Chapter Text
New York couldn’t sleep. It didn’t matter how many times he tossed and turned. It didn’t matter what noises he played or if he was in absolute silence. Nor did the amount of blankets or pillows or stuffed animals (which he refused to admit he had) he constantly added or removed helped. He could not sleep.
New York could not remember how long it had been since he last got a good night's rest. Was it only 24 hours? Or had it been 48? Was he closing in on 72? The day (days?) had all blurred together at this point for him. He found himself getting easily irritated with paranoia creeping up his neck. It didn’t matter what his siblings would try to say or do for him, he would snap. He even snapped at his mother. He winced at the memory, trying to block out the horridly concealed hurt on her face. He shuddered.
Screaming into his pillow for what felt like the hundredth time that night, New York begrudgingly decided that he would get up. What was that saying again? Early bird gets the worm? If that was a case he was a very early and hopefully worm-filled bird at…3 am. Now that he thought about it being worm-filled did not seem all that pleasant. Being pie filled on the other hand? That sounded great. His stomach rumbled. Or was it cramped? He couldn’t tell.
New York was always a big fan of baked goods; had a sweet-tooth since birth, his mother would say. Perhaps it stemmed from when they were young and sweets and treats were a luxury they could not afford. They typically ended up needing to steal from the local town's bakery. They got in trouble many times however, that, nor any whips to the back or hand, or any other harsh punishments, had stopped them. Perhaps that only solidified his view of it further. That only those who could afford it could enjoy life. Perhaps that was why he strives to be so well off; studying the ways of economics, stocks, politics, trade, and so many more things to get a one-up in this horrid monopoly-like game of life. Call him greedy, or a penny pincher, or a scrooge all you want; he will never let his family end up in such a horrid financial position again. He already failed once when the stock market crashed in 1929. He refused to let that happen again.
Where was he again? What was he doing?
New York looked down at the stairs below. Were they swaying or was that him? Who cares, he needed to go down them.
Slowly, but steadily, a method he was not keen on, he made his way down. With each step he felt a little more undone.
What was that squeak? Was that a mouse? Was there an intruder?
He stilled.
He felt his heart pounding his chest.
Step.
Squeak.
“Motherfucker!” He screamed, practically jumping out his skin.
Shit.
Oh shit he fucked up.
Oh fuck oh fuckuf ckufckfuckfuck .
He slammed his hands over his mouth and threw his back against the railing. He hardly even breathed, waiting to hear some sort of stir, praying that he wouldn’t have to give an explanation that he was so sleep-deprived he couldn’t recognize the sound of his own feet squeaking on the staircase .
He stayed there for another moment or so, too afraid of his fumbling. New York could practically feel the inside of his body and skin itching to move; he was not one who enjoyed staying still for too long— it was even worse when he went without sleep. So he continued creeping down the stairs, practically giving a sob in relief as he hit the bottom step.
What New York was not prepared for was the feeling of his legs turning to jelly and capsizing him, sending him straight for the floor. If it wasn’t for a pair of lanky arms, his face would have been squashed.
It took him a moment, even after being gently sat on the ground before he realized who had helped him.
It was Delaware.
Of course it was.
Now he had no place to judge others on their sleeping habits, but really, he had no reason to be awake at that moment.
“What are you doing? Why are you still up?” He interrogated.
“I was going to ask you the same thing.” Delaware said, as if he didn’t already know the answer.
“You’re dodging the question.” New York squinted his eyes.
“What is this, a courtroom drama?”
“If you let me wake the Masshole up we can make it one for sure.”
“Amusing.”
“As always,” New York gave a shark tooth like grin; very typical of his usual smile— not the one he reserves for acting or his “faking it till he makes it” attitude.
Delaware took a seat right next to him. Suspicious.
Leaning against his bony-brother, he asked. “Wanna be for real now dude?”
Delaware sighed, “Same issue as you; couldn’t sleep.”
New York just nodded his head.
“Was that you who screamed earlier?’
“Yikes, you heard that?” He winced.
“I’d be surprised if the neighbors didn’t hear,” Delaware laughed.
New York just shoved his head in his hands and groaned.
Delaware gently wrapped his arms around his younger brother, “I got an idea,” New York peaked one eye through his fingers, “Why don’t we go sit on the coach and watch some Brady Bunch? I’ll make you some hot chocolate; how does that sound?”
A tear slipped from his bleary eyes as New York burrowed into Delaware's warm embrace. That was all the confirmation needed.
Now settled nicely on the couch with a warm hot chocolate while watching TV, the two sat in silence. While his stomach was now warm, he still felt a cold pit in his core.
“I’m sorry…” New York said, squirming in his seat.
“Didn’t know you knew how to say that,” Delaware jested.
“Shut up.”
He looked at the half empty cup in his hand; finding it hard to look at his reflection without his stomach wanting to do a flip.
“ I don’t…I don’t mean to…It’s just—” For some reason he found the words stuck in throat, like they were choking him.
Placing the warm beverage on the table in front of him, New York sighed, “ I wish I wasn’t the way I was.” He curled up into a ball, head concealed between his way too long legs.
It was quiet for a moment. New York couldn’t tell if his brother was shocked at the statement, but a small horrid part of him worried it was because he agreed.
“I think,” Delaware said scooting closer to him, “That if that was the case then you wouldn’t be you and…well..we love you.”
New York popped his head out like a groundhog, furrowing his eyebrows.
Delaware’s eyes widened, “What I mean is-Well..I..” He sighed, “Listen, I know it’s hard. It’s just..Sometimes life gives you shit. You either cave in and let the hate and bitterness consume you or you keep going.”
Delaware grabbed his hands, “I need you to keep going.”
New York found it hard to look at his brother through the puddles now forming in his eyes, “I’m trying.”
“I know.”
“I’m scared.”
“I know.”
“I don't want you guys to hate me..”
“Never.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
New York couldn’t control the subsequent sobs that escaped him. Delaware scooped him up to his chest letting his little brother cry his heart out into Delaware’s.
When the sun would rise a few hours later, their mother would come down to see her first and eleventh eldest son cuddled on the couch. The spiky blond would be past out, while his brother would remain awake still.
“Harsh night?” She asked, sitting on the arm of the couch next to her sons.
“Is that so unusual?”
“I suppose not.” She said, kissing him on the forehead, “You need your rest too.”
“Someone needs to keep the monsters under the bed at bay,” Despite Delaware’s joking tone, his mother could sense the real anxiety behind it.
“You know,” She said, pulling him to his chest, “that that’s what your family is for? You can lean on us; especially me. I am your mother after all, my dearest.”
“I know,” He said as he too drifted off the beating of his mother’s heart.