Work Text:
November 1945:
Once again, Siegfried is sitting in his armchair by the fire with a good book. But this time, it is late in the evening, almost night, really. He is almost finished with the chapter after which he has firmly promised himself to finally go to bed, when Tristan pads into the room in his nightgown.
Siegfried looks up at his little brother. Though he really isn't little anymore. In height he overtook Siegfried close to 15 years ago now, and the war has added more muscle to his frame than Siegfried has ever had.
'Still awake?' Tristan's voice is still slightly hoarse from sleep.
'Yes, though not for much longer. Barring any emergencies, of course.' He is on call tonight, though he really hopes that he won't be needed. He isn't thirty anymore. 'Why are you up? Fancied a nightcap?' It isn't a particularly difficult deduction, seeing as Tristan is already walking towards the liquor cabinet.
'Something like that, yes.'
'Well, you know where everything is.' He returns to his book, the days when he had to lecture his brother about not using "the good stuff" being truly over.
He has just reached the final paragraph when Tristan's voice shatters his concentration. 'Why did you never hit me?'
For a moment, he can only blink at his page. Then: 'What? What kind of bloody question is that?'
The words come out before he can stop them, and he immediately curses himself. He may not understand why the question was asked, but he knows better than to react like that. In theory.
'I... I've just been wondering. I mean, pretty much everyone used the cane. The schoolmasters did, Father did. Why didn't you?'
Siegfried truly looks at his brother then. Sees the rumpled hair, the rings beneath the eyes, the trembling of the whiskey glass. 'You've had a nightmare.'
'Yes. But about the war, not ... that.' For a moment Tristan is obviously very far away, before visibly shaking himself out of it. 'But it got me thinking. There were many lads I served with who were fresh out of school. Who were away from home for the first time. And, well, some of them were grateful. Not just to serve King and Country, and all of that, but to be away. To them, even the Army felt like freedom.' He seems to realise how it sounds a moment later, and hastens to clarify. 'It's not that I hated serving. I hate war, but there were quite a few things I enjoyed. But free? I certainly didn't feel free.' The last word is laden with incredulity, and longing, and pity. 'But they did. They welcomed even the punishments, the jankers, the endless running. All better than at home.' He takes a long sip of his whiskey before looking Siegfried straight in the eye. 'I've often called you a tyrant, both in my head and to your face. But never have you made me feel like that'
Siegfried can't believe that, as much as he wants to. 'Never? Not even once?' His voice is very quiet, his mind some 17 years in the past.
'I've ... been afraid of your disappointment. I wanted you to be proud of me. Desperately. But that's different.'
It seems it falls to him to take the final step, to stop the dance. 'I made you bend over a chair. I tried to thrash you.' His voice is still quiet and strangely even.
'I remember. Why didn't you?' His brother's, in contrast, is loud and high, as he too stops dancing around it. 'Why the bloody hell didn't you?!' It cracks.
Siegfried closes his eyes. He's been asking himself the same question for almost two decades. 'I don't fully know, not even now. It's ... many different reasons, I suppose. What you need to understand is that I never wanted to hurt you.' He opens his eyes again, searches his brother's face. 'I know it has not always seemed like that to you, not just that time. I know I have hurt you, far too often and far too severely. But I never wanted to.'
Tristan finally moves away from the cabinet and sits on the sofa, opposite Siegfried. 'I know. I understood that a long time ago.'
'I have never enjoyed hurting anyone, for any reason. But we both know that it's necessary on occasion. You can't save every animal, and sometimes the kindest thing truly is to end its suffering. But I've always hated it. Hated that my hands were for killing, not healing.' He looks at them now, not really seeing them. 'The war only amplified that. I killed, humans and animals. Some of it was necessary. But so much of it was not.' He swallows dryly, wishes for a glass of whiskey. Doesn't allow himself. 'I tried to tell myself that I was just following orders. That I didn't have a choice, that it wasn't my fault. But no matter how hard I tried, I could never fully convince myself of that.'
The guilt tears at him, just as strong as it always has. 'And when I stood over you, I felt like that soldier again. Having been told his whole life that to spare the rod is to spoil the child. Having promised his father to raise you to be better than himself. But I couldn't do it. You were my little brother. I knew I could never do it.'
He falls silent for a long moment, but the doubts have never fully vanished. He's not sure if it's for Tristan or himself when he completes his confession. 'To this day, I don't know if it was for the better. If it was a kindness, or just cowardice.'
There's nothing to say to that. They both lack the words the other needs. For a long time they watch the fire dying down, lost in the flames and the memories.
'You once told me that you wished you could go back in time and rectify a few things.' Tristan can't fully bring himself to ask the question.
Siegfried still understands him, answers quickly: 'I'd never have tried. If I woke up on that day again, I'd never even try. I'd tell you to muck out the cages or something.'
'And never even mention the possibility? Or rather your refusal?'
'Probably not. Why?' Siegfried can sense that something has shifted. This has upset Tristan in a way the rest of the conversation hadn't so far. But he can't even begin to guess at the reason.
'Because for months, maybe even years, I was afraid you'd change your mind. That whatever mood swing had caused you to abandon the caning that day wouldn't last. Or that I'd simply do something even worse that would make you finally snap.'
Siegfried's first instinct, even now, is to direct the blame away with his bluster. 'Why did you even start to talk back then? If you were that afraid of me.'
'Because I was tired of waiting! Because I finally wanted it to be over!'
Tristan is breathing hard, while Siegfried blinks in realisation, stunned out of his attempt of being annoyed. 'And when that failed to get you the reaction you expected, you escalated. I'd always wondered why you started acting out so horribly a few months later.' He sits with that for a moment, realigning various memories. 'What made you stop again?'
'I just got tired of constantly being yelled at and being banned from cricket. Not that either decreased that much in frequency after I stopped purposefully riling you up.' Tristan chuckles weakly, but it dies quickly when Siegfried refuses the bait.
'But you still wondered. Still were unsure.' It twists something deep inside him, this knowledge that, despite Tristan's words at the beginning of their conversation, he had been afraid of him.
'I ... well, not forever.' It's a testament to his nature that Tristan tries to reassure him. 'I stopped thinking about it, in time. By then, I wondered far more about what I had to do to make you finally be proud of me.'
He tries to reach for his usual scoff. 'You didn't try to make that very obvious either.'
It's enough to get to his brother. 'Because you set those standards so high that they were impossible to reach anyway! If I'd just disappoint you anyway, why bother trying?!' After a moment, Tristan continues far more quietly: 'For a while, I wondered if all of your goodwill towards me went into restraining yourself from hitting me. And if it were better if you just allowed yourself to let your frustrations out. If you'd be able to be proud of me, then.' He swallows hard a few times before he manages to finish in a whisper, 'A few times I was this close to begging you to cane me. If then you could get yourself to love me. Or even just to hug me. But I always chickened out at the last second. I guess I was a coward too.'
Siegfried just stares at his brother, unable to form a single word. He knew he'd messed up while bringing up Tristan, but this? He feels sick to his stomach. It'd be devastating enough if this came from a boy who'd never felt the cane. But Tristan went to public school and had hardly acted a saint, especially during his final years. He knew what he was talking about. And he hadn't gotten that hug. Not until he literally went off to war.
Siegfried feels his eyes sting. He's the one who deserves the cane a thousand times over for failing this egregiously. Would gladly take a thrashing every single day for the rest of his life if he could undo this.
'Say something. Please.'
His little brother's plea jolts him out of his self-recriminations. He desperately tries to find the words. 'I... honestly don't know how to even begin to apologize. I never suspected,' he catches himself, realizes what he's about to do. 'But that is no excuse. I shouldn't have treated you like I did. I should have hugged you. I should never have made you feel like you had to earn my love.'
Tristan nods jerkily, but doesn't say anything. So it's up to Siegfried to try and continue.
'I know it's far too late. I know I can't undo any of it. But I - I want you to know that I always have, and always will, love you. Will always be proud of you. Nothing you can do will ever change that'. He looks at his little brother, tries with all his might to make him believe it.
Tristan swallows hard, once, twice. Then he asks in a shaky voice, with what is probably his weakest attempt at levity ever, 'And what about those hugs?'
Siegfried doesn't need more prompting than that. Without a word he gets up and takes the few steps to the couch. Sits down next to Tristan and pulls him close. One arm is behind his back, the other one draws Tristan's head to his neck. He feels his brother's shoulders starting to shake and his own neck grow damp. He doesn't say anything, knows he couldn't open his mouth without breaking down himself. But this he can do, even if he can do nothing else. He can hold his brother for as long as he needs.