#(they've been delivering since then. they weren't closed for weather)

[battywitch]

If I became ruler of the universe, the first unimportant thing I'd do is eliminate surepost. Or at least make it so things aren't marked as delivered but get a new designation. One that's actually true. Like "package turned over to usps for final delivery." Because that's what happens.

[auroravictorium]

unraveling (k.b.)

"My head is clearly muddied, and I'm so sick of coming undone." - Aeroplane Bathroom by Gordi

Summary: when a plague claims reader's sister's life, the news is delivered in the form of a letter; when she distances herself from everyone and hides the news, kaz fears that something serious is going on until she confesses what happened. Pairing(s): kaz x fem!reader (established relationship - they've been together for a while, so kaz feels comfortable being somewhat close to her) Word Count: ~2.6k Warnings: loss of a sister, heavy mentions of grief, mentions of a plague, brief violence (reader strangles someone) Genre: hurt/comfort Request? Yes (@morrigan-crowmwell)

Author's Note: i'm baaaaaaack and FINALLY on break!! i hope you all enjoy this (not so) little hurt/comfort work - i promise i'm following up with a fluffy one soon :))

It started with a letter a low-level Dreg delivered while the Crows gathered to plan a job.

He passed it to you with a murmur in your ear, and with furrowed brows, you flipped it over to see the return address. It was scrawled in the corner, a few letters missing or blurred together in the author's haste to send the missive, whatever it was. Kaz knew from the surprised look on your face that you recognized the address, but the expression disappeared before the rest of the Crows could notice or Kaz could evaluate it further. 

"I'll be right back," you said quietly, rising from your seat next to Kaz and disappearing into the relative privacy of his room. Had you known its contents, you would have gone to your room a floor down and opened it privately.

When you returned, you seemed unaffected to everyone but Kaz. He noticed the troubled purse of your lips, the way you fought to keep a neutral mask in place. You avoided his gaze as you sat back down, and you hardly contributed to the rest of the meeting, your eyes on the now-crumpled envelope in your hand.

In the two weeks since the letter arrived, you had withdrawn. You didn't visit Kaz in his office, you didn't take shots with Jesper at the Club, and you weren't seen outside your room unless necessary.

When the day for the next job came, you were uncharacteristically sloppy. What should have been an easy in-and-out theft of bank information on a close potential associate of the Dime Lions was nearly botched; knocking the guards unconscious took you longer than it should have, and you almost missed the correct papers in the target's desk. When you found them, the guards were beginning to stir again, and the Stadtwatch were en route.

"What happened today?" Kaz hissed, shutting his bedroom door behind him with a firm click. He leaned his cane against the wall and shed his coat and hat, hanging them on a hook haphazardly nailed into the wall.

You didn't respond, dropping the rolls of parchment onto the crooked table in the corner. The letters of your parents' note to you swam in your vision, and you could still feel the guards' pulses slowing beneath your fingertips as you choked them into unconsciousness. Your eyes burned, and you refused to face Kaz, instead crossing to his window and sitting on the bench beneath it. You wanted to be anywhere else.

If you didn't look at him, you wouldn't have to see or bear his disappointment and anger. And if you didn't see it, you could indulge in the numbness that was easier to feel than grief. It settled over you like a coat soaked by rain: heavy, but at least it protected you from the worst of the weather.

The consequences of your indifference would rip your temporary armor from you and push you into a cold, harsh reality. Your sister was gone, a life taken by a plague brought by an unwelcome merchant to your small town. It was a truth you weren't willing to face yet. So numbness it was, even as Kaz and the letter burning in your pocket urged you to confront your grief.

"Y/N," Kaz said, watching as you seemed to go somewhere else right in front of him. What happened? What did that letter contain? His anger about the job dissipated, and worry rose in its place as you refused to even look at him. 

He dragged a chair away from the crooked table and settled beside you, stretching out his right leg to ease the ache. You didn't acknowledge him moving closer, your eyes locked on the crows pecking outside Kaz's window. 

Some said crows were messengers from beyond, intermediaries between the lost and the living. You scoffed at the notion once, the same way you brushed off the idea of Saints looking over you.

That was before you lost someone. Now, a tiny part of you hoped it was true so you could say goodbye to something. Even a damned bird.

Kaz brushed your knuckles with his gloved hand to get your attention. His eyes scanned your face, so carefully arranged in a facade of neutrality. But there were cracks in it; the wobbling of your bottom lip, how your eyes seemed to shimmer as tears brimmed in them.

Sick and selfish as it was, Kaz wondered if that letter had something to do with him. Was it a warning for her to get away? Was it a threat to her life? Was it a detailed list of every awful, heartless thing Kaz had ever done, making her fear him and regret joining the Dregs?

"What's going on?" Kaz said quietly. His earlier anger was gone, replaced by a worry that ripped away the cloak of numbness you'd shrouded yourself in. Just as you suspected would happen.

His concern left you unshielded and exposed to the tempest of grief you'd tried so desperately to ignore, to push away until it left you alone. Now, your numbness was darkening, like storm clouds rolling over the harbor and promising havoc on the city. It twisted and roiled until it was no longer numbness but the all-consuming feeling of loss.

You wished you could hide from Kaz just so he couldn't see the tears beginning to slide down your cheeks. They were hot and salty and dripped down your neck, and you wiped them away as if you could conceal them. "Don't," you said hoarsely. "Don't ask me that." Maybe he would leave it be, and you could hide again for a while longer.

But it was Kaz. He watched you unravel before him and knew he couldn't leave it be. He wouldn't.

"What did the letter say?" he pressed. Usually, he didn't push you to share your secrets. Saints knew he had his own that he refused to reveal. But he couldn't watch you fracture before him and not know what was happening, especially if he could do something to fix it.

You knew Kaz wouldn't relent until you answered. Numbly, you took the letter from your pocket and held it out, still looking out the window at the crows. They were hopping around one another, picking at the remnants of seeds Kaz had thrown out for them the day prior. 

Kaz took the letter from your fingers and looked down at it, taking in the tear stains blurring the scribbles across the page. Still, the short message was decipherable, and Kaz suddenly understood. As he read those words, he was nine years old again, grieving the loss of his brother and watching birds pick up scraps of food and trash from the streets. Kaz knew precisely what you were feeling, down to the weight on your chest that threatened to crush your lungs.

"I'm sorry," Kaz said quietly. He took your hand and brushed his thumb over the back of your knuckles. This was one of the times when Kaz wished to be close to you. He longed to hug and hold you until sleep came, so you could get a short respite from the grief and know you weren't alone. "I'm so sorry, Bluebird."

His words broke your composure completely. The tender nickname ripped a sob from your throat, and you covered your mouth with your free hand to muffle the sound. You hunched over and hid your face in your knees, losing sight of Kaz and the birds and the world around you as the currents swept you away. You broke your hand free from his, curling in on yourself as you finally let yourself cry before him.

Hesitantly, Kaz moved from his chair to the open side of the bench. He swallowed, forcing away the nagging terror that rose as he gently pulled you into him. Kaz wrapped his arms around your shoulders and held you against his chest, letting you hear his racing heartbeat. It wasn't the smoothest or most confident hug, and he fought hard to battle the discomfort of having you pressed against him like this. But he was trying. If it eased your pain for even a moment, he'd bear the cold harbor lapping at his flesh and the memories of floating bodies tugging at his mind.

It meant more to you than you could tell him, and you couldn't bring yourself to question whether he was sure about this. Instead, you threw your arms around his torso and buried your face in his chest. He was warm and here and alive, and he was everything you needed right then as the dam exploded and any semblance of being okay disappeared. You sobbed into his vest as the truth came crashing down on you, crushing your lungs and making your head throb from the pain of trying to process it.

You weren't sure how long you cried. Somewhere between those initial moments of Kaz's arms around you and when you could finally catch your breath, the sun disappeared, and the stars emerged from behind the clouds. Turning your head to rest your ear against Kaz's heart, you blearily looked out the dirty window; above the clocktower in the distance was the brightest star in the sky. In your exhausted mind, you imagined it was your sister. That brought you more comfort than the legend about crows. She would've hated being a bird.

Somehow, in the warmth of Kaz's arms and with those words in your mind, you drifted into an uneasy sleep. Everywhere your dreams turned, there were crows. Sometimes your sister's laughter replaced their squawking. They dropped bright tulips on a fresh grave before flying away, their wings beating against the cloudy sky.

Kaz thought you had to be uncomfortable with the windowsill pressing into your back and your legs curled up at a strange angle. He carefully shifted, sliding one of his arms under your knees and the other around your shoulders. Then, Kaz stood and carried you over to his tiny bed. You stirred as he set you down and tucked his threadbare blanket around you. He held his breath, hoping you wouldn't wake, and he slowly let it out once you lapsed into stillness once more.

He stayed nearby as you slept, settling on the bench and looking over the city. When his eyes started drooping, he shook himself awake. When that didn't work, he grabbed a book and forced himself to read about Kerch's history.

As the night reached its darkest point and the East Stave reached its most raucous, you stirred into consciousness again. Your eyes were swollen from crying, and your head pounded. Yet the smell of Kaz, all smoke and rum and something rich, enveloped you and soothed you enough that you weren't severely bothered by your physical discomfort. 

You slowly sat up and scooted back against the wall, trying to shake off some of the heaviness lingering over you. Kaz lifted his head from where it was bent over the book in his hands and straightened up when he saw you were awake.

"Hi," he said softly. He closed his book and swung his legs off the bench. "How did you sleep?"

"Poorly." You crossed your legs and looked everywhere but at his face. This was what you'd hoped to avoid. This tense air between the two of you, the result of your inability to keep your shit together until you got to the privacy of your own room. You felt weak, unworthy of being a Crow. You wished the numbness would overtake you again.

Guilt joined the lineup of emotions, and you looked down at your hands. You were lucky they weren't stained with your friends' blood.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Though Kaz's tone wasn't accusatory, you flinched away from it. 

"I didn't want to burden you." You thought you'd be able to grieve in private without worrying the Crows or disrupting a job. Clearly, that wasn't the case; everything reminded you of your sister.

"You're not a burden to me," he said firmly. He understood your words and reasoning all too well, and he hated that he did. But you weren't a burden on him, the same way you never treated him or his failures in your relationship as such. To you, his struggle to touch you wasn't a failure. To him, your grief wasn't a burden. 

Kaz wished you would treat yourself with the same kindness you gave to him.

You kept your gaze fixed on your hands, even as his words caused your cheeks to flush. It took all your self-control to keep tears from brimming in your eyes; you couldn't tell whether they were from sadness or how he said the words as if they weren't up for debate. Like he didn't question the truth in them.

"When I was young, I lost my brother," Kaz admitted. His voice was quiet and suddenly seemed very far away. Your head lifted, and you looked at him in surprise. Kaz didn't notice, and his eyes focused on the Dekappel portrait across the room.

"He died of the Queen's Lady Plague. I got it soon after." He shuddered. He could still remember the feeling of the fever as it immobilized him, weakened him until he couldn't swim and had to use Jordie to get to shore. "There was nothing I could do, and I was alone in the city after that." His gaze finally turned to yours. "But you aren't alone. You have people who understand." I understand. "And you aren't a burden on me, so talk to me. The Crows, the Club, the Dime Lions, they can wait." 

Kaz hoped that you understood the words he wanted to say. You're more important than all of them.

Your bottom lip wobbled, and you slid out of his bed and crossed over to him. You sat beside him and took his hand, though you longed to throw your arms around him again. That was a level of physical contact he needed to initiate.

"Thank you," you whispered. Your eyes shimmered in the moonlight with more tears, and you wiped them away before resting your head on his shoulder to hide your face. You clasped his hand in both of yours and felt him lace his fingers with yours to comfort you. "I want to throw a tulip in the harbor for her tomorrow." Your voice cracked, and you swallowed before continuing. "It was her favorite flower."

"As soon as the sun rises," Kaz promised. He wished he had a gesture to offer for his brother, but Kaz Brekker wasn't known for sentimentality. It wasn't his style.

You lifted your head and wiped away a traitorous tear with the palm of your hand. "We'll bring a flower for your brother, too," you said quietly, watching Kaz's face. Was it too much to suggest? It felt wrong to not offer after he opened up to you.

Kaz's throat tightened, and he turned to look down at you. "That sounds nice." His eyes softened at the earnestness on your face, and he gently squeezed your hand to thank you.

Your shoulders loosened in relief, and you rested your head on his shoulder again, turning your eyes toward the Dekappel on the wall and watching as the moon's rays darkened the rich oil paint. The room was silent, but there was no need to fill it. Instead, you let yourself think of your sister and her tulips.

You'd start to knit yourself back together come morning.

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