Chapter Text
Tick. Click. Tock. Click.
Houston pulled the pillow over his head and turned onto his side, a deep sigh escaping him. His head was filled with cotton and thorns, and his skin was too tight on his muscles, teeth too sharp, chest too heavy. The obnoxious clock in his room was taunting him, waiting to be smashed, and downstairs he could hear the other heisters laughing amongst themselves, bottles placed on the counter top.
It was too much and Houston hated that he couldn’t change why.
The week had gone well. Stealth heists had gone smoothly, as perfect as could be. Loud heists went off without major injuries. Good grabs, quick jobs. It was a great week and yet Houston had holed himself up in his room, forcing himself into isolation, skipping the little celebration the others were having to unwind.
Well, he usually did skip those anyways…
The sound of Dallas laughing brushed past Houston’s ears, and he pulled the pillow tighter around his head. The last time he’d joined them, Dallas hadn’t laughed as much. Hadn’t been relaxed or happy. Houston didn’t bring it up because he knew that Dallas would brush it off or deny it, and while he wasn’t good at reading emotions (he actually was quite horrible at it and misread situations at all times), Houston felt confident enough to say that Dallas was stressed just by Houston being there.
Tears made their way to Houston’s eyes and he sat up angrily, gripping his wrist and twisting. He knew better than to cry about this! He knew damn well that he and his brother would never be close! This was a fact. It had always been a fact. From the day he’d been born to now, he was just…
Unwanted? A burden? A nuisance?
“All of the above?” he snorted, rolling his eyes.
It made sense to him why Dallas was so stressed whenever Houston was around. Hoxton did not like Houston, and while significantly much more civil, Wolf didn’t seem to like him much either. Chains probably merely tolerated him, and Bain… well. Bain wasn’t around physically and Houston didn’t talk to him outside of heists or planning, so he had no idea how the Navigator felt about him. Regardless, Dallas had to babysit, be there to take the heat off of him whenever Hoxton or Wolf’s teasing got to be too much. He couldn’t relax because Houston was too weak to defend himself.
The sound of the four heisters bursting into laughter startled Houston out of his thoughts, and he realized he’d worn a burn into his wrist. After tapping it lightly, he hissed, realizing he’d also been gripping hard enough to leave a bruise. Sighing, he stood up.
Maybe a shower would distract him. At least enough for him to fall asleep.
Shutting the door behind him, the Ghost stripped down and turned the water as hot as he could handle it (which was as hot as it could go). He barely even noticed its temperature as he stepped in.
A wave of emotion rushed over him, and he sat down in the tub to let the water run over him.
You’re pathetic, aren’t you?
Houston watched the drain, tears dripping from his chin as static took over his body.
Why am I even here? They called me to help break Hoxton out, but now? I don’t do anything to help them. They’re capable enough without me being here. There’s no way Dallas wants me around. He probably keeps me around because he feels bad for me. At least Hoxton doesn’t pretend that he likes me. Does Chains even like me? He’s nice, but that doesn’t mean anything. Why can’t I be stronger? Why can’t I make anyone happy? Why am I here? Why haven’t I left? They’d be so much happier without me! I should leave. I can just leave and never come back. They won’t care. Why would they care? Do I even care if they notice I’m gone? What if-
A series of heavy knocks on the door made him jump. His bruised wrist banged against the side of the tub and he grit his teeth, grabbing onto it.
What he tried to say was, “Yeah?” but instead, he made a soft grunt.
“Houston?”
Ah. Dallas.
Houston turned the water off as he shakily got to his feet. “Yeah, what’s up?” He grabbed a towel and started to dry himself off as best he could with how utterly dazed he felt.
“Are you alright? I’ve been trying to get your attention for like… twenty minutes.”
After barely managing to get fully dressed without falling, Houston opened the door. “Yeah, I’m-”
“What the fuck happened to you?” Dallas said, staring. Houston blinked, trying to find a proper response.
You left. You didn’t just leave. You were dead. You were dead and I was alone for so long and I didn’t have anyone. Mom and Dad didn’t want me. I didn’t know what happened to you. I was scared and I didn’t-
“Hey, Houston. Focus. Look at me.” Dallas grabbed Houston’s shoulders. “What happened?”
Dumbly, Houston mumbled, “What?”
“Your arm. ” Houston glances at his forearm, seeing now that Dallas meant the bruises from just then and the… earlier ones.
Suddenly, he was sitting on his bed as Dallas held an ice pack to his arm. “What are you doing?” Houston snapped, pushing Dallas away. Dallas stared at him, blinking in confusion.
“Uh…?”
Houston backed towards the wall, desperate to put as much space between the two as possible. His head hurt, and everything… was so fucking loud. He was taking a shower just a moment ago, and then-
Going limp, Houston closed his eyes. The silence in the room was too much, but the thought of breaking it scared him.
Why can’t you just take care of yourself?
“Derek, talk to me.”
Opening his eyes, he saw Dal- no. He saw Nathan staring at him, worry evident on his face. Derek shook his head and pulled his knees up to his chest. He couldn’t keep bothering his brother. He needed to leave. He couldn’t stay anymore. He was holding them all back, and-
“What’s going on? You were in the shower for two hours. You’ve got bruises on your arm, you’re not responding… I’m worried.”
Derek pressed his forehead against his knees. Why couldn’t Nathan just leave like he always did? He couldn’t deal with another fruitless talk.
“Can you… can you just tell me yes or no?” Nathan asked softly. Derek nodded slowly, refusing to look at his older brother.
“Did you give yourself those bruises?” A no. “Are you lying?” Derek nodded, and Nathan sighed. More guilt washed over Derek, and he weakly apologized, nearly inaudible.
“Derek, what’s going on?”
“Why am I here?” The words left Derek’s throat before he could stop them. “I don’t… I just hold everyone back. I stress you out and you’re not happy ever when I’m around, and Hoxton and Wolf hate me, and Chains hates me, and you hate me, and I shouldn’t be here. I should have left and-”
Nathan’s arms are tight around Derek, and without realizing, Derek melted right into the hug, the fight in him dissipating.
“I could never hate you.” Nathan mumbled.
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
“You are , I can tell, every time I’m around all of you-”
“I’m not lying, Derek. I don’t hate you.” The two fell silent, and Nathan pulled Derek a little closer. “Please, trust me.”
Derek started crying and he gently pushed Nathan off. His instincts kick in. Don’t trust anyone. “How can I? You just left. You died and were gone and I-” Derek looked away, gritting his teeth.
“I’m sorry, I…” Nathan saw the look on Derek’s face, and his heart dropped. He knew that look.
“You’ve said that before. We both know it doesn’t mean anything.”
A buzz rushed through the room, and Nathan and Derek shifted back into Dallas and Houston. There was no more talking, no more trying to fix things. Dallas finally stood up and left, the door slamming heavily behind him. Houston yanked a bottle of benadryl out from his bedside table, downing a few pills before angrily laying back down, pulling the pillows back over his head.
Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid STUPID STUPID
Houston scratched at his hand as he fell into a drug-induced slumber.
The morning hit with a migraine, the sunlight in his eyes, and an angry Brit standing over him.
“So whatcha thinkin, pissin’ off Dallas ‘n whatnot?” Hoxton said, kicking the side of Houston’s bed. Houston jolted at the shaking bed before rolling towards Hoxton, groaning.
“Good morning, beautiful.” Houston said.
There were unspoken rules about Houston and Hoxton’s odd… banter. Houston was not to talk about Hoxton’s time in prison, and Hoxton was not to comment on Houston’s intelligence constantly. The other one was that they were not to talk about each other’s appearance, though “arseface” and “fuckface” were 100% on the table and free game. Houston knew that by breaking said rules, anything was allowed, and Hoxton would forget what he originally was pissed about and move onto just insulting him. This was something he could handle.
He wasn’t using beautiful as an insult, but he’d take what he could get.
“Ey, ey, don’t fuckin’ start with me. Thought we agreed you wouldn’t be a dick about prison.” Hoxton snapped, kicking the bed frame harder.
Well, time for a new approach.
“Wasn’t insulting you, you are good looking.” Houston sat up, pressing his foot firmly against Hoxton’s hip and pushing. “Just don’t let it get to your ego.”
There was a moment where Hoxton seemed unconvinced, followed by a look of sheer confusion and distress. “Hang on, back up. You better not be comin’ onto me.”
“I can if you want me to, but I don’t know if Wolf would be okay with-”
Hoxton covered his ears, yelling indistinctly before slapping Houston on the shoulder multiple times. “Stop, stop stop. I don’t wanna get into that right now.”
“Oh, you having relationship issues? I’m not good at advice, but I can-”
“Aht! Stop! Not why I’m here!”
Houston sighed loudly, flopping backwards. Hoxton crossed his arms, shifting awkwardly as he stared at the man. “You checking me out?” he asked, feeling somewhat smug.
Hoxton made another noise that sounded almost like a shriek, before throwing a pillow at him. Houston laughed, throwing it back at him. “Give me a minute to get dressed, you can yell at me then.”
He pushed himself to standing, bumping into Hoxton as he did so. The two stared at each other before quickly stepping out of each other’s way, the Brit’s face red as he turned to stare at the wall.
Maybe I was laying it on a little too thick… argh, oh well. He’ll survive. Though, maybe he and Wolf are having relationship issues? Should I ask him?
“You can turn around.” Houston said, sitting back down on his bed. He grabbed a bottle of water from his nightstand, taking a quick swig as Hoxton dragged a chair over and sat across from him, glaring daggers the whole time. “Before you even start, Dallas is being overdramatic.”
Hoxton crossed his arms, his scowl deepening. “Yeah? Is that why he came downstairs all pissy and teary-eyed after checkin’ on you?”
“Dallas doesn’t cry.”
“He does when you get involved.”
“Bullshit.” Houston frowned. “Dallas doesn’t even talk to me most days. Why the fuck would he cry about me wanting him to leave me alone?”
“Do I look like his fuckin’ mother?”
“Our mom was blonde, so no.”
A look passed over Hoxton’s face before he nodded to himself, mumbling something that Houston couldn’t quite hear, but figured was, “Yeah, okay,” or something along those lines. He reached into his nightstand and pulled out an unopened bottle of water, offering it to Hoxton. Hoxton took it cautiously before opening it. “Thanks,” he said.
“Yeah, no problem.” Houston took a drink of his before speaking again. “Seriously, though. Dallas and I don’t talk really outside of work, and we didn’t talk before that either. Hell, I’ve talked with you more in the last week than I have with him in fifteen years. I don’t know why he’d get so worked up about me not wanting to have a chit-chat with him.”
The two fell into a comfortable silence as Hoxton mulled over what Houston had said. “Did he talk to you when you took, er… when you joined?” Hoxton asked. Houston shook his head, not needing to think. When he’d joined the team, Dallas had seemed shaken that it was his brother who Bain had picked, but overall didn’t seem to care. His focus was getting Hoxton out, not talking. Seeming to have figured that out, Hoxton sighed. “Well, shit. Don’t know why Chains sent me ‘ere, then.”
Barking out a laugh, Houston covered his mouth. “Chains got tired of mediating and dropped it on you.”
“Fuckin’ looks like it, yeah.” Hoxton was grinning, and Houston couldn’t help but think that yes, Hoxton was very pretty. The scar added another dimension to him overall, but it didn’t take away at all.
Shoving his thoughts away, Houston took a deep breath. “I don’t mean to pry, but I’m guessing if… you and Wolf are struggling then… Chains felt I could help.” Hoxton shifted uncomfortably, avoiding Houston’s gaze. “You don’t have to talk about it, though, I’m probably the last person you’d want to talk to about it, so,” Houston trailed off, looking away.
Shut up, shut up, shut up.
“It’s nothin’ big. Wolfie’s just all focused on a new project is all. Feelin’ like he forgot about some things that I’d like ‘im to remember.”
“Anniversary?”
“Of a sort, yeah.” Houston thought for a bit. It wasn’t the anniversary of Hoxton’s arrest or his breakout. Nothing involving the rat, and not their anniversary.
The cogs in his brain turned, wondering what it could possibly be. A lightbulb went off, and Houston realized what could be going on. “You came to America around this time, right?”
A long pause, and finally, Hoxton nodded. “It’s not super important, in the grand scheme o’ things, but I like to celebrate it since that’s around the time we met.”
Not their romantic anniversary, but their anniversary nonetheless.
“Still important, and a,” he stumbled on his words, trying to find the right ones, “a fond memory.” Another shrug from Hoxton, and Houston pursed his lips. “I might be able to find a way to drag him out of his workshop.”
“Oh, yeah? How you gonna do that?”
“Piss him off.”
Hoxton laughed loudly, rolling his eyes. “Alright, Mister Fix It. Figure that out and maybe I’ll be nice to you.”
“Nah, you don’t gotta. It’s the one thing that stays the same here.”
“Don’t like change much?” Hoxton hummed. “Wolfie gets the same way. It’s easier to have one thing to focus on.”
“Yeah. Really is.”
Hoxton waved at Houston as he walked out, bottle of water in hand.
Houston smiled, a soft blush appearing on his cheeks as he watched the Brit leave.