Page 41 of Agony

It took him several long minutes before Fisher felt like he could stay upright.

“I’m good. Let me go,” he croaked.

After a moment of hesitation, Rogue released him and Fisher landed lightly on his feet. He was pretty close to the side of an old parked RV and when he grew lightheaded, he pressed his palms to the cool metal and sucked in several slow, deep breaths.

Something niggled in his brain. Something just out of reach. It was enough to start up a throbbing headache. When Rogue placed a hand on his arm, Fisher dropped his palms and straightened away.

He couldn’t be touched right now.

He didn’t like to be touched anyway, but his skin felt like it was on fire.

“Come on, you need food and sleep,” Rogue murmured.

“I need a fucking drink.”

Maybe a night of drinking would calm his fucking nerves because right then, he felt raw.

And fuck if he knew why.

Angry didn’t begin to describe the fury he felt.

“Tell me what he did.” He dropped into steps next to Rogue.

“Not right now.” Rogue drew out his keys and opened the apartment door.

“Why the hell not!” Fisher barked.

Rogue calmly walked into the kitchen, pulled out a couple of cold beers, and passed him one.

“Later.”

Fisher cracked open the beer and guzzled over half of it.

Yeah okay…later sounded good.

“Gimme another one.” He held out his hand while he finished the can.

Rogue reached into the fridge.

Wrath wasn’t any help and Justice wondered why he’d come to his brother’s apartment in the first place.

Maybe to get a little sympathy?

Fat chance of that.

Justice didn’t go into details because this was between him and Fisher, but he expected a bit of sympathy about the bruise on his cheek.

Wrath smirked, shook his head, and walked into the minuscule kitchen to make breakfast.

It was a bit odd being in Wrath’s place. And that was in part because there was a strain between them. It was to be expected since they hadn’t had much contact since his discharge from the Army.

That had been roughly a year ago.

Growing up, they had been close. His brother had been and always would be his hero. And there was nothing that would ever change that.

When Wrath had snatched him up and kept him from the gates of hell, his brother had become his superhero. He’d been a teenager at that time, maybe fifteen, and perhaps his age had played a part in just how grateful he remained.

Although they didn’t talk about that time, not then and certainly not now, Wrath had saved him from a life of abuse.

---