricts at the sight.  After a moment, he lifts his gaze and says, “I’m going to put on some pants, and then uhm—I need—I need to get it out of my head.”

“Yeah.  Okay.  I’ll just—” Mike breaks off, stepping back, and Anders nods, already moving away toward his closet.

Mike goes into the kitchen to make the tea, and, as he’s setting the water to boil, Anders comes in wearing a pair of grey sweats and a new shirt, with a sweatshirt hanging loose around his small frame and his feet clad in socks.  He goes over to the sofa, and Mike watches him sit, frowning at the way he winces and shifts before tucking his feet up beside him.  He fiddles with the zipper on his sweatshirt while Mike makes the tea, and he can’t stop glancing over at him, can’t stop trying to justify this Anders with the one he thought had been the real one.

When he’s sat next to Anders on the sofa, his brother’s hands curled loosely around the tea mug, he just sits back and waits, lets Anders mull the words around in his head, and the first thing he says is not what he expected, “Why are you still here?”

Mike takes a long time to answer, too baffled by the question, though he guesses it makes sense, really, considering his new realization.  Finally, he says, “You’re my brother, Anders, and I know I’ve been shit to you since you became Bragi, but I think—I know that I’ve been wrong, that I’ve been pushing you away until you weren’t my brother anymore, and I just—I’m sorry.”

Anders lets out this little hollow laugh and says, “Great to know all it took was a couple assaults and some broken bones.”  He sets the mug down on the coffee table and gets up, but Mike follows, reaching for him.

His fingers close around Anders’ wrist, and Anders flinches back, tearing out of Mike’s grasp.  He hits the arm of the sofa and tumbles over, landing on the ground with a loud thud and a sharp gasp.  “Anders—” Mike starts, going to him, but Anders pushes to his feet and steps away.

“I have been screaming for help,” he says hoarsely, stopping Mike in his tracks, “You think this is the first time I’ve ever been attacked?  This isn’t even the first time I’ve looked to you, Mike.  I—I fucking called you, three months ago, panicking, and you just laid into me about what a drunk I was and how I put the our family to shame.  Do you even remember that?  Do you?” he shouts when Mike doesn’t answer, and his brother transforms again, blind fury taking over as he shoves Mike back from him, trembling.

He does remember, and that scares him.  “You were drunk,” he says, but Anders just barks out one of those laughs again, this broken noise that makes Mike crack a little.

“I was drugged!” Anders screams, “Some arsehole kept trying to hit on me in the bar, and I let him buy me a drink before I left, trying to be polite, and I—I can’t even remember what happened!  All I know is that I woke up two hours from my flat, my wallet empty, in an alley, naked, and I was so fucking scared, Mike, and you just—I needed you.”

“Anders—”

“You’re my brother, Mike!  You were supposed to look after me, and then you fucking left, and I had to raise Ty and Axl on my own.  And then you had the nerve to come back and try to pick up the pieces, always hammering into me about how much I’d screwed them up.  I just wanted a big brother.  I had no idea what I was doing—a god, and I was so lost, and you just left.  I’m sorry about what I did with Val!  I will never forgive myself for that, but you could never let me forget it, and now you think you can just put it all behind us and let me know you’re here.  Oh, you’re here now, is that it?  I’m in a million fucking pieces, but you’re here now, so it’s alright.  Big brother Mike is going to fix it.”

“Hey,” Ty’s voice says as he steps into the flat, “We heard shouting.  Is everything alright?”  Axl comes in behind him, closing the door.

Mike looks over and says, “It’s fine.  Anders just needs his family right now.”  He looks back at Anders, who is staring at him with an expression he can’t quite decipher.

After a few seconds of tense silence, Anders shakes his head and says, “I don’t need any of you.  I’ve been doing this on my own for years.  I don’t need you to just step up to the plate because it was a little worse this time.”

He starts to walk away, and Mike is angry for a split second, stepping forward and grabbing his brother, pulling him back toward him.  He hears Ty shout his name, and then Anders’ fist is sailing through the air and slamming him in the jaw.  He staggers backward, and Anders sags against the sofa, doubling over as he winds both arms around his stomach, struggling for air.  Ty runs past Mike and helps Anders onto the sofa, sitting next to him and rubbing a hand over his back.  “Just breathe slowly,” he whispers.  He waits until Mike walks back toward the kitchen before he continues, “What’s going on?”

Anders sucks in a sharp breath and holds it, and Ty just wraps his arm around his shoulders and leans his head against his brother’s, squeezing him.  “Talk to me,” he murmurs, and Anders breaks, a sob pushing out of him before he ducks into Ty’s embrace.  “Alright, come on,” he says, reaching forward to hook an arm underneath Anders’ knees.  He manhandles him carefully, swinging his legs up over Ty’s lap and turning him so that he’s leaning on his side, head resting against Ty’s shoulder.  Ty continues to rub circles in his back, his other resting on the sofa, and he’s surprised when Anders reaches forward and pulls his free hand toward him, tangling their fingers together like they used to when they were little and scared.

“I remember leaving the bar with that blonde,” he whispers, and Ty nods, squeezing Anders’ hand, “I remember going back to her place, and she knew the man outside her flat, and I’ve been with men before, so I figured what the hell.  I shouldn’t have let them pour me a drink, but I did, and then—then I start to lose time, and I keep getting these flashes as it comes back.  I was—tied up, and I remember not being able to breathe at one point.  I remember their voices, and then I remember waking up and leaving, and I—I called you and then Dawn, and then I was at the bar with Axl, and they were there, and I didn’t want them to know who Axl was because I was afraid they would hurt him.  They—they took me into an alley beside the bar and just—fucking wailed on me until I passed out, and I woke up in their bed.  I dislocated my shoulder trying to get out of the restraints, and they didn’t drug me that time, and I can still feel them on my skin, it’s like I’m being turned inside out, and I can’t breathe.”

“It’s over,” Ty promises, leaning his head against Anders’ and stilling his hand on his back, just leaving it there.  “I get why you’re angry at Mike, I do, and you have every right to be pissed at me, too, but I want you to know that I’m not going anywhere unless you want me to.  I should have realized a long time ago that something was wrong, and maybe I did and was just too—caught up in Bragi to listen, but I’m right here, Anders, if you want me here.”

“Are they dead?”

Ty sighs and lifts his head again.  “No.  Not yet.”

“Will you stay here tonight?”

“Of course.  We all will, if you want.”

“Okay,” he says so softly Ty almost misses it.  He looks up at Mike, who just nods.

——

Anders frowns, turning over onto his back and opening his eyes.  It’s late, and he’d been sleeping, but he can’t quite place what had woken him until a finger traces over his face and a sweet voice says, “I won’t let you get away this time.”

He screams.

Lofn curls a hand around his throat and presses him back against the mattress as he tries to scramble away from her, so he thrashes, limbs flailing wildly until he frees himself, and he keeps screaming, his brothers’ names tumbling from his mouth as he throws himself across the bed.  Lofn grabs his ankle and yanks hard, tossing him onto his side, and then a strong hand is clamping down over his mouth and a knife is glittering in the moonlight.  He struggles, eyes wide with fear, but Lofn just crawls up until she’s straddling his waist, pinning him.  Váli smiles wickedly, turning the knife so that the light dances off of it, letting it hover over Anders’ face until he drops it very slowly to his throat.

The door flies open and the lights flare on, and Lofn jumps from him, landing gracefully beside the bed.  Anders takes the distraction and rips out of Váli’s grip at the same time his brothers charge forward, but Váli grabs hold of him by the throat and throws him from the bed.  He lands in a heap, Váli knocks Axl to the ground with a fierce punch, and then hauls Anders to his feet, one arm curling around his throat and putting him in a headlock, the other hand coming up to press the knife against his inner thigh, near an artery.  His voice booms out, “Let her go, or I’ll let your precious brother bleed out!”

Anders looks over at Mike and Ty, pleading silently, and they slowly step away from Lofn, breathing hard.  Lofn lands a swift punch at Mike’s nose before she steps away from them, and Anders waits until she’s coming around the bed before he jerks his head backward, slamming into Váli’s face.  Váli releases him with a shout, Anders twists his arm around until the knife clatters to the floor, and Ty launches himself at Lofn as she screams.  His fist swings through the air, catching Váli off guard so that he stumbles backward, and Anders dives for his bedside table, yanking open the drawer as he hears a sickening crunch.

He remembers buying the gun so clearly, remembers the second time he’d been attacked, how he’d just wanted to curl up in his bed and never leave his flat, remembers ringing Ty and asking him to run an errand with him and Ty blowing him off, so he’d gone alone and his hands had shaken the whole time.  He’s fired it plenty of times because he wanted to know how to use it, didn’t want to just wave it around, so he took lessons, and it comes easy this time.

The noise ricochets around the room, and there’s dead silence until Váli drops to the floor, and then Anders collapses.  He hears his brothers’ voices as though from a great distance before he passes out.

——

Anders wakes up slowly, like being able to sleep in and just letting your body get used to the idea of being awake.  Sunlight is pouring into the room through the open curtains, and he isn’t alone in his bed.  He’d gotten a King size bed because he liked to stretch out, but it had never been used much beyond him—except for Helen, even though thinking about her still hurts—though now his brothers are sound asleep around him.  Ty and Axl are on either side, and, when he sits, Mike is standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame.  “Hey,” he says softly, scrubbing a hand through his hair, “What happened?”

Mike jerks his chin toward the hallway, and Anders nods, carefully climbing over Ty and padding over to him.  Mike’s in the middle of cooking breakfast, so he pours Anders a cup of tea and finishes up the eggs, bacon, and toast before sitting at the island with Anders.  “They’re dead,” he says, and Anders looks up at him, “It’s over.”  Mike reaches over, taking his baby brother’s hand in his own, and he squeezes it before saying, “I don’t care if you scream at me until you’re blue in the face, I don’t care how many times you punch me, I’m not going anywhere.  It took me a damn long time to hear you asking for it, but I’m going to help you.  You’re going to be okay.”

Anders looks at his big brother, looks at him and sees him like he did when he was four and had scraped his knee, like Mike was the greatest person in the world because he knew just how to make everything right again.  He pushes off his stool and comes around the island.  Mike does the same, meeting him halfway and pulling him into a tight hug.  Anders burrows in against him, just wanting to hide there forever, where he feels safe and unbroken.