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Wylan drew in a breath as he stepped into his house.
So much had happened in the past, what, week? Including Van Eck’s whole fortune being handed to his son.
Jesper was by his side, his hand brushing up against Wylan’s as he closed the door behind them.
It felt weird. That was the only word Wylan could use to describe how he felt right now. It felt weird to walk into the house like this. After his mom had been sent away (Ghezen, it felt even weirder to say that instead of died), Wylan would enter the house with his back straight, his heart racing in hopes that his father maybe wouldn’t notice him right away. He would hope that his father was in a good enough mood that day to let Wylan get away with some old lecture instead of a beating. Most of the time, hoping didn’t get him far.
And now, now his father was being sent off to Hellgate for tampering with the markets. He would be in there for the rest of his years. He could not touch Wylan from there.
So why did it feel like he still could? Why did Wylan feel like his dad would appear and yell at him? Why did Wylan still feel that way? Like he had all those years ago?
Wylan only noticed he had stopped walking when Jesper halted his steps.
“What is it?” Jesper asked, turning to face Wylan. The boy looked tense, nervous, almost. No, definitely nervous. The only thought in Jesper’s mind, really, had been how nice the house was. The grand set of stairs, the numerous hallways going in different directions, the fancy lights that hung from the ceiling.
But he figured it wouldn’t be the same for Wylan. Not when he had heard the way Van Eck so much as spoke about Wylan. He’d spoken of his son with so much hate, anger, and loathing. Van Eck had admitted what he had done to Wylan for years, how he had beat him, how he had hypnotized him, how he had made Wylan take tonics, as if it was so justified, like your son not being able to read was a perfect, normal reason to do that to them. Jesper had been livid back in Vellgeluk when Van Eck had double-crossed them. He’d wondered how it was possible to hate your own son that much at all, let alone for something he couldn’t even control.
Jesper wasn’t the best kid himself. Saints, he had almost lost his dad’s whole farm by gambling it all away, and instead of graduating at university, he had gotten himself into a gang in the slums that were the Barrel. And his dad hadn’t been happy about it, obviously, but never in a million years could Jesper ever even see his dad doing what Van Eck did to him.
“Nothing. It’s fine, keep going,” Wylan said, gesturing in front of him. Jesper nodded tentatively. He figured Wylan would tell him if something was bothering him that much.
They went to the dining area, where a new, even fancier table was to replace the old one that Kaz and Wylan had broken into two. Wylan looked up at the tall ceiling, and found that the hole (that he and Kaz had also made) was still very much there. Then, they went to see the gardens, which looked less lively than they had when Wylan had been a kid here. They explored the rest of the old house, and each step from Wylan was still so… careful.
Wylan turned the doorknob of the door to what was his old room, but what he now knew was supposed to be a room for Alys’ baby.
He had seen it with Kaz when they were trying to get Van Eck’s seal. It had been a quick glance around the room, because he hadn’t wanted to be distracted by something like this on a mission.
But now Wylan found himself not being able to look away. Every trace of Wylan, it was all gone. Van Eck had really meant it when he had said he wanted people to forget Wylan, and Wylan saw that his father hadn’t stopped at trying to have him killed by his men.
Six months ago, when Wylan’s father had told him those exact words, that he would send Wylan off to music school until people forgot Van Eck ever had a son, Wylan had felt hurt. He didn’t even know why. Wylan had learned to take the beatings, to expect and take the next hit, to take the lectures, to take whatever his dad had come up with. He’d grown used to it. So why had the idea that his father wanted to send him away hurt him?
Maybe it was because some part of Wylan had been hoping. Some part of him had been hoping that maybe, just maybe, his father would, one day, love him once more. Hoping a side of his dad still loved him and cared about him, the same one that had taken care of him as a kid. Hoping that his father would turn to Wylan one day and say that he hadn’t meant all the cruel words he had directed at Wylan, that it was all some joke. And Wylan was nearly positive that he would’ve laughed along and will himself to forgive and forget the horrors his dad had put him through. When his father had been set on his decision, Wylan knew then that his father would never do that, that it wasn’t some joke, that his dad did not care at all, that Wylan’s dad did not love him anymore.
Even then, after Wylan had been nearly strangled to death by the Miggson and Prior, and after Wylan had swam for miles from that boat to the Barrel, and after Wylan had found himself in an old room with a bed that was bordering on molding, with a leaking ceiling, he had still hoped that it was all some sort of mistake. He had hoped that maybe it was Miggson and Prior’s fault and idea, not his dad’s. That his dad really had wanted Wylan to go to the school, and not to be killed. Wylan’s illusion of that had been destroyed when he opened the envelope his father had given him of his supposed ‘enrollment’ papers, only to find them empty. He had been able to tell they were blank just by looking at the envelope itself by the lack of ink seeping through, and then when he had taken out the papers themselves anyway that were clumped together and wet, but still a pristine white, he had taken apart every single one from each other to the best of his ability as if, if only he willed it hard enough, he would find a few words he wouldn’t be able to read. He had been desperate.
And yet Wylan had still had some hope, then. He had let Nina tailor him to look like Kuwei, even if Wylan would never get his face back, because he wanted to know what his father had thought of him, once and for all. Then, after that, on the way to Saint Hilde’s when Jesper had called Van Eck evil, Wylan had insisted that he wasn’t. Even though Wylan had endured what he had from his father, even though Wylan knew that his father had tried to kill him, he had insisted his father wasn’t evil. It was only when Wylan had seen what his father had done to his mother that Wylan found himself agreeing with the statement.
Wylan had been hopeful because he did not want to face the reality that his father truly hated him. And when Wylan had finally faced that reality, he hadn’t wanted to hate him back.
Now, Wylan was only seeing something that served as another reminder of how his father had been so quick to replace him.
It was fine. They would just… repaint it, refurnish it. It was his house now. Right?
“Wy,” said Jesper. “We don’t have to keep looking at all of it today, alright? We don’t. Not if you don’t want to.” Jesper took Wylan’s hand in his own, squeezing it once. Wylan shook his head. “I’m still good. We can keep going,” he insisted.
Maybe he wasn’t all that good now as he entered his fathers office.
Wylan had been called here hundreds of times.
He had been here when his father had told him his mom had passed away and Wylan couldn’t attend the funeral. He had been here with his father yelling at him, asking Wylan why Ghezen had cursed him with an idiot like him for a son. He had been here, slumped against the wall as his father kicked at him. He had been here when his father had told him he’d be sent off the day before that night in the canal, the night that he would never, ever forget.
He felt his throat close up, and he couldn’t help but itch at his neck as though Prior’s hands were still there. Wylan tried to steady his breathing a little to no avail.
Now, when Jesper turned to look at Wylan, he saw a familiar look on his face. It was the same one he had seen when Jesper had told Wylan that his mother, Marya Hendriks, was still alive. It was the same one Jesper had seen when Wylan had seen the closet of paintings his mother had painted. Of him. Of an eight year old Wylan because that was how she remembered him. It was the same one Jesper had seen when Wylan had finished talking to his mom in Saint Hilde’s.
Jesper watched as Wylan opened his mouth as if to say something, but then closed it again. He sat Wylan down onto a chair, placing his hands on Wylan’s shoulders gently.
“Wy, Wylan,” Jesper spoke softly. “Hey,” he murmured.
“Jes-” said Wylan, his voice a little shaky. “Breathe, okay? He’s not here, he can’t do anything to you,” Jesper assured. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that going around the house brought up some stuff for Wylan. “He’ll never hurt you again, I swear to all the saints,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” Wylan said quietly. “Why?” Jesper asked. “You… you did this at Saint Hilde’s too. And on the way back,” Wylan answered. Jesper had comforted him, helped him calm down before. Wylan couldn’t help but feel a little bad.
“Don’t be sorry. It’s fine, Wy, not a big deal,” Jesper insisted.
Wylan’s breathing evened out, and Jesper gave him a soft smile. “Tell me whatever you want,” Jesper said. He wouldn’t make Wylan say shit if he didn’t want to. But he wouldn’t stop him, either.
Wylan had stopped himself when he and Jesper had been on the boat to Saint Hilde’s. He had considered telling Jesper what had really happened between him and his father, but he had decided against it. He hadn’t really wanted him nor the others to know then. But now, Wylan guessed he could try, at least.
Wylan let out a breath.
“I never told you how I got into the Barrel,” Wylan began, trying to find the words.
“I… I didn’t run away. My father,” he bit the inside of his cheek. “When my father found out Alys was pregnant, he called me here,” Wylan said, gesturing to the office they were in. “He told me I was going to some music school in Belendt. He sent two of his men with me to escort me to the school and make sure everything went fine,” said Wylan. Jesper listened, not interrupting him, waiting for Wylan’s next words. “On the boat there, I was out on the deck, when they came up to me, and then-” Wylan paused for a moment, pursing his lips. Wylan’s breathing hitched, and he found it hard to continue. “One of them started choking me. It went on for a while before they got distracted. I took the chance and jumped off the boat, and then I swam to the Barrel. My dad… he tried to kill me. That’s how I got there.” Wylan finished. Saying that his dad had tried to kill him felt weird to say. But it was what had happened.
All Jesper could feel when Wylan finished speaking was rage.
He had known that Van Eck had hurt Wylan. Badly. The man had admitted it, and Jesper could see the toll it took on Wylan. The way Wylan’s shoulders hunched when someone raised their voice, the way Wylan flinched away when someone moved towards him, even if it was one of the crows.
He had thought Wylan had run away. And Wylan’s story was still devastating like that. But this? It made him feel sick.
He shoved the rage aside. It wouldn’t help right now.
“Fuck,” Jesper muttered under his breath. “I… saints, that’s terrible,” he said. Jesper was a little unsure of what else to say. He also didn’t think that any amount of words could say just how he felt about it. It made him want to retch, and put a bullet through Van Eck’s head, and have Inej throw one of her knives at the man, and have Kaz swing at him with his cane.
“Your dad is an asshole. That… you didn’t deserve that, Wy,” said Jesper. He didn’t understand how someone could be so cruel to their own blood. The worst people in the Barrel would never even be able to fathom doing that to their family.
Wylan, along with Inej, was one of the sweeter ones among them. He still got the work done, still did the missions, but he never lost his morals. Not that he was some sweet saint-like baby, but he contrasted from others in the Barrel. Jesper wondered why it was that shit like this happened to people who had only given other people kindness. It would never fail to amaze him.
Jesper helped Wylan up from the chair, and pulled Wylan into a gentle embrace. Wylan melted into it, letting his forehead rest on Jesper’s shoulder and returning the embrace.
“Thanks,” Wylan said as they pulled back. “Anytime, Wy,” Jesper replied. A silence fell upon them for a few moments, before Jesper leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to Wylan’s lips. Wylan flushed a faint pink, and a smile spread across his face.
Maybe, with Jesper there with him, it would be a little easier.