Chapter Text
It was a spring morning when I got a phone call from child services out of the blue, the caller ID causing my body to still, bagel halfway to my lips.
Peter.
I knew it'd be about my brother before a single word was exchanged. I dropped my food down on the counter before me, all thoughts of rushing off to beat the traffic on my commute forgotten. My only hope behind the rushing of blood in my ears was please God, don't let me lose another brother.
I wasn't being dramatic, it turned out. My brother was unconscious in the hospital with several broken ribs and fractures to his left elbow. It was the second time he had ended up in the hospital that year, the social worker told me, to my surprise. My brother had refused to cooperate with them on the first occasion, making up some bogus about a street fight where he acquired his injuries, but there was no excuse plausible this time. A teacher had called for a wellness check on him after he was absent from school and his friends hadn't heard from him. He was found at his house in that state.
The social worker explained in no uncertain terms that my brother would not be returning to his sole legal guardian, our father, and I was their first choice as a new legal guardian.
"Yes," I breathed the word out instantly, not thinking the suggestion through whatsoever, "Though I'm not sure if he'd agree to that."
The social worker didn't care to hear my brother's opinion since, as it turned out, fourteen was too young to have a say in one's life. She told me to get to his city, my hometown, as soon as possible and we'd discuss the matter further. I numbly called into work and made my way over immediately, without a thought in my mind.
The adrenaline only took me so far before I started to wonder if I was deluding myself. Peter had refused to speak to me for years any time I tried to reach out to my younger brother.
It was my own fault. I was eight years older than my little brother, which didn't prevent us from developing a strong bond while protecting one another in our chaotic household. But it did result in me leaving home the second I graduated high school and never looking back.
I had a difficult upbringing. I had watched my family descend into brutal chaos, at the whims of my violent, alcoholic father, until it took the life of my older brother and closest companion, Paul. His death haunted that house and everyone in it, forever adding to the misery none of us could escape. And so when the option arose, I fled as far as I could get from my past. I never meant for my little brother to be included in what I was running from, but he certainly interpreted it that way.
I should have done a better job of saying goodbye. I should have tried to remain in contact with him. But I had been a kid too, and I didn't think I would’ve survive another day in that house.
I was sure his father never told him the full story though. Our father, a title I was disgusted to even refer to him as, had resented me for the crime of remembering. He saw his older son reborn in Peter and had wanted the boy to himself. He knew I was a lost cause by the time I was a teenager, forever turned against him when I knew that he drove my brother to his untimely death, even if his finger wasn't on the trigger, but Peter was another chance for him to be a dad. At some point, he only saw me as a threat, as someone who would poison my little brother against him if I could, and he wanted me gone.
Either way, four years had passed, and I was no closer to getting anywhere with trying to contact my brother. My father didn't need to block my attempts any longer when Peter ignored me perfectly well on his own, a hostility in his behaviour I hadn't known he was capable of. He was only ten when I left, and now he was well into his teens. Four years was a lifetime to a kid left behind in a broken home, I understood.
Peter was unconscious but stable when I arrived in my hometown, flustered and sweating at his bedside. He had suffered a lot of trauma from the beating he had gotten, the social worker explained, and might not be conscious for a bit. She wanted to move forward with their plans for finding a suitable home for my brother while he was recovering.
I had a few questions first. Namely, where the hell was my mother in all of this?
"No one has heard from her in years," the social worker said pointedly, a twinge of sympathy in her tone, "It seems as though she left town shortly after you did."
I was dumbfounded by that. My mother had faults, plenty of them. She stood by and let her husband demolish her children for decades, for one. But there was more to her flaws than that alone. She also played favourites. I had shared her traits - being shy, quiet, focused on my studies and having formidable grades, so I won her favour. She never cared for either Paul or Peter, which she made very known to them. She was cold and uncaring with my brothers in all the years I knew her, never being the least bit motherly to either. I was the only child who ever got to experience that side of her.
But to abandon him once I graduated? I couldn't believe she could stoop that low.
The social worker only gave me a helpless shrug, before moving the topic on. She listed her demands from me - a place of residence equipped with a room Peter could occupy, sufficient financial stability, willingness to potentially be his parental guardian until he reached adulthood, and ideally, the ability to maintain his current life.
The social worker asked if it'd be possible to live within the city so Peter would be able to stay at his current high school and play on the same hockey team. It was a big ask, to uproot the life I had finally started to build for myself away from the stains of my past, but the possibility of reconnecting with my brother made me willing to do anything. I wanted so badly to give him the childhood he had always deserved to have. My brave, sweet brother, who never would have abandoned me the way I abandoned him. I had never had his courage or resolve.
The trade I carved out a career in as an electrician wasn't too hard to find jobs for, and so I agreed. I'd look for an apartment and job in Peter's city, I decided.
I got to work right away, taking advantage of Peter's unconsciousness. If I had everything together by the time he woke up, maybe he'd see how much I wanted to make up for my mistakes. Maybe he'd be more willing to forgive.
I started with the easy stuff, contacting his school and his hockey team to smooth over his absence and being his legal guardian soon. The high school was very understanding, but his hockey coach had some unexpected news for me.
"I don't mean to pull your leg or nothing," the man on the other end of the line sighed, "And don't tell Peter, cuz it isn't his fault, but his old man hasn't paid in years. I've let Peter play on anyway hoping his dad would get his shit together and pay up everything he owed us, but it doesn't seem likely now, does it?"
I clenched my eyes closed, cursing the horrible man under my breath. My father had a knack for ruining every aspect of my life. "How much do we owe you?" I asked, after a pause, accepting that I'd spend a lifetime paying for my father's shortcomings.
It was a horrendous cheque to write out. I'd be feeling that all year, especially when I was in between jobs, and yet it was strangely satisfying at the same time. I had committed to raising my brother and this was what it meant to raise him. I had to be willing to sacrifice a lot for him to do this, and I was. With that cheque, my guardianship felt official.
Once his education and sports were sorted out, I moved on to apartment viewing. A two-room apartment on my budget didn't leave me with many options. My current lease was going month to month, making it convenient enough to move to one of the cheapest places I could find in my hometown. It had everything needed to live a life, and it wasn't as though Peter or I were used to luxury. We had been raised in rampant poverty, with a librarian as a mother and a father who couldn't hold a job between his benders. I was sure to make the place look as cozy and lively as possible before the social worker came to see it anyway.
I didn't have time to begin my job search before Peter woke up. I was disturbed from a day of moving by another call, one I had been waiting to hear all week.
"Hi Jacob, I am calling to let you know that he's awake," the nurse told me, "You should come visit him."
I didn't need any more encouragement than that. I got off the highway and got back on going in the opposite direction, racing back as swiftly as my vehicle would take me. I didn't know what I'd say when I saw him, beyond petrified to talk to the boy that once had been my shadow, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was that Peter was safe and alive, and our father could never hurt him again.
The social worker I had been working with, I couldn't remember her name for the life of me, stopped me before I entered my brother's room. "I came to speak with Peter," she informed me, "I wanted him to have some idea about what is going on. He was very attached to returning home over the last occasion that he ended up here, so I needed to explain that his father lost custody of him very clearly this time."
I released a sigh, not surprised that my brother would fight so hard to return to his abuser. "How did he take it?"
She shrugged, looking confused, "Good, I guess. He barely said anything."
That didn't seem like a good sign. I rubbed my eyes with two fingers in frustration, "Okay," I mulled over the responses, "Does he know I am here? Does he know about the custody plans?"
The social worker nodded, "He asked, so I told him you are our top pick. The only other known relative is his aunt who lives very far away and works nights. You are easily the best option for maintaining his life here."
I nearly held my breath as I dared to ask, "How did he react to potentially being placed in my custody?"
"It's hard to say," she smiled softly, "But he wasn't very resistant. I think it might take some time for him to accept the reality of the situation. He has always been quite spirited, hasn't he?"
Even in my worried state, that comment forced me to crack a smile. I was happy to hear that my brother hadn't changed that much. The boy was wild to the bone growing up, with the mouth to match it. I hoped that he would never outgrow those traits.
"Can I see him?" I asked, finally. My words came out as nearly a whisper, desperate and longing.
She gave me a sad smile before she motioned at the door. I was about to see my brother again, at long last. I took a sharp inhale before I pushed through the entrance, opening the thin door to expose my brother behind it.
He wasn't lying down anymore, instead sitting upright with pillows propped behind his back to make him comfortable. His injuries seemed less pronounced when his eyes were bright and alert, as sharp and vivid as I remembered them. It was hard to see how much he had matured when he was pale and unconscious, but once he was awake, I could see the toll of time on my brother. He was no longer a child anymore.
He was the spitting image of Paul, I couldn’t help but think upon first assessment. It took my breath away for a beat.
His chin didn't move when I stepped in but his eyes found me. His expression remained blank.
I collected my courage, trying to keep a brave face on. "Hey."
Peter didn't respond.
I didn't let that scare me away, slowly taking a few tentative steps closer to his bedside. "How are you feeling?"
Peter tilted his head, an exhaustion clear in his voice, "Great, as you can see."
I didn't react to the bite in his voice, knowing his physical condition must be upsetting him on top of the family situation. As long as I could remember, Peter had been obsessed with hockey and believed it'd be his way out of poverty and our life. He had the talent to match his ambitions too, though, he didn't have the resources needed to fund it.
His dream was all but gone now. The doctor told me his elbow was not healing properly after being injured multiple times. I might be hopeless with most aspects of sports, but I knew that one bad injury could change the trajectory of an athlete's life. Even the doctor said it was uncertain if he could ever carry a stick without discomfort again.
I turned the topic away from his injuries, not wanting to upset him with that reality. "I came as soon as they called me. Why didn't you tell me this has happened multiple times?"
Peter gave me an incredulous look, as if I was asking for the moon. He didn't bother responding, his demeanour hostile.
I tried to circle back, "I know I wasn't around, and I'm sorry that I left, Peter, I never wanted to leave you. But you still could have told me if you needed help. I would have come."
Peter stirred on the bed, his voice hissing with anger, "I don't need your help!" He paused, wincing from the movement as he leaned back. His ribs still seemed to be causing him grief.
I knew that I had an uphill battle ahead of me. Four years of resentment would be hard to bridge. Apologizing to him in the hospital right after he heard he was being denied returning to his father and had potentially career-ending injuries might not get me far. I could try to break through his defences when he was in a better place.
"Did the social worker tell you what is happening?" I wondered, coyly. I knew the answer, but I thought him leading the conversation might encourage him to speak with me.
"Shelia?" He muttered, his eyes on the door as if she'd reappear at the sound of her name, "Yup."
Shelia, that's her name.
"Well, she asked if you could come live with me." I went on, undeterred by his shortness. Two-word responses were still more than the nothingness I got the last time I called him. I braced myself before asking, "What do you think about that?"
Peter's eyes were flashing darkly, "I don't have a choice."
I released a hefty breath. It might have been easier to swallow if my brother told me all the angry thoughts he clearly had storming around his head. Knowing that his mother abandoned him shortly after I did only made me surer that he resented me and would not let my actions go with ease. He put an icy wall up after I left, one I had never seen him have before. A wall borne out of having no one but himself to rely on all those years, no doubt. Even if our father liked him better than he liked me, it was not an easy feat to be alone in that house. The fact that we were having this conversation in a hospital cleared that up.
"You don't really," I agreed lightly, "Because we don't have a lot of relatives, and you can't go back." I tried to come up with some things that might cheer him, "I found an apartment here that's nearby so you can stay at your high school and be near friends, plus staying on the same team..."
Peter only shrugged in response. Maybe the social worker - Shelia - already told him that.
"I know you're still upset with me, Peter, but I really want this to work." I pleaded with him a bit, growing desperate, "I want you to want to stay with me."
"Well, I don't," he shot back, stonily.
I wet my lips with my tongue, "Is there something else I could try to do to make it better for you?"
Peter didn't reply right away, waiting for such a long pause that I thought he might not respond at all. But then he did. "I want to see my dad." He muttered.
'My dad', he said. Not our dad.
"Well," I rubbed the back of my neck, sheepishly, "You won't be able to until the court completes your custody case and decides on how much access he's allowed to have."
Peter's face grew even grimmer as he slumped in defeat. "Neither you or the court could stop me if I decide imma go see him," he mumbled.
I didn't say anything. I supposed that was true. It wasn't like I was going to chain him to a bedpost every night to keep control over him. Even as a child, Peter did as he pleased. I was sure that habit didn't shake in his teenage years.
I knew Peter well enough to not be shocked that his first thoughts were about his father. Why he forgave that man every time, I could never understand. No matter what our father did, Peter would always bounce back and seek him out again. My brother’s love was unconditional, so long as he occasionally got a few kind words and some fatherly moments. His father could beat him black and blue the next day for all he cared.
"What happened to my phone?" Peter asked, after a long pause.
I blinked a few times, surprised by the shift in conversation. "I'm not sure. They said you could go back to the house and collect any belongings you want to keep." I saw my brother's eyebrow lift, so I explained further, "He's not there, he got arrested."
"I just want my phone," my brother said, stubbornly, "Or if it got destroyed, then I have a list in my room with all my contacts."
It dawned on me that his dad must have broken his phone several times, to make him that prepared to switch to a new device. I wondered how frequently violent incidents happened that didn't send him to the hospital. Peter had never been as careful as I was to avoid meeting our father's fists, as he poked at the bear far too often. The man was fond of him when he was sober, but the liquor turned him into something else, and Peter had always faced the brunt of it, like Paul before him.
There was a second hint in his response. I stared, confused, "You don't remember what happened, do you?"
Peter shrugged, before wincing from the motion, "Not really."
"Maybe that's for the best," I murmured. I didn't want him to have vivid memories of his drunkard father beating him into a coma.
"When can I leave?" Peter mumbled, weakly.
I nodded, trying to go along with anything he asked for. I knew it wouldn't work in the long run if I was supposed to be his guardian for four years. He'd need boundaries eventually if I ever wanted him to listen to or respect me, but for now, I would be at his every beck and call. I just wanted him to forgive me, to be happy I was back in his life. I wanted him to see the benefits of living with his brother, away from the constant threats and fears that cast a shadow over our childhood home.
"I'll go ask the doctor." I replied, turning for the exit.