Esca was young.

Marcus forgot that sometimes, when he was talking to his slave, for he acted a far cry older than his peers, but every once and a while Esca would do something, or say something that made him feel more like his older brother than his friend.

Last time it had been a fight, which, when Marcus had asked him about, he'd just shrugged off. Marcus had sighed and cleaned him up and told him to stay away from marketplace until he could manage not to hit someone.

Esca hadn't gone back since.

The time before that it had been a very bedraggled sparrow that Esca had brought back cradled in his palms, speaking softly to it in Briton. He'd wheedled Uncle Aquila into letting him keep it, though it hadn't taken much. Aquila had grown quite fond of Esca, ever since he came back from the north. Marcus often found them both in his study, Esca reading or asleep on the window seat, his uncle writing. Esca liked the silence, liked the old man's company, liked feeling "safe" or as safe as he could feel if Marcus wasn't there. He'd been granted manumission, but that didn't mean that what had happened to him had gone away.

The sparrow was perched in the hutch that Esca had built for him, in the window. Esca had let it free, but it hadn't gone, so now they had a song bird. Marcus grumbled, but it made the boy happy -

and that was the rub. Esca was twenty, and he'd already been enslaved, captured, in battle...

This time, it was a nightmare.

Esca had them, more then he let on, but Marcus knew, it was no real surprise. Just as tonight was no real surprise when Esca started his usual moaning and pleading, in broken, pained Latin. Esca always begged in Latin.

Marcus was up almost immediately, crossing the room quickly and grabbing Esca's arms, then wrapping his arms around him, as tight as he can, to keep him still. Esca's shoulder still ahsn't healed and Marcus doesn't want the stitches out again. He begins to thrash and Marcus holds him still easily, Esca has always been slight, "Hush Esca. I'm here. Shh. You're safe now. It's just a bad dream. Just a bad dream..."

Esca comes back to himself slowly, knowing he is being held tight. Someone's arms around him. For a moment he thinks of his father and murmurs, "Tasik." and there is a little choke and Marcus tells him, still softly, in British, "Hush Esca. It's me. Stay still or you'll wrench your shoulder again."
Marcus's tone is gentle, and his hands are too, like the time Marcus had let him hide up against him when the market got too much. With any other Roman Esca would wonder if they were not getting too familiar, but not Marcus. Marcus has never looked at him the way the other gladiators used to, he's never tried to take him that way. He treats Esca like a little brother, someone to fight with and go on adventures and take care of. Sometimes he resents that – but not tonight.

Marcus doesn't say anything as he burrows up against him, just telling him, "Shh. It's all right. Just a bad dream."

He's speaking in Briton, soft and soothing, and Esca stops struggling, gasping. Marcus tells him, "There. Hush. It's all right." He asks, softly, still in Briton, "What did you dream?"
"The gladiators – the other fighters – they made me – they made me - "

The shame was too much and he buried his face, barely feeling Marcus stroke his hair, "Hush, Esca, it's over now, they can't touch you."
Someone was at the door, Marcus was talking to him, and then there was a thick, pungent smell, like hot wine. Someone was telling him to drink, and he obeyed, feeling himself start to warm up, the tremors to ease off. He relaxed and felt himself laid back down, curled up on his side, felt the rugs pulled over him. Marcus stood up off the bed, telling Esca, "Rest now little brother."
He feels warm and safe, safer than he's felt in years, not since his brothers were alive and he slepot between them, their arms flung over him.

He goes to sleep obediently.