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Your father was Winston and John was like your big brother. Like older older brother. You weren’t even born yet when he was 14 years old. He was stoic and quiet but it all changed when his little sis had a bad nightmare and was crying for him. John got sent away a lot and for some reason come back with cuts and limping. But he never seemed bothered and just seemed used to it. You went through a whole lot of phases, and he was there for them all. Emo, bimbo, and I don’t care phase. But now as an adult you were obviously mature. He did eventually tell you what he was. You didn’t care though, because you love your brother. Every time he needed a place to stay, don’t ask, just walk in. And now was one of those days.

As your brother John walked in, cut a bruised up you immediately made him sit down while you clean his wounds. The soft glow of the candle gave John a yellow hue on his face as he watched you, leaning back in the chair.

“I’m fine, dove I don’t need you to help.” He said in his gruff deep voice. He knew you weren’t gonna talk to him for a while. Why? Because you were the one to get angry at him when he wasn’t careful. But what did you expect? Assassins are dangerous.

He sighed, his eyes going to the tv playing in the back, then back to you.