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Daniel Buckley is eight years old and his parents are the absolute best. It's been five years since his diagnosis. Five long years of exhausting hospital visits and painful, faltering recoveries. Three steps forward and a million steps back. He was never alone for any of it, like some of his more unfortunate peers. It's a grim fact of their lives--that some parents, over time, buckle under the pressure. No, his parents are amazing because they never once gave up, even though, a lot of the time, Daniel feels tired enough to want to. Even though he still does, sometimes.
But his parents don’t let him, and his sister definitely doesn’t. Television shows tell him that most siblings hate their younger ones, but Maddie is the best sister. She’s also a lot less smothering than their parents and is game with smuggling in a lot of contraband that their parents, and sometimes his doctors, don’t think he should have access to.
And Evan.
Evan was made for Daniel. It took six months, according to Dr. Phillips. Six long months until they found a "perfect match," whatever that means, and Evan was perfectly made for Daniel. And his parents, their parents were so overjoyed that even dad had cried.
Dad never cries.
It’s a little weird at first, different, but it’s sometimes a relief that the attention isn’t on him for the first time in forever. Babies take a lot of work.
And those first sixteen months of Evan's life are magic. He watches his parents cradle their newest, littlest family member—even gets to hold said family member, so tiny and frail and fragile—and feels...alive, for the first time in a while. He stares down into the purest, bluest eyes, a tiny, chubby hand curling around his single finger, and falls in love.
Evan was his.
Evan is his.
He's never had a baby brother before and he thinks television shows are pretty dumb because he honestly can't get enough. Maddie's always laughing at him, but his sister is just as smitten. They don't quite fight over who gets to hold Evan more, but it's close. Maddie often wins by default; oldest sister privileges and Daniel's flagging energy deciding for them. But Evan is theirs. His.
It’s another fact of his life. Evan is Daniel’s and Daniel loves Evan.
Which is why he doesn't notice, at first. The growing lack of enthusiasm...and then the–the absolute lack of interest. Because Daniel and Maddie hog their baby brother anyway and are more than enough in their love for Evan.
And then the seventeenth month rolls around.
Daniel is nine years old and he loves his baby brother more than life itself. He can't remember what life was like before; doesn't want to.
Evan is starting to walk more than he falls. His laughter is the best part of Daniel's day. His babbling excitement is the best conversation, and something Daniel is totally fine listening to for hours on end. He swears those baby words sound more like 'Danny' than they do 'Dada' and definitely nothing like 'Maddie.'
But none of that seems to matter, because his mother wants to—to take from Evan.
He understood it, the first time, when Dr. Phillips explained it; the first time his parents explained it: Evan is here to save him.
But it's different, to witness the giant needle sinking into Evan's tiny hip. Different, when Evan's hiccuping wails are stabbing straight into Daniel's heart and gouging holes there. Different, when tiny fingers and tiny hands are clinging to him and shaking terribly and no matter how hard Daniel hugs him, it's not enough to take away the pain or erase the horrific bruising left behind.
Fourteen days of this torture and Evan's wide and wet and betrayed eyes fixed nearly permanently on him are almost more than he can bear and something he’ll never let himself forget.
Because despite his misgivings, everyone assured him it was safe. His little brother was safe, is safe, and the “discomfort” will pass.
And Evan saves him. He does. The marrow takes and Daniel—he's doing great. He has more energy than he's ever had and everything hurts that much less.
It's worth it, he tells himself, when it allows him to actually climb out of bed and play with Evan. To wrestle him away from Maddie's laughing claim and hold him and toss him into the air and catch him. His bright laughter painting the drab hospital walls and filling their home with color and life. It's worth every single bit, even when his mother always inevitably returns and scolds the both of them for exerting himself.
Because Daniel is ten years old and he increasingly understands there's something…broken about his family. That his parents are great, have been absolute champions for all of his life, but they barely ever want to hold Evan or play with him or do anything other than snap impatiently at him to contain himself.
He doesn't understand why they're ignoring Evan, how they even can when Evan is flushed and sweaty from a secondary infection and isolated in his bed. When every part of Daniel yearns to just say screw quarantine and go to him.
Every time Daniel tries to point this out, tries to make his parents notice, his mother sweeps his hair fondly and reassures him. "Evan's fine, honey. He'll be fine. Now drink your shake."
But it's not fine.
Daniel is eleven and twelve and thirteen and still he takes. He keeps taking from his little brother. More blood, more marrow, more tissue. His body is fighting, but Evan's body fights harder, apparently, and Daniel's needs all the help it can get. He keeps taking and Evan keeps giving and it’s a horrible, never ending cycle of pain that’s his fault.
His most frequent memory, his one standing nightmare, is of himself watching from across the room, his parents fawning worriedly over him, as Evan lays sleeping in his bed. He always looks so small and cold. In real life, Daniel always climbs in as soon as he can, folding that little body into his. In his nightmares, he never does.
The gifts—bribes—blood money, don't work as well as they used to. These days, Evan's half-hearted smiles fade into painful yearning as their parents, as ever, turn away after their bloodletting of false praise. Because even in this, he takes the lion's share of their parents' attention. But the lion's share of his attention is on Evan. Daniel is always watching and that expression burns in his chest every time. He aches for his little brother.
He doesn’t understand why their parents are like this.
Still, the sunshine that is his little brother never fades when turned towards him and so Daniel can only hope that it’s enough–that he’s enough.
When he fully relapses at fifteen, their devastation is absolute and all of their relationships take a turn for the worse. Their parents are short and angry with all of them, for the first time, and Maddie is gone a lot, barely even visiting him in the hospital. She's seeing someone. Older, she confesses in a secret hush, a slightly guilty blush staining her cheeks. He doesn't blame her. He's actually glad for her. He'd get away from all this if he could, too. At least one of them isn't drowning in his illness, sucked into this pit of not quite despair but often lacking in hope.
The same can’t be said for Evan. He’s as stuck in this as Daniel is, because Daniel’s pretty much destroyed his childhood. What kind of kid is his little brother going to be, growing up in a life full of hospitalizations, of growth hormone injections and opioid painkillers and sleeping pills; of bleeding and infections and meaningless gifts with the added bonus of parental neglect?
And Daniel, he hates, just a little bit.
And then he hates a lot.
Because their mother.
Their mother strikes Evan for the first time.
The sound had echoed in the room, in the air; had shaken his very soul, before he even fully registered it.
Evan had been whining, a cute pout on his face about how tired he was. Daniel, stupidly, hadn't been thinking anything, hadn't been prepared, hadn't noticed; just watched fondly with exhaustion clouding his thoughts as his bones ached to their very marrow.
And their mother. His mother.
The images burn into memory.
Evan's head snapping to one side, his tiny body nearly bowling over with the force of it. Evan's cheek turning red, his little mouth in a stunned 'o' and eyes already wet and spilling over, cringing away from their mother.
His mother, her hand still outstretched and her expression forbidding.
The moment hangs forever. Changed and irreversible.
And Daniel hates, because how could she? Evan is his and he’s given up so goddamn much already just for Daniel and—how could she???
Daniel stumbles across the room in seconds, numb in the face of the rage coursing through his veins. He wraps an arm around his baby brother; pulls him in and doesn't let go. He doesn't have the energy to scream–doesn't have the power to, beyond the hate. Can't process beyond stunned disbelief.
"I think you need to leave, mom."
"Stop coddling him, Daniel. I won't--"
"I said leave."
Evan bursts into loud, sobbing tears and it nearly undoes Daniel.
Daniel is fifteen years old and there's a seething hatred. A transcendent grief. A hollow reality in his chest as he clutches his baby brother.
It's wrong. Everything is so wrong. How can it be so wrong?
And him. Isn't he wrong, too? He's let this happen. He's so selfish. He should have died a long time ago. But if he had died a long time ago, what about Evan? There’s a shiver down his spine as he imagines what life would have been like for Evan if he hadn’t managed to save Daniel. He squeezes Evan closer, shushing him gently and soothing away his tears.
He doesn't deserve this. Everything that Evan's given him. Will he be resented, when they're older? And what if Daniel finally dies? Will his parents blame Evan? Will Evan blame himself?
He can't leave his baby brother to that. He owes him. Everything. He's been a parasite for all of Evan's life, but he's selfish like that and he still wants more. Evan makes him want more.
And Evan deserves so much more.
For the first time in Daniel’s life, he’s afraid to die.
Still, when the tests come back, cursory, an afterthought (because Evan was made for him), he refuses the donation. He knows better, but he just can’t stomach the idea—at least not right now.
By the time his parents leave for the fifth night, fed up with arguing to his silence, Evan is hiccuping quietly into his neck. Daniel strokes those soft curls absently, staring blankly at the wall with dry, burning eyes. His poor little sunshine. What are they doing to him? (Why do they keep doing this to him? Why does Daniel keep doing this to him?)
"Danny?" A sniffle.
It takes work. The ability to articulate, the desire to form sounds and words. But for Evan, for Evan, Daniel forces himself.
"Yeah, buddy?"
When there's no answer, Daniel drags his eyes down with difficulty. His jaw clenches at the sight that greets him. Wide wet eyes and ruddy cheeks and a raw, gnawed-on lip. Evan is afraid.
"I don't want you to die," Evan whispers, sniffling. This eight year old angel. His guardian angel. "Please, Danny? I love you."
For Evan. Because Daniel will do anything for Evan; will do everything.
"Okay," Daniel whispers, drawing his little brother back in for a hug and swallowing his tears and his rage and pressing a soft kiss to the crown of Evan's head. "Okay."
For the first time in his life, Daniel prays for another miracle.
He takes the kidney and he prays it's the last.
And their lives move on.
It's not the end of it, but it seems to be a major turning point.
Daniel is sixteen and seventeen and eighteen and his love for his siblings grow as his patience for his parents diminish.
They're doing well, by the time Maddie is moving to Boston with douche-bag Doug. Daniel is optimistic. He has to be, because Evan deserves no less than his very best efforts.
He's making plans for the future, because for the first time, he lets himself believe he has one.
It's approaching the one year mark since his last hospital visit and Evan is more excited than he is.
He hugs his little brother. “I love you. You know that, don’t you?”
Evan looks up at him, searching and only slightly doubtful but hopeful all at once and Daniel will never forgive his parents for doing that. “You promise?”
“I promise, little brother. You’re my favoritest person in the whole wide world, even more than Maddie. Don’t tell her, though, she might cry.”
Evan giggles.
“Okay, Danny. I love you, too.”
Daniel Buckley is nearly nineteen and even if his heart is still breaking because his parents still don’t love Evan like they’re supposed to--he’s alive, and will keep living.
He’s not sure he’s enough, but Evan is his and he's absolutely sure he's going to damn well keep trying for the rest of his life.