River couldn't understand why this man, this<i>Randall</i>, couldn't just leave it be. He felt his lover, his brother, his only source of solace in this empty, cold room tensing beside him, and all River wanted to do was scream. Years of pent up fury and frustration bubbled beneath the surface of his skin, setting them both aflame as Randall continued to prod and Ezekiel, sweet boy, halted his line of invasive questioning with a firm and definitive declaration.<i>I don't want to talk about any of this. </i>No, of course not, why would he? It was all painful, filled with hurt that overwhelmed and spilled over the rim of the boys' consciousness, and Randall was sticking his nosy finger into everything like an overly curious child and<i>poking, poking, poking</i>as if desperate to get some kind of reaction. Looking for answers inside of Ezekiel was like trying to peer into a box made of solid lead.<br/><br/>It seemed the realization that his son was an impenetrable fortress of dark memories painted in a coat of stinking fear had dawned on Randall. The man's face maintained a mask of bewilderment mixed with a thick layer of vexation. River could feel the heat from his eyes when his attention switched, but Ezekiel had been strong and firm and he didn't want to let his friend down.<br/><br/>“No, I don't want to talk about it either,” River snapped, his voice perhaps more harsh that he had originally intended. His temper had always been fiercer than Ezekiel's, who more often than not managed to maintain a cool head in times of distress, even if it was only for River's sake. River was bigger, stronger, and his penchant for anger and violence when his friend was threatened had both exasperated and amused Father Lamont. This need to defend Ezekiel had never waned, no matter how many times Lamont punished him for such aggression, and the flames licking at River's pupils as he stared hard at Randall was nothing short of evidence of this passion.<br/><br/>River's attention was pulled from Randall by the sound of Cassandra's less accusatory tone, more inviting and acceptable, less threatening. Tensely curled fingers relaxed slightly against Ezekiel's hand, though River refused to let go. He licked his lips nervously, eyes jutting to his partner.<i>Is it okay? Should I speak? </i>Ezekiel put up no resistance as far as River could tell, prompting the younger boy to answer<i>these</i>questions, at least.<br/><br/>“There was never anyone else,” River replied, shaking his head gently. His voice was a dull monotone as he spoke, as if he were a bored student reciting a memorized response to a teacher's question. “Just Ezekiel, and just me. Zeke was first, because he's older. I came second. I do not remember a world where Ezekiel was not there, standing next to me. But I imagine it would be a horrible place.” River knew there was a time when Zeke was once all alone, but they didn't like to talk about that. He had always imagined Zeke suffered greatly before River was delivered into Lamont's basement to join him, bearing the entirety of whatever punishments the holy man saw fit to dispense.<br/><br/>River moved his food around on his plate with his fork, watching Ezekiel from the corner of his eye to make sure it was okay to eat. After the older boy had taken a few bites, River followed suit, shoving forkfuls into his mouth and hardly chewing at all before swallowing down whatever Cassandra had put in front of him. He still was unsure how long they'd be staying; he had no way of knowing when they were going to eat again if they did decide to leave the Benett home.<br/><br/>“I can't live in a world without Ezekiel,” River reiterated, eyes glued to his plate, mouth half full of food. His words were simple, but a warning. Trust did not come easy with the young man and any attempt at separating them would result in screaming and bloodied fists.