Work Text:
It was almost eerie lying in silence like this.
Charmy and Vector were both asleep. It was always a bit off-putting to be the only one awake in the agency. It was a time when no bubbly giggles or gravely grumbles flooded the building. There were no buzzing wings or jingling chains. No voices that sometimes got under your skin, even though you sometimes liked it that way.
Espio lay in his bed staring at the water stains in the ceiling — y’know, the ones that look like someone you know if you squint. Maybe it looks like someone you miss, a face you’re slowly forgetting as years fly by. Warmth that’s fading away into a cold chill that caresses your spine in such a way to make you flinch —
Espio shook his head.
His head felt heavy, yet simultaneously empty. These sleepless nights were the only chances he had to think about (for lack of a better term) important things. Espio didn’t believe these kinds of ideas were important. But, he wondered why he had such strong feelings about these thoughts. He had other things he could’ve been thinking about, like whether the agency will get a case tomorrow. What are we having for dinner this week? Is she proud of me?
Espio shook his head again, this time with more intensity.
The chameleon shot his eyes off the ceiling and across the room. It was nice to take his aching eyes away from the void of a ceiling. His eyes had adjusted to the dark bedroom that he and his little brother shared. Espio’s side was neat. Everything he owned was in its place, exactly where everything should be. Action figures were posed and stood up in release order, socks and gloves were folded and put away in the shared dresser. The floor was clear, walkable, and safe.
Charmy’s side was an entirely different story.
Even with the dim moonlight flittering through the window’s curtains, Espio could easily gaze upon the utter chaos that was Charmy’s living space. His own action figures were abandoned mid-battle. Building blocks were left forming a pretend Seaside City landscape. Socks and gloves piled up on the bee-themed bean bag chair in the corner, some dirty, some clean, all undeniably tangled together in such a way that made Espio’s fingers itch to sort them. Charmy himself was even a messy sleeper. His orange comforter had been kicked and twisted into a bulky heap at the foot of the bed, and his pillow was hanging onto the mattress for dear life, only being kept on the bed by Charmy’s sleepy little head.
Charmy slept peacefully without a care in the world. One of his arms was dangling off the bed, he was completely unbothered.
How immature.
The little boy shifted in his sleep, as the sound of his snores intertwined with the gentle, yet violent hum of the shoddy air conditioning unit and the settling of the building’s foundation. Charmy twitched ever so slightly, a fuzzy little foot promptly kicking a well-loved stuffed animal onto the wooden floor with a soft thump.
Espio flinched.
The reaction was automatic, and even visceral. It’s like his entire body froze, what was it waiting for? Nothing was actually going to happen, what’s the matter? Espio’s mind was simultaneously screaming and painfully silent. It’s like he was desperately craving to get up out of bed and make the entire room sparkle.
This feeling was uncomfortably familiar. Espio couldn’t stop his thoughts. He couldn’t control the way his eyes tracked every scattered toy, piece of clothing, or object that was out of place. How could Charmy exist in this space without constantly monitoring himself and his surroundings?
Espio never would’ve been allowed to live like this.
Espio was six years old once. At six, his living space was utterly spotless. Yeah, being naturally neat might have a hand in this, but anything less than perfection meant punishment. It had been drilled into his brain that his space reflected his own worth.
Well, why did Charmy get to be so messy? Why did Charmy get the privilege of being so carefree and undisciplined? Why is that okay?
Espio knew the answer already, the thought even made his stomach churn. Espio had other questions: why hadn’t he been allowed to just be a kid? To just be able to live freely playing with toys and making messes? Why wasn’t he able to learn that love isn’t conditional, and that perfection doesn’t define you? Instead, why was rigid perfection used as a way of expressing your own worth?
Espio hated when sleepless nights made him spiral into these painful thoughts.
Espio refocused his eyes and took another look at Charmy. It was sudden. This Immediate, crushing guilt flooded his body and nearly drowned him where he lay.
Espio looked away, staring back up at the ceiling. His muzzle scrunched as he thought to himself. There were these feelings he had been pushing to the back of his mind for as long as he’s known Charmy. Espio hasn’t really put too much thought into these feelings, frankly, he didn’t really want to. It was like he was a little scared to.
He figured he was just being ridiculous, I mean, who would reasonably be jealous of a little kid? Who would look at this sweet little boy and be envious of him? A child.
Espio didn’t want to be envious. He didn’t know how to stop.
Charmy would’ve never survived in the ninja clan.
Why would anyone think of that?
Sigh
Maybe the mess on the floor wasn’t really the problem
Maybe it was easier to think of the mess than the real thing that was eating Espio alive.
Espio closed his eyes tightly, he just wanted to sleep. His mind wouldn’t let him, though. When Espio closed his eyes, he saw yesterday afternoon. He saw Vector in the kitchen, with Charmy perched on the counter next to him. It was lunch time, and both of the big eaters were preparing sandwiches together. Charmy, the chatterbox he was, was just rambling about whatever his heart desired — maybe it was a cool cloud he saw, or maybe there was a new episode of a show he liked — and Vector was just listening with a relaxed smile, a smile that told the world that he was exactly where he wanted to be in his life. As Vector happily listened, he gently shoved his boy’s helmet back and ruffled his hair. It was casual and affectionate, and Charmy just leaned into it without hesitation. It was almost like this kind of affection was as natural as it was to breathe.
Espio had been in the doorway at this time, observing his teammates' every move. It made him happy to see the two so close together. And yet, it felt like a sharpened kunai had shoved itself into Espio’s chest
The chameleon had wanted to be upset about the mess Charmy was making — there were bread crumbs everywhere, jelly smeared on the counter, and just complete disregard for the cleanliness of the workspace. But that wasn’t what made him irrationally angry, it wasn’t what made his scales tense to the point of nearly popping off.
It was…the ease of everything. Everything was so blissfully thoughtless. This affection was so natural. Charmy could just exist unapologetically in Vector’s personal space. And vector made him feel welcome, he made him feel wanted. Charmy didn’t have to prove anything, he didn’t have to maintain perfection.
What if she were like that?
There was also the middle of last night. Espio hadn’t been able to sleep then, either. In the midst of pretending to sleep, he heard Charmy whimper, then shuffle out of his bed to trek towards Vector’s bedroom. Espio could immediately tell from the pained whines that Charmy had a nightmare. He knew that Charmy hated being seen like a baby, it was only when things were bad that he would decide to ask for comfort like that. At six, Espio had learned to comfort himself after his own nightmares, he had to be old enough to handle himself. He was used to seeing vulnerability as a sign of weakness.
Charmy had probably climbed right into Vector’s bed, he had probably been held close and reassured that he didn’t have to be scared to ask for comfort. He had probably been told that he was safe and that the zombots wouldn’t come back.
Espio remembers last night vividly. He could easily hear the comforting murmurs of Vector’s voice through the thin agency walls. Espio remembers the feeling of his heart being crushed under the weight of longing over something he can’t grasp.
Espio had nightmares too. Almost every night, even. He had terrors about the clan, the training, the missions, the blood. Espio would wake up hyperventilating, yet able to keep himself quiet so as not to wake anybody else, whether that be in the clan or the agency. Espio hated the phantom sensation of a blade against his throat, he hated the physical sensation of his heart beating out of his chest. He would just lie there in the dark, he would force himself to slow his breathing, force himself to relax, force himself to regress into a state of being calm.
He didn’t like the thought of going to Vector’s room to ask for comfort, he was far too old for something that…babyish.
The thought made his skin crawl in such an indescribable way. It was something that felt like shame, fear, desperation, ache, and want all tangled together. What would Vector possibly think? That Espio was weak? That he was broken? That sixteen-year-olds didn’t need comfort like that anymore? Trained assassins should be able to handle themselves, obviously. The thought of admitting vulnerability made Espio’s stomach churn, he wanted to throw up.
It’s not fair.
Espio hated this part of himself, he hated the petty, bitter part of him that looked at Charmy’s easy relationship with their guardian and felt something dark and resentful coil in his gut. What kind of hateful person was he? What kind of brother was he? Charmy was just a little boy. He was happy, safe, and loved. Espio should be glad about that. Well, he was glad. Espio would do anything for Charmy, who knows what he wouldn’t do.
But, watching Vector ruffle Charmy’s hair, listening to them joke around with each other, seeing the way that Charmy never flinched, never calculated, never so much as wondered if the love was real.
Seeing the way that Charmy could just crawl into Vector's lap as they watched TV, could lean against his side, could fall asleep on his shoulder without it being this whole thing, without having to think about it or plan it or wonder if it was even allowed.
Seeing the way Vector would carry Charmy to bed when he fell asleep on the couch, would tuck him in, would press a gentle kiss to his forehead like it was the most natural thing in the entire world.
It hurt
It hurt so, so bad.
Espio wanted that, he wanted it so badly. He would do anything for something like that. He wanted to be able to sit next to Vector without maintaining exactly one foot of distance. He wanted to be able to accept a hand on his shoulder without so much as flinching. He wanted to be able to ask for help, for comfort, for absolutely anything without feeling like he was exposing a fatal flaw.
He wanted his dad to-
His dad?
When was Vector ever his dad? Vector is Espio’s boss—his guardian, his benefactor maybe. Vector had taken him in off the streets, he had given him a home, a family, and some sort of chance of being normal. But, there’s no way he’s like a father… is he?
Espio didn’t really talk to his biological dad when he had the chance. All training was done under the watchful and sharp eye of his mother.
Deep down, Espio craved just any type of parental affection, he craved it more than he wanted his heat lamp.
Espio wanted to ask for Vector’s affection without his throat closing up, without feeling like he was admitting something dangerous. He wanted Vector’s approval and love without thinking about all of the ways he’s failing him. Failing to be a good son. Part of Espio felt like he didn’t deserve that kind of relationship, part of him felt that being vulnerable like this was just plain wrong.
Vector knew that Espio wanted this kind of relationship, he is a detective after all. And Vector tried, he tried so hard. From the beginning, Vector offered the traumatized kid he saved any sort of affection at all. Espio flinched away from it, he had pre-built walls that kept anyone and anything out.
Espio wanted so badly to tear these walls down, these walls suffocated him. Unfortunately, wanting and accepting are two completely different ideas, and Espio didn’t know how to bridge the painful gap. He didn’t know how to let Vector in, how to be vulnerable, how not to feel like he was going to shatter into a million little pieces.
Espio had learned all these skills in relation to emotional control. He wanted to just turn it off, but it’s never that easy is it? He couldn’t just decide to trust, to be open, to accept love. Espio would always force himself to be fine with Vector’s attempts at affection. Sometimes he didn’t flinch, sometimes he didn’t feel sick. But he wanted it so desperately to be an always thing.
Espio knew he was being irrational. Vector had no hateful bone in his body, he could never be as harsh as the ninjas in the clan. Vector would never use Espio’s vulnerabilities as weapons, but knowing didn’t make the fear go away. He wanted to be able to ask for help, at least a hug.
Charmy could ask for a hug, he always hugged, it’s like you couldn’t go a day without a Charmy hug. Charmy had never been taught that needing others was dangerous, that affection was a trap, that love hurts. Charmy was born trusting and accepting. He accepted that Vector loved him, and Charmy loved him back.
Espio rolled onto his side, curling in on himself and facing away from the bee who was sleeping so soundly. As Espio’s eyes burned with sharp tears, the darkness of the room crushed him. And for a moment, it was like he was somewhere else entirely— a cold room, a harsh voice, the sting of the bruises that come naturally with training. Weakness is failure.
Espio wished he could be six years old again. That was the age he started constantly training, when his childhood ended. Charmy got to keep his childhood. Charmy got bedtime stories, patient-ish explanations, and reassurance. Charmy got Vector’s bad jokes, his shared love for just about anything, and his unconditional acceptance. It’s like Charmy got everything he ever wanted.
And Espio watched. He watched behind the walls that were built to survive in this world, walls that held him back from reaching for the same love even though it was Just Right There. Vector had made it clear that Espio was welcome, that he was wanted, that he was unconditionally loved.
Espio couldn’t rationalize it, he couldn’t justify it, he couldn’t believe it.
There was a toxic mix of love and resentment that churned through every inch of his body. He was so unbelievably happy for Charmy, he was! But he was drowning in envy, crushed by the unfairness of it all, the knowledge that it’s his own fault that he was the one keeping himself locked from the warmth he desired.
Maybe that’s why the mess on Charmy’s side of the room bothered him so much. Maybe that’s why his mind fixated on the toys and the unmade bed and the lack of discipline. It was much, much easier to be annoyed about that than to admit the real problem.
That Charmy was careless and messy and undisciplined, and that Vector loved him anyway. Loved him without asking him to earn it or maintain it or prove that he deserved it.
Espio was trained to be perfect, and still, he couldn’t get the love he desired.
The irony was funny. Painful, yet funny.
The sky outside their window had begun to lighten— it wasn’t quite dawn, but that pre-morning hour when the darkness thinned away. Espio’s wet eyes were ablaze with exhaustion. His body felt heavy, wrung out, as he’d been through physically straining training instead of just lying in his warm bed thinking in circles.
He turned around to look at Charmy one more time.
His little brother had shifted once again in his sleep, now curled on his side with one hand tucked under his rosy cheek. His breathing was soft, deep, and even. It was peaceful.
Espio watched him for a moment. And this time, when he looked at the messy room— he felt tired, not viscerally uncomfortable, but tired. The judgment still lingered in his body, the ingrained need for order and control, but it felt… distant. Muted by exhaustion and everything he realized tonight.
Charmy was six, he was supposed to be messy. Supposed to be carefree and trusting and able to ask for comfort without thinking twice. That wasn’t a flaw whatsoever. That’s what childhood was supposed to look like.
And Espio- Espio was sixteen and hurt in ways he was only beginning to understand. But maybe… maybe he didn’t have to hide behind his wall anymore.
Maybe tomorrow — or next week, or next month — he could try something small. He could sit a little closer on the couch. He could stay in the kitchen when Vector was making breakfast instead of retreating to his lonesome. Could… could maybe, eventually, knock on Vectors' door when the nightmares got too bad to handle.
Not tonight. He wasn’t ready tonight. But someday.
The thought didn’t fix anything. Didn’t make the jealousy disappear or the walls come down or the fear go away. But it was something. A small crack in the armor he’d built around himself
The morning birds began to sing
Espio closed his eyes. He was so, so tired. And tomorrow — well, he’d still be jealous, still be struggling, still trapped behind walls he didn’t know how to dismantle. But maybe that was okay. Maybe healing didn’t happen in one night of painful realizations
Maybe this was just the beginning
He let his breathing slow down, let his exhaustion pull him to sleep. Across the room, Charmy mumbled something unintelligible as he squirmed and kicked and tossed once more.
Espio’s last thought before sleeping was simple, quiet, and terrifying in its honesty.
“I want to try.”