Gabriel sat on the closed toilet. He caught the edge of his reflection in the mirror, and just that edge was enough. Leaves and fire debris in his hair, tear-streaked soot on his cheeks.

“Nick,” he said, and speaking still felt like talking around ground glass. “Just—”

“Shut up. Put your hand in the water.”

When he hesitated, Nick sighed and grabbed his wrist, thrusting his raw knuckles under the faucet.

Gabriel hissed at the sudden pain, but Nick held fast. “I’ll bet your hand is broken.”

Probably. The skin was torn open across the back of each finger, and the side of his hand was swollen. The water felt fantastic and terrible at the same time.

Gabriel didn’t say anything, just watched the water stream into the drain, dragging dirt and blood with it. Soon his hand would be clean, identical to Nick’s again, except for the gaping wounds.

He sniffed and swiped his other sleeve across his face, but it didn’t feel like it did much. “Nick.”

“Yeah.”

Gabriel glanced up and met his brother’s eyes. I’m sorry.

But he couldn’t make himself say it. There was just too much to be sorry for, as if two words couldn’t contain it all.

Nick finally sighed and looked away, turning off the faucet. “I’ll get you some ice. Think you can get out of those clothes?”

Gabriel nodded. He’d kicked off his shoes and wrestled out of his sweatshirt by the time his brother came back with an ice pack wrapped in a towel.

Nick didn’t say anything, just set it on the counter and started to back out of the bathroom, pulling the door shut behind him.

But the door stopped with a few inches left. “You want me to bring you a cup of coffee?”

Coffee. The scent of it filled the house now, just like the guilt of his parents’ deaths filled Gabriel’s heart until he couldn’t contain it all anymore. The raw emotion clawed at his chest, at his throat, at his eyes, spilling over until he was crying in earnest.

Then Nick had an arm around his back and Gabriel was crying into his brother’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Nicky, I’m sorry.”

And Nick just held him until he ran out of tears, and they were sitting on the bathroom floor, side by side. They’d used to hide in here, when they were younger, usually after pulling a prank on Michael. They’d lock the door and whisper with the lights off, crouching by the bathtub while Michael pounded on the door and yelled for Dad to get a screwdriver.

Now there was barely enough room to sit.

He didn’t want to think about the past, anyway. Gabriel felt like he’d never have the strength to stand up again. To go to school.

To face Layne.