The Pride Before the Fall

Brock is generous. Sam knows this like he knows that two taps on his ankle under the table means bet red, like he knows Carter is obnoxious, like he knows Anna was so full of life she couldn’t understand him wasting his at the craps table. Brock is generous, and everything is Sam’s fault, so he wrestles the ring off of his baby brother’s finger while he’s sleeping and slips it on. Nothing happens. Sam swallows, tucks James in, goes back to his own room.

Brock is generous. Brock is kind, even, kinder than Father will be, and Sam trusts that whatever job he has to do to make up for his failure in the bank vault will be better than anything he could be sentenced to. It’s midnight when he feels his hand grow hot, and Sam stares at the ring in apprehension.

“There we are,” Brock says, and it’s like all of the panic from the past few weeks washes away in the warmth of his voice, “I knew you’d come through. You made the right choice, Sam.”

It’s such easy approval, too, like Sam hasn’t been striving for something like that from his father since he was ten years old.

“What do I need to do?” Sam asks, holding the ring up to his mouth, unsure how exactly this works.

James is the magic one. Sara’s the one who knows how to work with artifacts like they’re merely puzzles she’s been playing with her whole life. Isaak’s the one who treats authority like an added challenge to pranking, and Isabelle’s the one who charms people into thinking they’re both trustworthy. Anna—Sam’s not thinking about Anna right now. Seems like some kind of blasphemy.

Brock laughs, and he says, “Nothing yet. Just keep the ring. Just wait.” Brock is generous, and Sam knows this, and Sam knows he doesn’t deserve it.

It’s Sam’s fault. It’s all Sam’s fault. He did this, he got her killed, how could he deserve this generosity? “No, Br– M-Mr Riven, sir, please. It’s my fault, let me—let me make it up to you. T-to the crew.” And Brock sighs, almost fond, the way Mother would. Cold, but still so affectionate, still more than Sam has ever deserved.

Brock is generous, and he must hear the desperation in Sam’s voice. “In time. You don’t need to prove yourself, Sam, you’re already doing the best that could be expected. You’re the only one who’s reached out to me; do you have any idea how grateful I am for you right now?” Grateful. Sam can count on one hand the number of times someone has been grateful for him, and they’re all memories that he hoards, holds close to his chest, wonders about the sincerity behind them. Brock is grateful.

He wonders if this is worse than the gambling debts. If this is a trap, if Sam will fall down a pit of his own design trying to prove he is worthy of Brock’s gratitude. It’s a stupid thing to wonder, when the answer is so clearly and unequivocally yes. But Brock is generous, is kind, is grateful, and Sam would do anything to have anyone be proud of him.