O little revolution in great shades!

Continued from Here

Titus tilts his head a bit and rises as Dean stands up. "Your brother knows much about this matter of trouble? He would not think me mad once I described to him these frightening circumstances?" he asks. Considering the kind of hereditary madness that seems to run through the Groan line, it's likely something he's concerned about, even if he doesn't know what's the cause behind it. "I am not adverse to it: in something like this, I suppose that I need all the assistance that I can obtain. Lead me where you will."

So, continued from the night of the Morgoth attacks. Shall we go for a Titus-Dean-Sam arrangement?

He may have a natural brother...

For a long time, Titus often dreamed of having a brother, dreamed of having an older brother to bear the title and the crown and the inheritance, but not like this, not in this place, not in this place, where titles and bloodlines barely mean anything. In their world, if he had known this sooner, he would gave handed over his crown gladly. Now more than ever, the words that the Steerpike he had known had snarled with his last breath haunt Titus: "You were lucky..."

But now that his suspicions have been all but confirmed, he is not sure what to think nor what to feel, much less what to make of the situation, and these thoughts leave him restless on his bed. His discreet encounter with Robin kept his mind off these things -- it was easy to forget with Robin's mouth working it's magic on his inexperienced flesh -- but now that he is alone, his mind returns to the notions that left him troubled.

His worst enemy and he may share the same blood, the same father, though clearly not the same mother. If this was Gormenghast, his enemy might be the rightful heir, and he, Titus, might be the usurper.

These ideas crawl through his mind like creepers, pushing aside all other thoughts like the roots breaking apart the stones they climb upon. No longer able to sleep, he pushes back the covers, letting them slide to the floor, before rising and pulling on his trousers and a dressing gown, shoving his feet into his shoes. He heads down to the kitchen, in search of some warm milk and a biscuit -- a childish way to settle one's whirling thoughts, but it seems as good as any at this point. Though he might also be hiding from himself the fact that he's hoping to find someone to talk to and to help him make sense of everything that is whirling in his head right now.

Backdated to a day or two after he made some unsettling discoveries. Looking specifically for Helen (M2), but he's open to other people offering an open ear and a concerned heart.