Mayson awoke in a panic, not knowing immediately why. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked to his left. He could see Jonathan's face in the moonlight filtering in through the window.

He whimpered, his face drawn tight in the pain of his nightmare.

"N-no..." He curled into a small ball, a small sob escaping him. "Please...please n-not tonight. Please."

"Jonny," Mayson said gently lying down next to him. Jonathan jumped at the small contact between them, a terrified moan strangling his throat.

"Jonny, its Mayson. It's me, Jonny, you're safe."

"Duck?" His voice was still too scared and Mayson knew he was still asleep. "Y-you gotta get outta here. He's gonna find you." He reached out grasping for Mayson's hand, which he gave him. Jonathan pulled him toward himself so that they were chest to chest. Mayson folded his arms around Jonathan's neck. Jonathan still whimpered softly in his ear, his face buried into the hollow of Mayson's neck and shoulder.

"Jonny, let's leave together. He won't be able to get you anymore." Jonathan grappled himself to Mayson, clinging as if he'd be left behind in the chaotic entropy of his dreams.

As Jonathan latched onto Mayson, Mayson began rubbing the scalp under Jonathan's hair. He could have jolted him, which he'd had to do in the past, but preferred ways to wake him up gently before resorting to something that would undoubtedly scare the bejesus out of him. As he massaged his scalp and hair, Mayson talked gently as Jonathan came awake. He knew the moment it happened as Jonathan's whole body stiffened, unsure for a moment with whom he was sharing this bed.

"Jonathan, it's just me. It's okay."

Jonathan's eyes adjusted quickly as his stare landed on Mayson's face. "Mayson?"

"Yeah, Jonny, it's just me. Just us."

Jonathan let out a hitching breath he wasn't aware he'd been holding. He felt a plethora of different feelings that he couldn't process. Vulnerability and fear being among the most heightened. He hadn't had a dream like that in a long time. He felt his eyes water and spill, his throat closed, his heart hammered inside his rib cage so hard it hurt.

"Jonny."

"Huh?" His voice was laced with apprehensive anxiety. Mayson could see he was shaking even in the dark.

"Come 'ere," Jonathan need not be told twice as he launched himself into Mayson's arms. Barriers broke at that moment that had been in place for many years.

He plastered himself against Mayson, trying to draw in all of his warmth, safety, and security. In a bizarre turn of events, the roles had switched. Things had been flipped around and backward and Mayson wondered briefly if he'd woken up in an alternate reality where he was the protector, but quickly dismissed this to the task at hand.

He held Jonathan close, talking softly, gently running soothing hands up and down his back. Jonathan clung to Mayson, unable to control the sobs and screams that erupted from the images that still flashed before his eyes. He tried to get as close to Mayson as he could, wrapping himself until he was lying atop him, legs entangled together, his arms encircling under each of Mayson's, coming round to grip each shoulder, Jonathan's face buried in the crook of his neck.

Mayson enveloped Jonathan within his hold, being able to do nothing more than try and quell his obvious distress.

As Mayson held him, whispering soothing nothings against Jonathan's ear, running fingers over sweat-slicked skin and damp hair, realized that he didn't really know anything about Jonathan's past. Over the years they had helped each other through tears, and nightmares, and fears...but they were careful to both skate around any details. They never asked questions. They were simply there for one another until the tears paused and the nightmares faded from memory. The story he'd told him on the steps about the death of his little brother was the most he'd ever told Mayson about his past. Mayson took a moment to consider this as Jonathan began to calm. Maybe they weren't ready before. Maybe they weren't ready now, but by some force, it was beginning. He could feel it. They would finally allow the other one in the deepest, darkest parts of themselves. This would be the first test of many in their relationship, but the outcome would build a solid foundation that would only continue to become stronger.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" Mayson whispered gently as he kissed behind Jonathan's ear.

Jonathan took a shuddering breath, his grip tightening, body stiff, shaking his head in denial. "No. No, no, no, you'd hate me, Mayson, if you knew what they made me do. You'd leave me and you would hate me and I...I can't handle that. I can't, I can't. I'd die if I lost you, Mayson."

Mayson tightened his arms around Jonathan's center. "Nothing that they forced you to do would ever make my opinion of you change, Jonny. Please, believe that." Mayson was aware of the irony of the situation. Jonathan had spoken those same words to him only a few days ago.

Jonathan's sobbing this time was quiet, his shoulders matching the quaking throughout his body.

"I can't. Not now, please, duck. Later...not now...I can't right now. Can you just...hold me, now?"

"Whatever you need, Jonny."

"I need you, Mayson." His voice was pleading, desperate in a way Mayson had never heard from him before.

"You've got me, Jonny," Mayson vowed in all seriousness, tightening his hold a fraction. Jonathan said nothing more as wrenching sobs overtook him.

Mayson held him, a stalwart, where he is usually the tossing waves. Several times he had to remind Jonathan to breathe as his cries became more intense; Mayson thought for sure he was going to hyperventilate. He had no idea what this dream's content was of, but he knew it had to have been beyond bad to elicit this reaction. Jonathan didn't cry often. More around Mayson than anyone, given their history, but even when he shed tears before, it didn't match to this. Not even when Mamma Scully died, and that was bad enough.

The morning came like it always did, a bright morning full of fresh beginnings. Mayson and Jonathan lie awake, silence hanging over them like a heavy cloak. Jonathan listened intently to Mayson's heartbeat, soothing in its steady rhythm. He listened to Mayson breathe, his lungs expanding and contracting with every breath. Jonathan tightened his grip against Mayson's side but relaxed again when he slightly whimpered. Good job, asshole, Jonathan berated himself.

Mayson smoothed his hair and rubbed his back. Jonathan smiled slightly before it melted from his face.

Tears slowly continued to stream from his eyes, silent evidence the dream still echoed in his consciousness.

"I miss him, duck."

"Who, love?" He had a good idea as to who he meant, but he wanted him to speak his name.

Jonathan tensed trying to control his breathing. "M-Max." He took a ragged breath. "Max. God, Mayson...the th-things he made...made me do to him...Mayson, I can never forgive myself."

His voice was strained like he was hanging on with all his might, but still slipping, his fingers losing hold coated in his brother's blood.

"Your brother loved you, Jonny. You know he did. Do you think he held anything against you that you two were made to do?"

"At first, I think...he was scared of me." Jonathan shifted slightly, moving upward to hide his face in Mayson's neck.

"I couldn't stop crying," he continued. "For hours...I begged him to forgive me. I didn't want to do it! I didn't want..."

Mayson tightened his hold around him as he broke from the memories. He screamed ragged and strangled sounds that made tears form in Mayson's eyes and fall unbidden. Mayson said nothing. There was nothing that could be said. Not right now. He understood there was a time for words and a time for silence. A time to comfort and a time for solace.

An hour passed, then two before either spoke. "Hey."

Jonathan sniffled, wiped his eyes, and sat up. "Breakfast? I need to smoke first. I need to calm down. Maybe then food won't make me want to hurl."

Mayson smiled. "You've always been able to read my mind," he teased.

Jonathan lightly chuckled, suddenly feeling foolish. "Mayson, I-"

"Jonathan, don't you dare apologize. Ever." The sharpness of Mayson's tone caused Jonathan to look up from the blanket. His eyes were fierce, a fire raging behind them.

"Don't you ever apologize for anything any of them made you do. And don't apologize to me because you're human and it became too much. Please, Jonny."

His tone softened at the end as did his eyes, and Jonathan nodded.

Mayson smiled. "Alright. Let me make you breakfast this morning."

Jonathan nodded and took a deep breath. "Okay."

He had prepared to argue, even good-naturedly, but suddenly all argument drained from him and he simply acquiesced.

Mayson made them breakfast, babbling the whole time. His goal was to make Jonathan smile, even half-smiles or light chuckles. He had small successes and took them joyfully. While Mayson cooked they passed a couple blunts back and forth, the smell of Marijuana and food filling the air.

After a breakfast of diced potatoes, diced ham, and some veggies, with a mixture of spices, Mayson stood and gathered the dishes. Jonathan was about to protest but was quickly silenced with a look.

Jonathan watched him set the dishes in the sink and wash them before he made his way back to the table where Jonathan sat. He captured Mayson around the waist and dragged him to his lap. Mayson wound his arms around his neck with a wide smile and softly kissed his lips.

"Thank you for breakfast, little duck." He curled inwards and rested his head along Mayson's chest, feeling his weight and solidarity against him. He felt Mayson's warmth and sighed, closing his eyes and relaxing some.

"Thank you for actually letting me make it for you," Mayson retorted with a light tone and a chuckle.

"Just don't get used to it. It's my job to take care of you."

Mayson frowned slightly. "Hey..." Jonathan sat up and looked at him. "It's our job to take care of each other...equally...we're both in this and we are in this together. Always."

Jonathan nodded. "And forever." He sighed before smiling. "It'll take some getting used to. Being taken care of, I mean."

"For both of us. But...I'm beginning to believe that...that it's real." Mayson blushed and looked away.

Jonathan kissed him deeply, keeping firm grip on Mason's hips. "It is real, little duck. More than you'll ever know."

The rest of the day Jonathan was quiet and almost clingy in a way Mayson had never before experienced from him. Jonathan normally was expressly put together. It wasn't often he showed emotion, feeling he had to always be in control. As a child, he had absolutely zero control. Over body or mind or feeling. He tried always not to cry in front of his brother Max. Being the protector, he tried as best he could not show the fear he so clearly felt at all times.

He never knew that Max always idolized him for this ability. He was always crying, hiding behind Jonathan. Even though Jonathan could no more protect him than he protected himself, Max always felt safer in his presence.

When it was over, when Max's death became his escape, he repressed all he could of that time. There were many times he would break down and grieve in Momma Scully's arms, unable to stop it happening. She never made him feel weak for expressing this emotion, for which he would always be grateful, as it taught him it really is okay to cry.

Still, even with this knowledge, he had to have that control; because deep down he was still that scared little boy, and that boy was dying.

Together they lay on the over-sized couch, a blanket draped over them, soft music played in the background.

The lights were turned low in an ambient atmosphere, calm and soothing. Jonathan faced Mayson and the back of the couch, face buried in his chest, fists full of Mayson's shirt, body tense.

Mayson dragged his fingers through his hair and over his back, trying to soothe the small vibrations that have yet to abide completely since that morning's episode.

"We...I never told anyone. Not Mamma Scully, not the police...no one...I'm scared to tell you."

The admission was pulled from his throat with the difficulty of pushing down a three-hundred-year-old tree with one arm tied behind your back.

"There's nothing you can tell me of your past that will ever make my opinion less than what its always been, Jonny," Mayson told him his hands ever moving across his body.

"Are you sure?"

"Do you trust me?"

"You're the only one I trust now," Jonathan whispered.

"Then trust me, Jonny."

"I don't want to remember any of this, Mayson," he whispered. "I'm scared to face him. I'm scared to see how scared he was...h-how I failed him." Jonathan tightened his body in an attempt to not hurt Mayson's ribs.

"Trust me, Jonny. Let me in."

"He made do it, duck, he made me. I didn't want to but he made me."

"Get up, you little sons of a bitch. We've got things to do, now get the fuck up."

The boys, who had taken to sharing a bed to feel safe, crawled out of the bed as they heard their father's receding footsteps.

Max looked at his brother. "Why is he making us get up now, Jonny?"

"I don't know. But we better not keep him waiting or it'll be worse."

Max nodded and taking his brother's hand allowed himself to be led down the stairs. Jonathan led him through the living room and down another hall where they came upon a door that was standing open.

Jonathan stopped in the threshold, Max clinging fearfully behind him. Jonathan could see the bedroom, the two other men aside from his father, his father, and video equipment pointing toward the bed.

The camera was new. There had never been a camera before. He wondered what was in store.

"Get in here. Get undressed," their father barked and snapping at one of the men who turned to him. "Get ready."

Max whimpered behind him, but Jonathan didn't make a sound. He took a step into the room, Max ever following, trailed behind him. Jonathan walked up to the bed and looked from it to the man to the camera.

"Jon, undress your brother. Tonight you make him a man," their father sneered at him. "Now, boy!"

Jonathan jumped, Max cried out. "You shut him up or I will."

Jonathan turned to Max and knelt down, gripping the hem of the younger boy's shirt. "I'm sorry, Max."

With the video recording, both boys crawled naked onto the blanket-covered bed.

"You know what to do." His father's words echoed in his head. A warning before the camera rolled to please him with this video.

Jonathan took his brother first in his mouth, holding back every emotion, and disconnecting from this reality. He was robotic in his actions, but his heart clenched when Max involuntarily moaned, and with his own body's betraying reactions.

Jonathan was aware of the third man, watching, pleasuring himself from the sidelines.

Jonathan, having stalled as long as he dare, lined up his body with his brother's, apologized softly into his ear, and penetrated him for the first time.

"I didn't want to, Mayson, please believe me. I didn't want to. Please..." Jonathan's pleas were cut short as his chest heaved, tears flowed as if from a broken levee, and he felt like he couldn't breathe.

Mayson flipped him over to his back, his own body half-covering his, and attempted to get Jonathan's focus.

"Jonathan, look at me." Jonathan's eyes remained foggy, stuck in that day so long ago.

Mayson took Jonathan's face between his hands. "Jonathan!"

With a start and a yelp, Jonathan looked at Mayson. His eyes were wide, feral, and terrified.

"Breathe, baby, breathe. I know, love." Soothingly, Mayson drew his fingers through Jonathan's hair, drying his tears as he did.

"Jonathan, it doesn't matter what you tell me, how horrible it may be...it was not your fault. It isn't your fault...I won't hold you accountable nor will I think any less of you. Please, Jonny." Gently he kissed his lips, inwardly smiling that he could kiss him freely. "Believe me."

Jonathan stared at him a moment. "Promise?"

"I swear it, Jonny."

"He was so scared of me after that. He-he kept begging me to stop...he begged me to stop and I-I didn't...I didn't...I f-felt no better than h-him."

"Max?"

"Not now, Jonny."

"Max, I'm sorry."

"Not now. Please."

Their room was dark. They had just been sent back from another recording session. Jonathan hastily dressed before crawling under the covers. Max went to the corner in the farthest part of the room and tried to sit comfortably. He wiped his eyes and tried to control his shaking.

He could hear Jonathan crying softly in the background. He didn't think he could hear when he cried, but he did. He pretended not to because that was the one thing he could protect his brother from. The protection that he was strong, that he could somehow protect Max. He gave Jonathan this illusion. It was the only thing he had to give.

"I'm sorry, Max."

Max wiped his eyes but stayed silent. Finally, after over an hour, Max dressed and crawled into bed next to his brother. They'd grown accustomed to sleeping in the same bed. They both felt safer with one another near. They were all they had.

The recording sessions had been going on several years now. And even though Max knew it wasn't his brother's fault, he couldn't be near him afterward. He had to work through the feeling of betrayal each session, and with each session, it became more difficult. He didn't really blame Jonathan, but Jonathan was safe.

Jonathan didn't touch Max when he laid down but after a few minutes of heavy silence, Jonathan tentatively touched his fingertips to his shoulder. Max jumped. Jonathan cried.

"I'm sorry, Max. I'm sorry."

Max sat up abruptly, anger and fear and repression boiling over. Jonathan jumped back, almost falling off the bed. If Max hadn't been so angry, he would have been perplexed at the look of fear in his big brother's eyes directed at him.

"You always say that. Every fucking time you say that! Stop it! Stop fucking apologizing! If you're so fucking sorry, fight him and get us out of here."

"He died the next week. Today." Jonathan closed his eyes against the tears that fell. "It was my fault. If I hadn't had fought..."

"Jonny..." Mayson pulled Jonathan into him and the clouds broke once more. Now wasn't a time for words, but a time to grieve. Words would come later.