Archive of Our Own ^beta

The war is over (the war is never over), so march on home, little soldier, and watch your back – when you talk to the dead, the dead talk back.

- need a medic? | s. r.

Vegas is on his way to the kitchen when he sees him. His father, Gun Theerapanyakul, is in the living room, looking out of the window and over the fruit trees. He startles slightly when he sees the other man there, sitting on the couch with a glass of whiskey on his hand.

He hadn’t heard him come in and thus he wasn’t prepared to face him. Though Vegas can’t say which scares him more these days; his father or how careless he has become.

Or perhaps careless isn’t the right word at all. Vegas’ mind is as sharp as ever; it’s his body that is failing him.

The doctors say he is fine. No, as fine as he can be – considering everything, after all. And yet, Vegas swears his hearing is not what it used to be. His own father managing to come into the house without him noticing is a visible proof of that.

Then there are even more serious matters like his leg so very kindly reminds him, as if he could ever forget. He leans heavily against his cane as to not fall over, his leg suddenly going numb from the knee down to his toes.

Vegas bites his tongue to stop himself from swearing aloud. That’s when his father turns away from the window and looks at him instead, his eyes cold.

“You see, I was always certain about one thing,” the other man says, his tone almost conversational. “Do you know what that is?”

“What?” Vegas finds himself asking even though he doesn’t really want to know.

His father stares at his cane and says very matter-of-factly; “That you would always disappoint me.”

That makes two of us, he thinks bitterly to himself.

The thing is though; Vegas hasn’t cared about his father’s approval in quite some time. Of course, the lack of it stings – but like an old bruise, barely remembered. Of course, he craves it, will always crave it – like a recovering addict their vice of choice.

But when he has to choose between everything else in the world, himself included, and Macau? It’s not really a choice at all. To him, his little brother’s life will always come first.

And for that life he had to make sacrifices. He learned that a long time ago.

His father’s approval? Education, university, a way to get away – friends and family of his own? Happiness, a different kind of life altogether? For the small chance that Macau could have those things instead, Vegas buried each dream he ever had with his own bare hands.

After all, it’s not a true sacrifice if it’s not freely given.

“But it’s not like you ever really cared about that, did you?” His father asks.

He thinks about little Vegas who, once upon a time, was still the only son of the Minor Family and followed in his father’s heel like over eager puppy. That boy had only ever seen a glimpse of the cruelty of the world and still had hope for things to turn out for the better. That boy was desperate to be enough for his father.

But that little boy also died a long time ago. He was the first person Vegas ever killed. His first sacrifice.

He had to get rid of the old version of himself, the kind and hopeful one, to make space for the new one. The Vegas that exists today who has something to protect and who has always been willing to do whatever it takes to keep it safe. Him safe. His little brother.

“I did, once,” he still finds himself admitting.

The other man laughs a humorless laugh. It’s an ugly sound that sends a shiver down Vegas’ spine.

“That’s even worse, you spineless bastard.”

The insult would sting a lot worse if his spine wasn’t one of the things he had willingly given away – his conscience among the many others.

Vegas did always exactly as he was told to; he danced to the tune his father played to him. He cowered in the feet of many powerful men, he did their bidding, their dirty work for them. He lied through his teeth, backstabbed anyone and everyone if it meant he got to go home to his little brother.

No, he thinks to himself, he was never spineless. He just believed no deed was above him and that everything was below his brother.

Macau would perhaps call him brave for it, for believing in something enough to sacrifice absolutely everything for it. But that’s because his little brother is good to the point of a fault and doesn’t know even half of the things Vegas has done for his sake.

And he could never be brave. Not when he could never do the one thing that would have set them truly free. He was never able to kill their father.

It’s not that he never tried. Oh, he did try. He doesn’t even know how many times he has stood by his sleeping father and held the gun to his head or the knife to his back in the dinner table. For some reason though, he could never do it.

“I should have killed you when I had the chance,” his father says, more to himself than to Vegas. Then he downs his drink and mutters; “Should have killed you and started from the beginning with the younger.”

It’s almost funny, in the twisted kind of way, Vegas thinks. The both of them regret most not having been able to kill the other. Truly – a father like a son.  

“I thought, why waste my breath on useless son when someone else can take care of you.”

“That was your mistake,” he answers rather distractedly.

His leg is tingling uncomfortably, the feeling slowly returning to the limb. He wants to sit down and rest but he does not wish to show such a sign of weakness in front of his father. Instead, he leans even more to his cane for support.

“Yes, it was,” the other agrees, following his movements intently. “You always crawled back home like a cockroach.”

Not home, he thinks. Macau, he always came back to him. He looked death eye to eye and refused to go down. He clung to life like it mattered to him. His own life didn’t and still doesn’t but Macau’s life? There is no deal he wouldn’t have been willing to make with the devil himself if it meant he could go back to his little brother.

“You know, your brother was always so different from you. He did exactly as he was told, never asked any questions. Until you got your fingers on him,” his father continues, something close to grief in his voice. “I could have made him perfect.”

A perfect weapon. A perfect little soldier. Oh, Vegas knows all about it. It’s what his father tried to do with him – it’s what he ultimately failed at.

“I made him kind instead,” he says.

He might not have done many things right in his life but he knows he did do this. He gave Macau a childhood, something he himself never had. And he fought tooth and nail to give his little brother a future too, something he thought wasn’t meant for him.

His father laughs again and then asks, his tone mocking; “And was it worth everything?

Of course, is Vegas’ first immediate thought. Of course, it was worth it. This is why he fought in the first place, for Macau to have a different kind of life.

At the same time his knee gives out under him, just a little bit. Just enough for him to lose his balance and sway on his feet. The movement sends a sudden jolt of pain through his leg and Vegas bites his tongue as he tries to stop himself from crying aloud.

That’s when the mean part of him starts whispering in his ear. All lies, of course, but the voice so like his father’s that it’s hard to ignore, the words so like his father’s actual words of; “Perhaps you were ready to die for him but you were never prepared to live with the consequences of your actions.”

This isn’t what you signed up for. Crippled for a life. Dependent on other’s – a burden. Failure.

His father smiles like he knows exactly what kind of secrets are being whispered into his ears. Like he knows they aren’t really lies at all but half truths he will never admit aloud.

Vegas’ knee aches.

“You were ready to give up the family for Macau because you wanted him out of there and the boy never wanted any of it anyways,” the other man says. “But you did want it, didn’t you? You can keep on lying to yourself but I know who you are son.”

Yes, he thinks. He did want it. Perhaps he still does, perhaps he will always want it. After all, it was supposed to be his, he was born for it. He knows that, just as he knows that his little brother was born for something else. That’s exactly why he gave it all up.

He knew the kind of lives they were meant for couldn’t possibly coexist.

And when it comes to choosing between his brother and everything else? Well, you already know the answer to that, don’t you?

“You liked the power. The violence, the bloodshed too. That’s why you followed me to the very end. You wanted it all.”

No, Vegas shakes his head but his father raises his hand and silences him.

“No, I’m right. A part of you must have enjoyed it or otherwise you would have taken that precious little brother of yours and ran.”

Before Vegas can protest, say it wouldn’t have worked out, his father adds; “you would have eventually found some kind of hole to crawl into where I wouldn’t have been able to find you.”

He thinks of home and mourns that he couldn’t offer Macau a place worth calling that sooner and then hates himself for it because it’s not exactly true.

They could have ran away so much sooner. They could have left it all behind a long time ago but Vegas always put it off, said it wasn’t safe enough, they weren’t prepared enough. Not only the Minor Family but Main Family would have come after them, hunted them to the ends of the world.

It’s true, they would have come for them. But it wasn’t a reason to not go. Vegas would have figured out, found a way. He always did.

He turns his gaze away from his father and looks around the room. A place like this with no violence and danger waiting around a corner. Safe and sound. This is what his little brother always deserved.

Expect better – as their father still managed to track them down. Vegas always knew a day like this would come.

It was inevitable. After all, happy endings are something that were never meant for him.

“You can play house all you want but it will never change the truth. It’s killing you inside that Kinn’s lapdog is now sitting on the throne that was always meant for you.”

He says nothing because it’s the truth.

Vegas will never regret anything he ever did for his brother’s sake, apart from this one thing. He might have done things that sabotaged the Minor Family but that was always his own choice, unlike Porsche’s incompetence. He is glad to be far away and unable to witness the ruins of his legacy.

The Minor Family was supposed to live and die with him.

“I knew you would never lead the family. You were never good enough,” his father says, shaking his head. “You failed, just like I always knew you would.”

It stings because he did see himself leading the Minor Family, until the very end. He thought that if he couldn’t take Macau away, he could at least become the new leader of the family. That way he could change things, be a different kind of leader.

A foolish dream, Vegas knows.

But it was his home, his family; the people who lived alongside him. He wanted better for them – all of them.

“More than that, it’s killing you because somewhere deep down you know, your little brother wouldn’t have failed,” his father says, mean as ever, and then laughs.

“Hia? Where are you?” Macau calls him somewhere close by and Vegas turns around.

He does it too fast and loses his balance but his brother is there. The other catches him by the arm and steadies him before he can fall. His cane clatters uselessly to the floor.

“Are you alright?” His brother asks and looks at him intently. The other bends down to pick his cane and then offers it to him, never letting go of his arm. “Why are you just standing here?”

Vegas turns to look over his shoulder and just blinks.

Their father is gone.

The place he sat on the couch is empty and untouched. His glass of whiskey gone. It’s like he had never been there at all in the first place.

“Vegas?” Macau asks again, sounding more concerned than before.

“I’m fine,” he breaths out. “Just… just lost my footing for a bit.”

Of course, their father is gone. He is dead, has been for some time already. Buried in a grave no one will ever visit. Gone. Forgotten and meaningless. Gone.

Gone.

“Are you sure?” Macau asks, doubtful.

“Yes,” he answers, finally taking the offered cane. “I’m okay, don’t worry ‘Cau.”

“If you say so,” his little brother says in a tone that suggests he does not believe Vegas at all and it’s followed by his most unimpressed look.

“Have I ever been not fine?”

The question makes Macau burst into a surprised laughter. Then he says softly; “Hia, I don’t think you have ever in your life been actually fine.”

Vegas shakes his head, pulling the other to his side and giving him a half hug. His brother rests his head on his shoulder, hugging him tightly back.

“Maybe not, but I am now,” he murmurs into the boy’s hair.

Macau says something that sounds awfully a lot like disagreement but the words are spoken against his shoulder and mumbled beyond actual recognition. They stay like that for a while, just holding each other.

Vegas wonders when the other got so tall, easily leaning against his shoulder now. The thought brings tears into his eyes which he stubbornly swallows back down immediately. He will not have his own little brother making fun of him for crying, thank you very much.

Still, it’s nice. This is all he ever really wanted, his brother growing up and here they are now. Both of them nearly as tall.

“Oh,” Macau suddenly says, looking up. “Dinner is ready. That’s why I was looking for you.”

“And here I thought you just wanted to see me,” Vegas sighs dramatically.

Instead of answering with a joke of his own and a punch on his arm, Macau hugs him again. Tighter this time. Then he whispers, barely loud enough for him to hear; “you are my brother. I always want to see you.”

It breaks his heart, just a little, to hear that.

For so many years they lived each day like it was their last, held onto each other just a little tighter because they could never be too sure it really wasn’t the last time they would see each other. A life like that, it leaves its mark.

He finds himself swallowing back his tears back once more and hugs his brother. His whole world.

When he no longer feels like crying any more, he asks; “you said something about dinner?”

“Yeah, I did, let’s go to the table,” Macau answers, sounding a suspiciously lot like he is trying to not cry as well. 

“Does your leg hurt?” The other continues. “Let me help you.”

And Vegas lets him because he knows it will make his brother feel better.

He rests his arm on the boy’s shoulder while the other sneaks his own around his waist. He won’t say it but he is grateful for the extra support on addition to his cane. His knee feels weak from all the standing.

They make their way to the dining room slowly.

Right before they leave the living room behind, Vegas takes one last look at the couch. No sign of the ghost of their father.

In the dining room Pete jumps to his feet as soon as he sees them and circles the table to come help him as well. Vegas grits his teeth and doesn’t say a word, instead silently accepting the help.

Once he is finally seated, Pete smiles and presses a soft kiss to his lips. Then he proceeds to turn to Macau and asks; “is he alright?”

“Why are you asking him? I am literally right here.”

“Oh darling, you lie more than you breathe,” Pete’s grandmother says as she comes from the kitchen, carrying a steaming pot of something undoubtedly delicious. “Your brother is too good for that.”

Macau blushes at that and hurries to take the pot from her hands and then sets it carefully on the table. Pete’s grandmother calls him a good boy for his trouble and kisses him on the cheek as a thank you before sitting down herself.

Then she also asks, “Macau, how is your brother? He looks a bit pale today.”

“He says he is fine,” his brother answers as he sits down next to him.

“But you don’t believe him,” she concludes, pointing at the last empty chair and telling Pete to sit down before the food gets cold.

Pete does as he is told but not before pressing another soft kiss to Vegas’ lips. It does distract him for a moment but as soon as the other man is on the other side of the table, he groans.

“You are all bullying me.”

“No, Vegas,” Pete answers, laughing fondly. “We are just taking care of you.”

 “And god help us with that, you are certainly not making it easy. Even when you know these two would be completely lost without you here,” Pete’s grandmother adds.

“Grandma–,” Pete starts but is promptly silenced by one look from the woman.

“What? Don’t you try telling me I am not right. I thought I would have to bury you too if he never woke up,” she says, shaking her head.

For a moment no one says anything.

Then she eventually sighs and pushes the pot closer to Vegas. “You need to eat, get some color back on those cheeks. You look like you saw a ghost.”

He was dutifully doing as he was told to but suddenly freezes at the last words. Oh, how right she is. Every time he is alone, his dead father’s ghost comes back to haunt him. In those moments he always seems to forget that the other is long dead and thus unable to harm him or anyone else ever again.

And in dreams too, every time Vegas closes his eyes it’s his father who he sees. He wonders if he will ever truly be free of him.

Perhaps not, he thinks. Perhaps this is his punishment for all the sins he has committed, for living – even though he wasn’t supposed to. He thinks, he is alright with that.  

“Vegas?” Pete says and he blinks, only to find three concerned pairs of eyes staring at him.

“Are you really alright?” His brother asks, his brows furrowed. “Is it your leg? Did you skip your pain medication again?

“No, don’t worry. I took it,” he answers.

Pete and his grandmother both continue to stare at him, both looking extremely doubtful. Like that they look eerily similar, their features exact copy of each other. Vegas worries all of a sudden who he resembles like that. His father? His mother who he barely remembers? Or his grandparents who he never got to meet?

He glances at Macau. Whose features does he carry?

His brother looks back at him. And he looks– Oh. Now that Vegas is really looking, it’s obvious. His cheekbones, his eyes, even the arch of his eyebrows. Macau is softer, gentler, in every way but he looks undoubtedly like him.

It is a relief.

If his brother resembles him, without even a glimpse of their parents on his face, then there can’t be much of them on Vegas’ either. He doesn’t think he could have ever looked at himself in the mirror again if it meant seeing his father even there.

“Hia, are you sure everything is okay?” Macau asks.

“I took my medication,” he says and he did take it. Well, half of it. He has decided the other’s do not need to know that fine little detail. “I really am fine.”

And to his own surprise, he truly means it this time.

He failed and he lost the Minor Family, lost everything. No, that’s not true. He didn’t lose anything. He willingly gave it all up. And even if he could do everything all over again, start from the very beginning, he thinks he would still make the same choices.

Yes, he would. For his little brother.

Nothing else has ever mattered to Vegas expect Macau and his safety, his happiness. His life.

He wouldn’t risk that by trying to change things. And besides, the choices he made eventually led him to this very moment. A place worth calling home, a full dining table and smile on his brother’s face. And Pete.

Even after everything, life gave him Pete. He hopes he can keep him too, grow old and grey beside him.

Yes, Vegas lost everything. He failed, just like his father said and always knew he would. But to him, it does not matter.

And perhaps his father’s ghost was right, maybe Macau wouldn’t have failed like he did. Maybe he could have been the perfect little soldier their father wanted and ensured the survival of the Minor Family.

But to Vegas, that life and that family is worth nothing. His little brother would have been unhappy in it and the other does not deserve that kind of life. No, Macau is a good kid who deserves good things.  

A life like this.

Macau is happy and free – his biggest worry being whether Vegas took his medication or not. This is worth everything to him. And for this he would do it all over again, suffer tenfold if it came to that.

He thinks that perhaps the Vegas he killed all those years ago would have cared, would have mourned the family and everything lost with it. That boy was soft, gullible and unready for the world he lived in but what he did have was ambition which is a dangerous combination.

It was his younger self who promised their mother to always look after his brother. And he did, the best he could. Which wasn’t very well at all because that boy thought he could do it without disappointing their father.

It must be for the best that he has been long buried next to all the dreams he ever had.

Though a part of him hopes his younger self can forgive him, so that he can forgive him in return. That foolish boy would have sacrificed everything for father’s approval. And Vegas feared that for him, everything would include Macau.

So, he had to go.

Even when he knows that had he lived, he would have grown up to be exactly what their father wanted him to be. He would have been perfect.

That truth has haunted Vegas most of his life, just like his dead father haunts him now. He could have had it all – just not his little brother.

He hopes that just like he had the strength to let everything go, his younger self will have the strength to let this go. He hopes the boy rests easy. (Perhaps next to their mother. He hopes he found her in the afterlife and told her not to worry, that this Vegas will take care of her children until the very end.)

Vegas looks at his brother who is currently teaming up with Pete’s grandmother against her own grandchild to bully him for his ability to cause nothing but a disaster in the kitchen.

To defend his – boyfriend? lover? they haven’t really talked about that – honor, Vegas is a quick to point out that Macau himself doesn’t even know how to turn the stove on. Which might be for the better, if he is completely honest, as the other would undoubtedly forget to turn it off and burn down the whole house.

Pete’s grandmother counters that it’s alright. Macau is still a child; he has time to learn whereas his grandson is a fully grown man.

She makes a valid point and Vegas smoothly switches sides.

Pete points each of them with his spoon threateningly, solemnly promises to one day show them how he is the best chef this kitchen has ever seen and then bursts into a laughter.

No, Vegas thinks quietly to himself. Most of all, he hopes his younger self will eventually understand that everything he did, was also for his sake. And that losing the Minor Family truly doesn’t matter. Because in the end he has made himself another family.

A better one.

The house seems to circle around you slowly. I circle around you, a wild animal near a fire.
I remember I would kill for you. I remind myself it won’t be necessary.

- Sharon Olds, Portrait of a Daughter