AN
LOOK AT THE BEAUTIFUL TRAILER MY ZAIN BBY MADE ME. WATCH IT. valuables invaluable
Rina and Asher are my BROTP.
I have a lot of OTPs in this book, but I think you might develop a new one in this chapter. Maybe.
*okay, so Elijah is inspired by Peter Hale, my bby, so he's creepy. But a hot creepy. Do you understand?*

Asher is tapping his fingers on the kitchen counter in impatience. The dirty t-shirt he had been wearing early this morning had been forced off him by his father. Sebastian had shoved him into a powder blue, button-up shirt and khakis, before telling him to shave off his peach fuzz.

"Rina coming?" Sebastian asked him, not looking up from the salad he's tossing. It's a Bravermen family recipe, with cheese and sliced apples and grapes, just a dash of vinegar, and if anyone happened to ask, homemade caesar dressing.

"Rina's coming?" Oliver looked up from where he sat on the kitchen table, playing War with the old deck of cards Asher gave him for his birthday four years ago. "Thank God, someone who intimidates Johnny boy," he smiles at Chrissy, who is more than agitated at her waning pile of the deck.

"Praise Jesus," Chrissy tells her boyfriend, before flipping over the card on the top of her stack. Oliver groans, which means he couldn't top the king of hearts she slapped on the table.

"Guys," Sebastian warns, low in his tone. Because, even if he's John's step-father, he shouldn't let his offspring and co. make fun of the man. Whether he deserves it or not. "He's your brother."

"And an asshole," Oliver tells him, mouth off kilter as always.

"Retweet," Chrissy says beneath her glass of sweet tea Asher had begged her to make- she happened to be blessed in the art of making tea. Damned if it's the middle of winter, anyone in their right mind would still drink Chrissy's sweet tea, even if it was below freezing.

"Isn't blood supposed to be thick?" Sebastian groaned, staring at his two boys before they rolled their eyes.

"Blood can be watered down, dad," Oliver told him with a solemn expression. Oliver, out of the Bravermen men, hated John Reynolds the most. He grew up watching John refuse to give respect to Sebastian and heard him whisper horror stories about their father to classmates, only adding even more urban legends to Sebastian's honest name. If it had only stopped there, possibly he wouldn't hold such a grudge against his half-brother, but unfortunately, he liked to pick on Asher.

"You're something, Ollie," Sebastian told his eldest, biological son, but he didn't correct him nor scold.

"Aw, shucks, pa. What a complimen-"

Their voices were interrupted by the loud knocking on the front door, and without half as much looking back, Asher flew at the chance to get away from his family's light banter.

The television was still on, showing the last ten minutes of X-Men: Origins; Asher turned it off. If he let Rina catch the movie, she'd be on his couch, weeping into pillows as she whispered-screamed 'YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE BY MY SIDE, SAYS ERIK. CHARLES, PLEASE. CHARLES, I UNDERSTAND ERIK IS A DOUCHNOZZLE, BUT LOVE.'

(They may spend every X-Men premiere dressed up as Professor X and Magneto, lined up at midnight for the first showing at the next town over's theatre.)

After turning it off, Asher opens the door with a cool smile and a joke half off of his tongue before he realizes the person in his doorway isn't the pretty face of his best friend.

"Why the hell are you here?" Asher is more puzzled than angry, but staring at Elijah is more than just confusing. He doesn't look right, standing beneath the dark border of the Bravermen's porch.

Without a second's notice, Asher is being shoved into the outside wall beside his home's door. His hands are against Elijah's chest, pushing at the sudden assault as he watches the bright eyes of his friend's brother study him, almost confused- hell, possibly dazed.

"What the hell?" Asher shouts, kicking up his legs with utter confusion. He's never felt unsafe around Elijah, honestly- a bit creeped out at times, but Elijah was always just the mean, selfish, older brother that happened to harbor himself near all of Asher's horrible childhood experiences.

"Asher, listen good," Elijah's knuckles are deep in his nice shirt- and damn. Sebastian is going to be pissed at the wrinkles that are being to inundate the crisp fabric. "You're a good kid," he assures him in a cool voice that doesn't match his actions. "But, pretty boy, I want you to stay away from my brother- understand?"

"What? The fuck are you talking about?" Asher pushed at his shoulders, grabbing ahold of the plaid flannel between his fingers and growling at the sudden onslaught of anger that has overcome him. He's still half-dazed at what's going on.

"You, you and Rina- and all the others," Elijah says, and maybe there is something in his eyes, maybe it's feigning regret or it's real- but Asher doesn't catch it- and he doesn't care. He doesn't care, because there are two boys on the Bravermen porch, both of their jaws ticking, and their eyebrows knitting into an expression of riled disbelief.

"All the others?" Asher asks, voice icy cold as he glares at Elijah with a finite fear at the edges of his tear-duct. The world around him has just imploded, he's almost positive Tommy is dead, and the fact that Elijah even has the audacity to speak to him with nothing but condolences is almost unbearably sad. "What the hell do you mean the others?"

"The Marked. Don't you, or any of 'em, dare wrap Tyler in this mess of yours," Elijah grits through white teeth. And, oh- how badly Asher wants to scrape his knuckles bloody through that pretty mouth of his. He wants his fist to crawl down the elder boy's throat, wrap around the pearls of his spine, and rip his body apart with this irrational feeling of anger he has never been cursed with before.

"Are you crazy, Elijah? You drunk? Or are you playing some stupid joke on me?" Asher says, feeling the man's fingers tighten in his shirt, ripping streams of thread. He knows he isn't drunk, Elijah doesn't scream and yell, he stays quiet, solemn in a corner or anything that offers isolation, like he's seen more wars than anyone in Hollow Grove have the capacity to even dream of.

"You're getting in the mix with a Hale boy, Asher," Elijah whispers. He smiles at the teenager, something the young Bravermen can't even begin to understand is smeared over that lopsided grin.

"Thane? You came to threaten me, in my home, to tell me about that psycho?" Asher pulls his hands around the collar of Elijah's flannel, pulling the fabric taut.

"You stay away from Thane, or stay away from Tyler," Elijah threatened, laced with the most sincerity Asher has ever heard strain through his deep voice.

"Why the hell do you even give a rat's ass about Tyler? I'm more of a brother to him than you'll ever be," Asher shouted- finally, he fucking shouted. He felt loose, ready to either melt into a puddle on the cold porch or run eighty miles without a stop for a breath. Adrenaline. It was all adrenaline, and Asher liked it.

"It's Thane or Tyler," Elijah whispered again.

"It's none of your business," Asher sneers to him, and he feels the hands of Elijah suddenly move from his collar to his jaw, fingers whispering harsh words to his skin as Elijah's nails scrape the teenager's chin.

"Your business," Elijah promises to him. "Is my business."

"Since the fuck when?" Asher growled out.

"Since this," Elijah tapped the pad of his pointer-finger to the Mark that ripped his skin asunder. His touch was freezing on Asher's skin, his hands were too close to his throat, and Elijah's breath was splaying on his tinged-pink cheeks.

He had enough of the abuse.

Asher was tired of being pushed up against walls, having demands shoved down his throat- all of it. In the span of three days, it felt like his mind was ready to implode from all of it. All of this shit.

He loosens his grasp in Elijah's flannel, and socks his fist into the jerk's face.

Instantaneously, Elijah shouts more in surprise than fear- flinched out of pure disbelief than pain, and Asher's knuckles scream with the sudden pain of inflicting harm to another. Both boys stumble away from each other until they find their way back to their corner, this time Asher is cradling his fist; Elijah is pissed, and it isn't a good look on his handsome face.

"Fuck, pretty boy," Elijah seethes, anger evident in the way he wraps his only free hand into Asher's shirt collar. "You little-"

"What the hell is going on?" Oliver is standing on the porch, leash in his hand, with Bowser attached to it. He's buried beneath his winter coat, but his eyes are wide in wonder.

He notices the blood. The drip of it coming from his littler brother's knuckles, to the source- where Elijah is shoving his palm over his face in attempt to hide the crimson mess.

"Ollie, s'alright," Asher begins, because, while it is likely Elijah could own his ass any day, Oliver was thick with muscles and had two defaults: to act human or to act like an animal.

Oliver drops Bowser's leash, taking the freedom of both hands to pry Elijah away from his brother by the back of his shirt. Asher hears the rip of thread, and it's only followed by the thudding of Elijah's body being forced onto the porch's cold wooden floor.

"Bitch thinks he can fuck with my brother?" And suddenly, it's only Oliver throwing back his fist, using Elijah as a canvas for his knuckles. The two men are tumbling, knees crashing into stomach, low blows to any place either can reach.

Asher doesn't feel like he can breathe, move, speak. It's been a maximum of thirty seconds, but Asher's blood vessels are singing to him that it's been hours. That one of them is going to die. That Oliver is beating Elijah to death, or Elijah is beating Oliver to death. His throat tightens, and the pain in his knuckles only feel like pricked kisses.

The teenager sinks to the side of his house, shirt itching up his back as his head thuds in between his knees. He can't breathe, but at the same time he can. He wants to scream, but he's scared what will come out. He thinks he can move, but every inch of his body feels glued to the freezing board of the porch.

He feels hands wrapping around his shoulders- and maybe if he hadn't absolutely refused to open his eyes, he'd have known it was Rina. Maybe he would've realized he was screaming, shouting- ripping the entire neighborhood apart with his gasping hymn. Maybe he would've heard Bowser barking. Maybe he would've seen Sebastian and Chrissy ripping the two boys apart feet away from him.

"C'mon, Asher," Rina is shouting over his own screaming- desperately trying to get to that place that no one except Asher knows the way to. "Asher, listen," Rina yells, her voice is hoarse, the air spitting out of her mouth is a foggy cloud of warmth. "Asher, come back to me, come on, come back to me."

Asher breathes in, breathes in and begins to shout again, his eyes unfocused on Rina. There is a general blob in front of him, of a red sweater and black gloves clutching desperately to either side of his face. His chest hurts, he can't get enough oxygen because his entire body is shaking, trembling, being ripped asund-

The slap almost gives him whiplash, but it wakes him up. His cheek is burning with the sharp pain that's climbing up his face, but the voice of Rina drags him away rom the itching pain to the static of reality.

"Yeah," Rina whispers, staring at him through thick eyelashes. "Yeah, Asher. Asher, I got you."

She's straddling his legs, denim jeans rough against his khakis. He can feel her thighs, they're a comforting weight to keep him down on Earth.

He doesn't know why she shoves his face into her neck until he feels his tears sopping her nice sweater.

*

Oliver is sitting on the counter of Asher's bathroom, Chrissy in front of him as she wraps a bandage around his bruised knuckles. There is a silence between the four kids in the two connected room.

Asher is content, laying on his bed with his face pushed into the pillow as he flushes out all of the noises that are invading his senses. Rina is sitting on Oliver's inflated mattress, re-dialing Tyler for the twentieth time, the past nineteen calls being left to the voicemail of their friend.

"Ash, c'mon in here, lemme look at your hand," Chrissy's voice is soft. Dinner was canceled. They feasted on pulled pork with plastic plates and ate in uncomfortable silence in the living room, watching the X-Men marathon- they were all too somber to even flinch at the chick-flick moments, including Rina.

He only puts his hand above him, eyes still closed as he hears Chrissy huff and finally walk over to him. Oliver seems to follow, because the other side of his mattress is suddenly filled with his brother.

She stares at it with careful eyes, her older brother was a nurse, and on many occasions he had instructed her how to treat minor injuries.

She presses on the skin beneath his scraped knuckles. "Does that hurt?" She asks him, voice serious as she watches the reaction of the teenager.

There is only a tiny prick of pain. "One to ten, I'm a two at most."

"This?" Her fingers go up an inch. It feels the same. Just dulled pain.

"Nothing," Asher tells her, and feels Chrissy's hands leave his for just a moment, before she's applying smelly ointment that Sebastian had hidden deep within the medicine pantry. It's all over Oliver, and now, he understands why his older brother was thrashing as she applied it.

"Holy burning," Asher squeaks out, and the grunt from Oliver sounds like an agreement.

"You'll thank me in the morning," she promises him, and takes the last of the cotton pads from the first-aid kit to wrap securely around his knuckles. The ointment forces the cotton to weakly stick, and white, medical tape is followed quickly behind the treatment.

"If Tyler doesn't answer me, I'll drive to his damn house myself," Rina curses from the inflated bed. She's glaring at her phone in anger, her stare so strong that Asher believes she's trying to will the phone to call Tyler just with her eyes.

"No, you won't," Asher and Oliver ring at the same time.

"He's crazy," Oliver growled out, staring at Rina as if she had just told him she had seen pigs fly. "You're not going anywhere near Elijah--"

"Cause I'm a girl?" Rina questions, eyebrows knitting into an expression that almost dares Oliver.

"Hell no, you can kick ass either way- but because, as stated before, Elijah is insane," the eldest Bravermen tells her with eyes round in disbelief. "That guy is all kinds of bat-fucking-shit crazy."

"Taser beats psychopath," Rina replies, and she reaches into her purse, where a bedazzled taser-gun is just waiting to let itself shine.

"Gun beats taser," Chrissy says. She glances from Asher's knuckles to Rina, and she seems satisfied with the sudden dispirited not-so-much-ass-kicking expression Rina is wearing.

"It is a bad idea," Asher backs up Chrissy, frowning. "He told me- you know, he told me that all of us, Marked, we have to stay away from Tyler or-"

"So, you're feeding into what he wants now?" Rina almost shouts, her fist is tight around her smartphone. Those two umber eyes of hers are shot red with emotion, half anger, half disappointment.

"No," Asher replies back. "God, no. Rina, he drew blood tonight- he's unstable; c'mon, now, don't twist words."

"Don't twist words?" Rina shook her head. "Fine, fine. I'll pick you up tomorrow morning, since apparently Tyler's brother suddenly has us at the top of his hit list- don't think he'll be driving anywhere near you 'cept over you."

"Rina, it's only ten, don't- c'mon, don't-" Asher begins, he's on the verge of leaping up to his feet, to catch her before she runs out of his bedroom, but she's already gone in a matter of a blink.

His words dry out on his tongue.

Taser beats psychopath. Gun beats taser.

What beats gun?

*

The window is propped open.

Asher huffs, turning around in his mess of blankets to escape from the assaulting cold air. Oliver is the maybe-culprit. He always had a thing for stuffy rooms, and with two boys, it's plausible their two bodies had created an uncomfortable, sticky atmosphere.

Oliver is dead to the world, arms wrapped around his pillow like it's Chrissy, and Asher almost thinks it's charming- if it wasn't two in the morning. Bowser, the traitor, is asleep at his brother's feet, the mutt making himself comfortable on the floor mattress.

For a second, it feels comfortable. Something deep within Asher burns with nostalgia. Whispers of childhood, where Oliver finding his way to Asher's room to yank him out of nightmares, creep into his thoughts. He hates nostalgia. He hates that he's old enough to have it. Something about growing up, spending an entirety of eighteen years in Hollow Grove, scares the hell out of him.

He almost reaches to Oliver to wake him up, to share this memory of pubescence with his brother, until he finds his sleep-blurred eyes level to two beady irises.

Asher freezes. Where his hand was going en route to his brother's shoulder, it falls limp by his side, as if he had just been yanked away from sleep and been viscously pulled back into it.

He shuts his eyes- because that's his reaction. That the most pragmatic thing he can think up as of now. He doesn't scream for help. He doesn't reach for the butterfly knife beneath his pillow. He doesn't even turn on the lamp beside him.

Ignoring the problem has always worked for him, why will it fail now?

He grits his teeth, wills to let his heartbeat slow down because it may crash out of his chest in attempt to run away with his common sense.

And keeps his eyes shut.

There is breathing, so light that Asher believes he can't hear it himself. Maybe he's hallucinating. Maybe this is a vivid dream. A nightmare caused by Elijah's sudden outburst?

It moves.

Whatever it is.

And then it stops, above Asher- it's presence so heavy that he can't even flinch out of pure reaction.

Something hot lands on his face, it sets his cheek on fire with warmth- inhumanly hot. He thinks he'll be scorched, but it pulls away, before his mattress dips and whatever is connected to the red irises leans onto Asher. There is hot breath, in the quiet of Asher's room, there is hot breath and something pricking at his wrist.

Its breath travels from his cheeks to his chin, until it finds its destination in the ridged scar. The Mark.

Asher doesn't mean to.

He doesn't know why he does it.

He bares his neck.

*

Asher's tan chinos are hardly above his knees when Rina crashes into the bedroom. She doesn't bother to shield her eyes, even if Oliver is dead to the world in nothing but his boxers. His arms are thrown haphazardly around Bowser, tucking in the dog closer to him.

"Should've left damn five minutes ago!" Rina declares, her eyes scanning her smartphone as she checked the time- ten until eight. "Come on," she continues. The teenager throws a green sweater in the direction of the young Bravermen, and Asher takes it, shrugging it over his head as he ran for his bathroom to his toothbrush.

"C'mon, ain't no one going to notice, anyways," Rina calls from his bedroom. There are sounds, thuds coming from Rina's shoes, making it obvious that she's searching for his chelsea boots. "Anytime, now," she continues, jumping over Oliver's mattress to stare at Asher through the connecting bathroom.

He's scrubbing at his teeth, white-knuckling his toothbrush as he watched his own reflection. He imagines if he had more hair than a buzzcut, dark curls of it would be twisted into an unfashionable mess. There are dark, purple bags beneath his amber eyes, making his skin seem deathly pale.

Asher watches the way the toothbrush moves, back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. He doesn't think of the pain that's tinging his gums, the tiny prickles that are shooting spines of minty harm in his mouth. He focuses on the quipping movements, thinks of it as a mantra to a sympathy he doesn't know the words to- because Asher, Asher doesn't want to think of the thing that he had bared his neck to.

So, he'll focus on the toothbrush.

Back and forth, back and fort-

"Asher, I'm serious," Rina frowns by the doorway, fumbling with the handful of whatever it is in her hands.

Asher turns to her; he can taste the blood in his mouth.

"Yeah," he whispers through a mouth full of metallic-tinged, minty-tasting toothpaste. "Yeah, I know," the teenager assures her, spitting out into the sink. He doesn't look at the remnants of his mourning routine, only turning on the hot water for a brief three seconds until Rina passes his shoes, already hanging in the air, waiting for the teenager to slip them on.

He turned to exit the bathroom, until he finds himself staring at the leather jacket in Rina's hand.

"Rina?" Asher whispers, unsure. His eyebrows go up in wonder, asking her silently why she stood there, with Thane's jacket flush against her chest in a vise-tight grasp. The steps on the cracked tile belong to the Bravermen as he takes the pile of leather that's abruptly shoved into his chest, as if Rina had just released she was pressing a disease-ridden rag flush to her skin.

"I had a weird dream, alright," Rina confessed into the silent air of the bathroom, her eyes stay on the jacket. There is something deep, something unrequited, in her voice, low as it echoes through the tiny bathroom.

"Weird like how?" Asher asks, but complies to the demand of Rina. He slips the leather jacket over his shoulders and absolutely drowns in the warm fabric, cursing Thane Hale and his overbearing attitude.

"Weird like I don't wanna talk about it," she whispered to him.

Asher doesn't say anything else, he only zips up the jacket until every last tooth is tucked together.

AN

So, character growth, I believe. With Elijah, and Rina, and Asher.
More Thane next chapter I promise. I'm sorry this isn't just smut, and love, and romance. I just want it to be like a real book, and y'know, plot usually happens within a real book.

Comments appreciated. PLEASE.
I love Ollie by the way, he's so protective of our Asher bby.
(And damn, Asher got a little fiesty.)