Archive of Our Own

   When he was ten years old Sherman Pines held his baby brothers for the first time. They were both so tiny, and he was scared at first, worried that he would break them, somehow. But then he held them and he melted , in awe at the tiny life he was holding. 

   “I’m gonna protect you guys,” he whispered. “I’m gonna be the best big brother ever, okay? Nothing’s ever gonna hurt you when I’m around. I promise.”

   Just a few weeks after his eleventh birthday he got to see his baby brothers’ first steps, their chubby hands clasped together for support. (They didn’t get very far- only a few steps before Ford fell, bringing Lee down with him.) Sherman cheered for them and held their free hands when they got up to try again, 11 tiny fingers holding onto his, and two sets of brown eyes looking at him with absolute trust.

   Sherman was 16 when his baby brothers were thrown into the shark-infested waters of New Jersey public education. He spent the day worrying about them, only giving his classes the most cursory of attention, and when he arrived home to find the pair of them holed up in their room, he knew that something had gone wrong. He held the pair of them in his lap as they told him about their day and the mean kids that had made fun of Ford. His kissed both of them on the tops of their heads, made them giggle, and told them, “The best way to get back at a bully is to prove them wrong. Ignore them if you can, and move on. But, if you can’t? Don’t be afraid to fight back.” He got in trouble a week later when Lee came home early for fighting, but it was well worth it.

   He was 28 years old when he came to pick up his son, only to find his mother crying and his father angrier than he had seen in years. It took a lot of coaxing, but eventually, he learned what had happened. If it weren't for the fact that he had Issac with him, he would have screamed at his father. Instead, he took his son, dropped him off at home with his wife, and spent the next seven hours searching for his little brother. He finally stopped when the sun began to rise, trying his hardest not to feel like he failed his brother as he headed home.

   Sherman Pines was 38 years old when he got the call from his mother, who told him through heaving breaths and sobs that his baby brother was dead. (He could never remember the rest of the conversation, just that he promised to come up to the funeral.) He sunk to the ground, pressing his back as hard as he could against the counter. He felt sick to his stomach, his breathing coming out in little gasps. All he could think was, ‘Not Stanley. Not Lee, please let them be wrong, Not Lee please not Lee.’ Rachel found him after a bit, sobbing his eyes out. It took two hours for him to calm down enough to explain, with shaking hands and barely repressed sobs, that his baby brother was gone. Two weeks later they buried him. Shermie held his mother as she sobbed. His father hadn’t attended.

   When he was 54 his father died, and it was only through Rachel’s convincing and his Ma’s shaky voice over the telephone that he went to the funeral. He held his mother as she cried, and promised to call every day he could. 5 months later, he flew back to New Jersey for her funeral. Ford held him up then, the pair of them sharing their grief in quiet solidarity.

   When he was 69 years old, Sherman Pines learned that both his baby brothers were alive. All three of them cried, holding onto each other like lifelines. He was mad- he’d spent thirty years thinking that Lee was dead- but it didn’t matter,  because they were both here and they had made up, and for the first time in 40 years the gaping hole in their family had been filled.