Chapter Text
Dove, despite her name, had never flown before. Even as she flew over the fence, or flew through the forest to that great oak Thomas loved so much, she wasn't really flying.
Before she had been incandescent, prepared to ensure Thomas and Andrew new that they absolutely would not be leaving her. Leaves and twigs quailed before her wake of furious destruction even as Thomas —equally pissed— shouted at her from behind.
"Dove! Dove! DOVE!". She didn't slow, didn't turn, didn't bother. Unfortunately, Thomas was nothing if not insistent, perhaps that's why they got on so well even when other thought they shouldn't.
"Dove he's a PERSON! Not your PROPERTY!" Thomas shrieked, as though he hasn't said it so many times before. He's wrong though, of course. Dove knows that Andrew isn't hers to control, but he is her twin, and for all their closeness, and all that she's done to help him over the years with next to nothing in return? This is the least he can do for her.
The oak stands tall and proud infront of her, majestic in it's age. Dove silently apologises to it when her shoes dig into the bark as she propels herself upwards in its branches. They shiver with her weight, but provide an easy ladder and Dove finds herself five metres up before Thomas even reaches the base.
Apparently he has some tact, since he stays on the ground to watch —or yell at her, it's hard to tell— and gives her some space to breathe.
"Dove you know he likes me back, your getting worked up over nothing!".
He has always been rash and perhaps foolish at times, usually to the Perrault twins benefit and his detriment. This time he is a pure fool.
Even if Andrew likes him back can he not see how he is rejecting Dove? Can't he see, that in choosing to like—and maybe even love—Andrew he's choosing her twin over Dove herself? They have always kept a perfect balance in their trio, a feat Dove knows not many others can claim, and yet Thomas fucking Rye the entitled bastard is willing to throw all of that away just because he has a little crush on her brother?
Anyone else, she thinks, he can have anyone else, just not my brother.
***
Thomas loved the forest. He breathed it. It was up there among his favourite things.
To Thomas, it would be easy —well maybe not easy— to have everything. He could have Dove as his best friend and honorary sister, Andrew as his beautiful boyfriend that he got to kiss very day, and they could all go on walks through the forest, or Australian bushland. It would be amazing, he could make it a reality.
Of course, it's not an easy thing to ask out your crush who your pretty sure your in love with, especially when that crush is Andrew Perrault. It certainly doesn't help when that crush's sister, who also happens to be your best friend, is vehemently opposed to the idea, and has literally scaled a giant tree —your giant tree— to get away from you.
"DOVE! DOVE! DOVE!".
She continues her strategy of ignoring him. And she calls him immature.
"DOVE LISTEN TO ME! YOU CANT HIDE UP THAT TREE FOREVER!"
Thomas thinks about half an hour ago, when he was looking at Andrew's lips. Perfectly shaped with a little paint smear in the corner. The afternoon sun had made him glow in a way Thomas hadn't taken before no matter how long he'd stared before.
Thomas had nearly kissed him then and there, itchy from the grass and all, a testament to how much he wanted. And boy did he want, he wanted to press Andrew down, seal his lips against his, tug on his fluffy blond hair, pull his blazer off and unbutto-
"Go AWAY THOMAS" Dove shrieked from where she perched, now ten metres up.
Right. Dove.
He loved Dove, truly. The way one loves a sister and he considered her a sister in many ways. Without her he would have flunked straight out of Wickwood and been stuck at some other school, away from the twins, his heart.
Like all siblings, however, they fought like there was no love between them. Dove would spit venom with that silver tongue of hers at the slightest provocation, and Thomas would return fire with jagged and blunt insults designed for pain and nothing else. They would snap and dig in claws until something made someone give —a bell signifying class or food, somebody interrupting, Andrew showing up— and all would return to as it was before.
Thomas knows Andrew doesn't understand, something about his unique bond with Dove and all his worries, how they can leave arguments hanging in the air like a bruising wound, but Thomas wouldn't agree, it's not a bruising wound it's just how their friendship works.
This is something he can't let go, an argument that will bruise and fester into something more if he leaves it, maybe even resentment. Thomas refuses to let that happen.
"Dove get down from there and talk to me! Actually talk to me!".
He tries again and again with no response other than the birds in the trees. Dove is strong in her resolve, always has been. He knew before chasing her this way that it was hopeless, that her stubbornness and spite would be enough to fuel a fighter jet. The force that had convinced him to follow her was quickly being drowned out by his frustration.
Like a band about to break, Thomas tries one final time to get her attention.
"Is the only reason you want me to stay silent because you know he'll chose me?".
He didn't yell it this time, he doesn't need to. It was a cruelty, a lie, Andrew would never chose this broken, violent boy over his sister, his twin who he cherishes so deeply. He knows, but clearly Dove doesn't.
Her weight shift fast as her head snaps down, fire in her eyes and hurt on her face. Thomas hasn't seen her genuinely hurt in along time, and it does pain him to see it even as he feels sadistic satisfaction for his victory. Dove still says nothing, but at least she's looking at him.
"Do you really believe that? Well, Dove? Do you?".
Silence.
And then, not. But it wasn't Dove who spoke.
It was the tree, the great oak whose sanctuary they'd defiled, and like all arguments needed an outside interruption to end.
Crack.
***
Dove felt like she was doing a good job of ignoring Thomas, even when he punched and kicked her with his words Is the only reason you want me to stay silent because you know he'll chose me? Do you really believe that? Well, Dove? Do you?
Yes. She did believe. She believed that one day Andrew would be sick of her bossiness, of her spreadsheets and demands and care, and that he would run off with his wild boy, leaving her as the tragic backstory, existing only in memory.
Crack
Dove wondered, briefly, what it would be like to be a memory. She doesn't think she care, she'd be dead obviously, but Dove doesn't like the idea of it now.
She also wondered in the darkness of night, when the pressure of perfection and expectation faded to inky blackness, and she laid in this tree with her boys, or on the roof of the garden sheds, what it would feel like to fly. Weightless, free and feathered, just like her namesakes.
People don't fly, though, they fall.
Down.
And down.
And down.
Wind rushed, scenery blurred, support vanished. Dove heard a scream, whether her own or Thomas's she wasn't sure. The world was tilting and spinning for what felt like an age until-
Pain.
Pain in her arms, pain in her legs, her torso, her head her neck. Something beneath her had broken the worst of the fall, arms sheilded her head from the rocks below. Something crashed noisely against the grounded nearby and somebody cried out. Dove wasn't sure, the world was a haze, and she felt something warm and slick run down one of her legs.
The thing that broker her fall—Thomas?— coughs once or twice before groaning.
"Dove, Dove are you alright?, Dove say something! Shit! Shit! Dove is that blood? Dove!" Panic laces Thomas's voice as he tries to check over her injuries. There's too much pain and she's so dizzy she doesn't think she could talk if she wanted to.
Thomas shifts beneath her, and starts writhing around on the floor, which causes more pain to lance up through her leg. It's like molten metal being poured into her bloodstream and nervous system, like thorns growing on her veins. Another intense wave of pain as he moves and she passes out.
***
Panic. That's all Thomas can to. Rocks jab into his aching back, blood seeps into his pants from Dove's leg, and he's still panicking to much to grab his goddam phone!
At some point Dove goes limp which really is. Not. Helping. Dove. And he finally fishes the cell out of his pocket.
Thomas's hands are shaking as he tries to call Andrew, more the fool him for not thinking to get at least one adults number in his phone.
Ring
More blood, its a slow drip, slow enough that Dove bleeding out form it isn't a concern to him, but how many internal injuries does she have, is she already dead? Did his arguing with Dove cause this?
Ring
"Common pick up pick up pick up" Thomas chants at a vacant Andrew. More blood. His? Now that the initial shock is wearing off he can feel the jabbing pain in his back from the rock. It's right below where Dove's head is, oh god it's right below where Dove's head is…
Ring
Still no answer. What is Andrew doing? Is he in danger too? Did the forest exact vengeance on two twins tonight? Please no. Not Andrew. Not Dove either but please never his heart.
Ri-
Thomas hangs up the phone and hastily punches in the only other number he can remember in the moment.
"911 What's your emergency?"
Relief. It's brief, and almost sharper than the pain but it's relief none the less.
"Please help me I'm in the woods behind Wickwood academy my friend just fell out of a tree she's bleeding…."
Warmth was the first thing Andrew felt when he woke up, wrapped in Thomas's sheets, wearing his paint splattered shirt, surrounded by Thomas, Thomas, Thomas.
The next thing he felt, was dread. Inexplicable but fierce dread. Andrew ran through the techniques his dad gave him, feel your surroundings, count your senses, remember your safe, but the feeling persisted. It got stronger in fact, until it was all he could think about.
Andrew reluctantly rolled out from under Thomases sheets and pulled his blazer on, still wearing Thomases shirt and the weight of his earlier exhaustion returning full force with a vengeance.
The window on the far side of the room let in a feint orange glow. Sunset.
I missed tutoring, I'm going to be in so much trouble. Andrew's regular anxiety spikes again, sharper and more insistent than the dread. He tried to force the anxiety that comes with being in trouble down and away until he's able to remove his hand from his chest, air filling his lungs like sweet nectar.
Knock knock knock.
Nothing good very comes when people knock like that. Thomas doesn't knock, and Dove doesn't come to our dorm, which only leaves teachers here to give him detention slips, and people who want to make fun of him.
When Andrew opens the door however, the expression he's met with is not one of disapproval or anger, but sadness and anguish like a soldier's mate returning a dead friends uniform to family.
Maybe if he was less sleep heavy, he could've predicted the news before he reached the principal's office. Maybe if he took in the sombre faces of the adults around him, the tight set of Thomases jaw, the ambulances outside he could've guessed.
"Andrew," she begins slowly, carefully, dangerously, "there has been a terrible accident-"
"No." Andrew denies. If he's here, and Thomas is across from him…
"Please mister Perrault, nobody has died, however your sister-"
"No." He says again, more forcefully this time. Dove isn't hurt, certainly not badly enough that he's in the principal's office.
"Dove was climbing a tree in the woods, before a branch broke. Your sister has suffered alot of injuries, however, the doctors assure us she will be well-" Andrew cuts her off again.
"No!"
"She's at the hospital right now and likely to make a full recovery, we'd have your father on the phone but he insisted on flying straight over."
Andrew can't believe it, doesn't believe it. Dove? Perfect, invincible Dove? His sister Dove? It's a lie. It's all lies. Thomas wouldn't let Dove get hurt like that.
Andrew looks at Thomas, looks at the anguish on his face, the portrait of pain on his beautiful features, and now he knows. It's terrible but true, Thomas would never so lie to him, so Dove must be…
He stands and bolts for the door. It slams open as he races out and down the hall, all the way to the courtyard. Quick and nimble steps behind him alert Andrew to Thomas' presence.
Tire treads in the dirt —irefeutable evidence— of cars coming and going. Thomas at his back, warm and there, a contrast to the cold and vast emptiness he feels everywhere else. His twin had been taken from him, even if only temporarily, and now he was left standing in the courtyard, staring a marks on the ground that are the only piece of proof she very existed.
Thomas lays a hand on his shoulder and steers him up to their dorm. Andrew passes stairs and paintings without registering any of them. If he tries hard enough he can feel like a part of the real world, but he doesn't want to. It feels unnatural and sharp to be back in the real world like he's a goldfish that feels out of his bowl and onto the floor
Thomas fishes his key out and unlocks their door, gently guiding Andrew inside. Soft orange light filters in from their window on the far wall making the room glow. Thomas gently sits Andrew down in his bed, not Andrew's, before drifting over to the closet and selecting sleep shirts for the both of them. He places a pape green one in Andrew's lap before turning around to change his own shirt.
Andrew just stares at the fabric in his lap. Dragging one hand up to run his fingers through the mossy shirt, Andrew thinks again of invincible Dove, now not.
As Andrew undoes the buttons on his shirt, he thinks of how Dove never takes risks, and if she does she's never in real danger. As Andrew peels his shirt off, he thinks of Dove's secret smiles she tried to hide under glares and fierce determination whenever she aced a test. As Andrew lifted the fresh shirt over his head and onto his body, he thinks of Dove, his Dove, his twin sister, falling down and down and down and down.
Thomas, who has turned around, presses a palm lightly to Andrew's shoulder laying him down. The covers are still missed up from this morning, so Thomas fixes them with a flick and warmth mixed with down settles on top of him like a cocoon. Already Andrew feels a sleepy haze settle over him.
The mattress dips as a warm body slinks into the bed behind him. He can feel Thomas's breath against his neck, and an arm slowly comes around his waist, pulling him gently towards Thomas. He slowly gives into to oblivion. It's cozy and safe here with Thomas in Thomas's bed. Not enough to completely silence his ever present anxiety, but he knows he'll sleep peaceful tonight.
Andrew's breathing evens out not long after as he succumbs to the days stresses. If he's stayed awake a little longer he might have heard Thomas's whispered "I'm sorry.".