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the chosen one doesn't choose his fate
sean struggles to live, desmond choses to forget
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Five years later, New York City

Afternoon sun streams through the grimy windows, managing to strike Desmond straight in the eye. He groans, and tucks his head back into the cocoon of his covers. 

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His phone chimes.

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"Ugghhh," Desmond groans, and flops his hand around until he finds it. The stupid thing keeps chiming, so someone is calling him. Which is unforgivably rude. 

It takes him a couple tries to answer the call, and then he balances it on the side of his face so he doesn't have to old it. "'lo?"

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"Three whole texts and no response? You must be dead," says a voice on the other end, smug and flirty.

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"Josh, I will literally kill you," Desmond grumps into phone.

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"No, don't," Josh pretends to whine, laughing at him. "There is a purpose for my call, beyond making sure you were alive."

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"Mmmf."

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Josh laughs again. "Bayden wants Friday night off, and he saw you have tonight, can you swap?"

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"Ugghhh." He was supposed to be meeting up with a girl on Friday. Oh well. "Sure. Is he going camping again?"

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"He said it's a 'family thing', which is probably code for camping."

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"That much outside is bad for you. I know that for certain."

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Josh laughs. "Probably more than most. Anyway, before I let you get your beauty sleep, I had a question from a friend."

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"Mmm?"

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"Friend of mine runs a camboy website. He reckons you'd make a fair bit of money. Way more than at the club."

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"Ha." Desmond grabs the phone, and rolls over onto his back. "Yeah, that's not happening while I share a space with Sean."

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"You could do sessions at my friend's house? Your brother doesn't have to know."

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"Yeah, he already barely believes that I stock a bodega overnight. He's gonna come looking if I stay out too long."

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"He's kinda controlling. Sounds shitty."

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"Yeah. And paranoid. But tell your friend thanks. If Sean ever stops being a jackass I might take him up on his offer."

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"All right, bud. You will let us know if you need to get out for a bit though, right?" 

The implication is obvious.

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And Desmond has no idea how to explain Sean's particular flavour of paranoia without sounding crazy. 

"I'm all good, Josh. Really. I'll see you Friday." 

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"Sure, Des. Sleep well." 

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Desmond flips the phone shut, and leaves it on the other side of his bed, curling back into his covers. 

He doesn't sleep, but he does drift in and out of dreams, sometimes familiar faces floating through. Faces he'd rather forget. 

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Eventually, he gets restless enough that he can wake up fully, and sees that the sun hasn't quite set yet. A little before he'd usually wake up. He meanders out of his bedroom, and checks behind the curtained off area in the living room. Sean's bed is made, and his shoes are gone. At work, then.

He slumps into the shower, and boils the kettle while he eats a bowl of cereal. He then makes two cups of coffee, and heads downstairs. 

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"You got ID, kid?" Daisy drawls from behind the bar as Desmond walks in.

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"No, but I have bribery?" He hands over one mug of coffee, grinning as wide as he can. 

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Daisy giggles, and takes the mug. "All right, I'll let it slide. Other one for Sean?"

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"Yeah. How long has he been up?"

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"He was here when I unlocked the place. He might not be sleeping again."

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"And he tells me off for not taking care of myself," Desmond grumbles. 

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"Older sibling prerogative, squirt." 

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Desmond blows a raspberry. "Dumb."

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Daisy laughs, and waves him off. "We open in an hour, I don't wanna see your illegal ass down here." 

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"Ma'am!" Desmond says, saluting her as he heads into the back.

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He can't hear anything being moved in the back room, and so, out of old, ingrained habit, he moves into the shadows and sneaks quietly until he can see his brother. 

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Sean is leaning against a shelf, completely still. There's a half unpacked box beside him. He has deep bags under his eyes. 

His knuckles are white where he is gripping the shelf. 

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Desmond scuffs his foot on the ground twice.

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Sean shakes himself, coughing, and then gets back to unpacking the box. 

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Once Desmond can see Sean's shoulders loosen a little, he steps out. "Hey."

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"Hey. You're up earlier than usual." 

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He leaves the coffee near Sean's hand, and sits on another box nearby. "Yeah, got woken by a call. They don't need me to stock tonight."

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"Right." Sean hasn't believed that cover story, but they've had the argument so many times that he just lets it drop. "Thanks," he says, taking a sip of coffee.

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"Sure." Desmond lets a silence hang between them, and tries not to long for the days when he used to want Sean to stop talking. "Daisy said you were here before her."

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"Couldn't sleep. Figured I'd get a head start on the deliveries."

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"You could wake me. Take the bed. Gotta be more comfy than your floor mattress."

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"It's not the bed. And you need sleep."

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"Not anymore than you do."

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"My job is way less stressful than yours is."

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"Not everything has to be a pissing contest." 

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"What the fuck are you talking about?"

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Desmond doesn't even know where his anger sprang from, though he suspects it's always there, simmering, and has been since his brother started looking like life was continually punching his face. 

"It's- whatever. Sorry." 

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Sean looks at Desmond for a long moment, and then goes back to work.

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Desmond hits his heel against the box for a bit, trying to make a rhythm. 

Eventually, he can't stand the silence. "Why don't you sleep?"

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Sean stops unpacking the box for a moment, and clenches his hands so hard he's surprised the skin doesn't split. 

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Sean didn't have to answer that, Desmond knew what that look was. But it wasn't good enough anymore. 

"That was five years ago." 

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"You say that like grief has a time limit."

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"No, I mean- I miss them too. But they'd want you to have a life, Sean. We've been living here for a year now and you haven't relaxed once."

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Sean feels his eyes burn with tears. Have a life. What kind of life can he have, knowing what he does? Having seen what he did? 

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He doesn't want to cry, so he gets angry instead. Anger is easier. 

"I swear to god, Des, if this is about the fucking motorbike again-"

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Desmond flinches. "Fuck me for giving a shit about my brother! No, this isn't about the bike."

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"Really? Because if you wanted to wear me down, Des, I would say that ambushing me on little sleep would do it."

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Desmond gets up, shoulders tight with fury. But he's not thirteen anymore, and he doesn't stomp off and hide. 

"I'm not gonna fucking fight you. You want to get all defensive and act like it's my fault you haven't had a life, go for it."

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Something cold and bile-tasting settles in Sean's stomach. "Des-"

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"No, no. I don't want to hear it. I listen to your rules. I keep myself safe like you told me too. But you act like if you breathe the wrong way someone's gonna gun you down. You gotta move on, Sean." 

He goes to leave.

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"We're never gonna be safe from them. We're William Miles' sons."

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Desmond turns around, cold steel in his eyes. "I don't think we have anything to fear from dad's little cult following."

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"I-"

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"We're probably not even his kids. He was making child soldiers, Sean. It's fucked."

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"It-" It was real. Sean knows it was real. Every word from Desmond cuts like a knife. 

But he's safer in denial. "I can't tell you what to think."

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"Could've fooled me." Desmond is a little regretful for being so harsh. His brother bruises so easily now. 

"You'll get over it. Guy at work showed me some stuff on cults. You just gotta break the mentality."