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The glowing, digital numbers on Wirt’s bedside clock read somewhere around 2:30 am when he was awoken by the sound of his mother’s frantic jumble of words coming from down the hall, her voice rising rapidly in pitch until it reached a full on shout.
His (step)-dad’s words interrupted her’s sharply, his own tone lower and more reasonable; consoling almost, Wirt thought distantly, his mind struggling to hold onto consciousness.
Comforting…
He jolted awake not a minute later, when the hushed murmur of “hospital” reached his ears.
“Mom?” He cried, before he could be embarrassed for the automatic reaction, slipping out of bed and falling to the floor with a thud.
Before he could fully process the situation, his step-dad was leaning before him, brow furrowed and sweat dotting the clammy skin.
“Wirt.” He muttered, voice more solemn than Wirt could really ever remember hearing it, “Your mother and I need to take Greg to the hospital. We’re not sure what’s wrong with him but-Will you be alright here by yourself?”
At the older man’s words, Wirt felt his heart drop like a stone tossed into a lake, sinking slowly into his heavy gut with the realization of the gravity of the situation.
He blinked once, twice, before nodding slowly.
“I-I’ll be fine.” He replied shakily, taking a deep breath before urging, “You take care of Greg. I’ll be fine.”
It’ll be fine.
His step-father gave him one last long and considering look before nodding curtly and exiting the room swiftly, still as solemn as before.
“Of course he’s solemn.” Wirt thought distantly, rubbing his thumb along his shoulder where his step-dad’s hand had been pressed seconds earlier, “Greg’s going to the hospital.”
It was this thought, coupled with the sound of the front door slamming behind his father, mother, and ailing little brother, that somehow hit Wirt the hardest, forcing him to face the situation head on.
Greg was going to the hospital.
The air seemed to leave his lungs in one quick woosh then.
Before he could stop it, the image of Greg, wrapped in edelwood branches and paler than Wirt had ever seen him, rose to the forefront of his mind unbidden.
“It’s my fault.” He thought wildly; then, out loud, “Somehow this is my fault. I caused this.”
His breath getting heavier with each inhale, Wirt began to frantically flip over the last couple of days in his mind like he would through the pages of an old architectural manuscript, looking for something that could have caused his younger brother’s illness, anything that-
Of course.
Wirt felt cold sweat break out on the back of his neck at the thought.
He’d been late picking Greg up from school the evening before, having been too caught up in bassoon practice to pay much attention to his responsibilities. By the time he’d remembered his little brother, it had begun to rain, a chilly autumn drizzle that left those out in it both cold and miserable in a matter of minutes.
Greg, however, had been just as cheerful as ever; greeting Wirt enthusiastically and chattering about how they’d probably, “missed our bus. But that’s a-okay with me, brother o’ mine! I don’t mind walking one bit! Even in this nasty rain.”
Wirt had given Greg a wan smile then, already ready to be out of the weather but unwilling to snap at his brother over it, given that it was technically his fault that they were in their predicament anyway.
He hadn’t said much the entire walk home, thoughts preoccupied as they were with school and practice and other “teenager things” (as his mother so fondly referred to them) that he’d hardly even noticed Greg shivering in the bitter October wind that was only growing colder in the lingering twilight.
He hadn’t done much, either, when his little brother had tripped over his own eager steps and fallen into a puddle. The younger boy had laughed it off, so Wirt had given a bit of a wry chuckle himself and simply continued walking.
Nevermind that Greg’s shoes had probably been wet the entire walk after the incident. Nevermind that Wirt was comfortably warm and dry underneath his parka, and hadn’t thought to bring another coat for Greg.
And now the younger was suffering for it, Wirt realized numbly, his breath still coming in sharp, shallow pants.
Greg was suffering because of him.
Again.
---
The rest of the early morning was spent in a restless cycle of attempting to sleep, checking the house phone to make sure nobody had tried to call, and crawling back into bed to toss and turn for another hour or so.
By 5 o’clock, Wirt was exhausted in all senses of the word. With still no word from his family, he heaved a resigned sigh and pulled himself out from between his sweat dampened sheets, gritting his teeth and forcing himself to at least start getting ready for the school day ahead.
It wasn’t until almost 7 o’clock, when Wirt was slouched miserably over the kitchen table trying (with little luck) to force himself to choke down a bowl of cereal, that the phone rang shrilly, startling the boy so badly that he knocked his mostly full glass of water to the linoleum below with a loud clatter.
He lunged across the kitchen wildly, picking the phone up and answering before the second ring had finished completely.
“Hello?!” He cried, both hands holding the phone in a white-knuckled grip, “Hello, dad?”
“Wirt.” His step-dad responded immediately, voice sounding soft and wrung-out, but not as defeated as Wirt had feared, “I’m sorry we waited so long to call. It’s been-”
“Greg.” Wirt interrupted sharply, the familiar flare of irritation hitting him at the man’s stalling, “How’s Greg?”
“Oh, Greg.” His step-dad repeated (“stupidly” Wirt thought waspishly), “Greg’s fine, Wirt. He’s resting now but he-he’s fine.”
There was a long pause, and Wirt pursed his lips thoughtfully, refusing to voice the question he knew was already hanging in the air.
“He had a fever of 104 this morning.” The man on the other end of the line finally sighed wearily, “It’s gone down now thank god but-”
“Do they know what it was about?” Wirt asked anxiously, the fog that had taken over his mind sometime early that morning clearing momentarily and making room for feelings beyond the stubbornly clinging numbness, “Do they know what caused it?”
“Wirt,” Came the tired reply, a yawn hidden sloppily behind the word, “It was probably just a case of the flu. It’s flu season ya’ know, and-”
“Right.” Wirt grit out irritably, exhaling a frustrated sigh out his nose and not caring that he’d interrupted the (useless) flow of conversation again, “Okay. I-I have to go get ready for school now, okay? I just-Okay?”
There was a heavy silence, before Wirt’s step-dad sighed as well.
“Okay, kiddo.” He muttered back, causing Wirt to bite his lip against the flash of guilt for his irritated behavior, “You have a good day. We should be home by the time you get back… Okay?”
Wirt paused, stewing in silence before he hit the End Call button forcefully, placing the phone back in its cradle and scurrying out of the room.
The feeling only continued to grow as he hastened to grab everything he’d need for school, his hands clenching and unclenching in frustration up until the point he left the house entirely.
---
The school day turned out to do very little toward improving his mood; not like Wirt really expected it to.
From the minute he’d wearily climbed the cement steps into the building, Wirt had been accosted by Sara, who had immediately snapped at him about not having worn a coat over his sweater, and how it was, “like, 40 degrees out, Wirt. We both know how cold you get, even during the summer…”
When he’d refused to respond, shrugging the concern off listlessly, Sara had ceased in her nagging, instead frowning at his silence but walking along with him to class anyway.
The information shared during the morning’s classes had, frankly, gone completely over his head, and Wirt spent most of each lecture leaning heavily on his desk, willing his eyes to remain open and give him the appearance of being awake to any curious onlookers.
Physically awake, at the very least.
Sara spent most of the day watching him closely, this Wirt could notice without having to pay attention to much else.
The fog was back, and clouding his concentration more and more with each passing hour.
It wasn’t until lunch that the fragile silence he’d built around himself was finally shattered, Sara’s patience finally reaching a breaking point halfway through the meal.
Before Wirt could fully process what was happening, he was being torn away from the chicken nuggets he’d been poking haphazardly at with his plastic fork and being roughly drug outside the cafeteria by his elbow and into the chilly autumn air.
“What’s the deal, Wirt?” Sara demanded as she spun the aforementioned around to face her head on, her voice still low and soft despite the impatience it held.
Wirt blinked stupidly, the bitter wind clearing the heaviness around his eyes somewhat so he could focus on Sara’s tight features.
He found he didn’t really like what he saw there, and averted his eyes to study the fraying cuffs of his sweater, instead.
“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He diverted (lamely, if you were to ask), “Deal? Th-There’s no deal. It’s fine.”
Sara raised an unimpressed eyebrow, and Wirt winced at the expression.
“We’ve know each other for a long time, Wirt.” She replied softly, pausing to study his face and, after a moment, placing one hand softly on his elbow, “I can tell when you’re upset. It’s-” She chuckled, hiding it behind her hand, “It’s pretty easy to tell.”
Wirt frowned, more stung than he should have been over the words, “Well, it’s fine.” He replied coolly, stepping out of Sara’s hold when the area her hand sat began to sting and tingle uncomfortably, the close contact making his lungs feel tight and achy, “You shouldn’t worry about me, Sara. You-There are probably… other things that are more worth your time.”
If Sara was offended by the dismissal she didn’t show it. She frowned at the words, biting her lip as if in thought before replying, “Well, I do worry about you, Wirt.”
Wirt paused, blinking sluggishly before cocking his head slightly in question, “What?” He demanded, “Why?”
Sara giggled again, though this time it seemed more warm and familiar; less accusatory.
“You’re such a goober.” She replied easily, and Wirt felt his face flush at the words, “We’re friends, Wirt. Friends care about each other. And…”
She paused here, face growing solemn and contemplative again until it seemed she wouldn’t continue.
“And?” Wirt prompted anxiously.
“And…” Sara repeated, drawing the syllable out, “You’ve been… Different, since last Halloween. I mean, you were always weird and nervous.” She teased, wrinkling her nose and giving Wirt a small smile.
For a moment it seemed she was about to replace her hand on his elbow again, but seemed to think better of the action and ran the extended hand through her hair in an uncharacteristically hesitant action instead.
Wirt huffed a chuckle of his own, more thankful than he should have been at the silent gesture.
“But for the past year you’ve been… Weirdly quiet.” Sara continued slowly, “I know you’re still the same Wirt as before your whole… hospital incident. But sometimes it doesn’t feel like it. Sometimes it feels like you left a part of you back in that lake when you fell in. Or maybe… Brought more of you back? I don’t know. It doesn’t really make any sense but-”
“Greg’s in the hospital.” Wirt interrupted frantically, far too loudly; the fog had started to come back full force at Sara’s rapid line of accusations.
The girl seemed to understand the words, though, as her eyes widened immediately.
“Oh my gosh, Wirt.” She covered her mouth with a hand, “Is he okay? Do you need me to do something?”
“He’s fine.” Wirt replied firmly, more to himself than anything, “He’s fine.”
Sara nodded, the shock on her face abating to something more reasonable;
More comforting.
“What happened?” She questioned softly.
Wirt frowned, feeling a bit of irritation flare up at the words, before it died almost as quickly as it had arrived.
“I-I don’t know.” He admitted helplessly, stuffing his suddenly trembling hands into the pockets of his jeans instead of allowing them to rise and tug at his hair like they wanted to, “He had a fever and he just-They took him this morning and-”
“Wirt.” Sara commanded suddenly, and with an edge of sternness, “You need to calm down.”
“It’s my fault.” Wirt whispered, feeling his breath starting to spasm and catch again but pushing the sensation aside in favor of ignorance, “It was my fault Sara. The-the-the rain and now-and now he-”
“Wirt.” Sara repeated, sharply, though she remained a safe distance away.
Safe.
Wirt paused in his tirade, forcing himself to meet Sara’s steady gaze through the haze and the mist of--confusion? tears?
“Wirt, buddy.” She continued soothingly, “Greg is fine, okay? You said so yourself. He’s fine!”
Wirt, unable to form a proper response, simply shook his head wildly, finally allowing one hand to reach up and clutch at his hair frantically.
Which was the wrong thing to do, apparently, as Sara sighed and took a step closer--
Only to bite her lip guiltily when Wirt skittered back immediately at the movement.
“Okay.” She consoled, raising both hands placatingly, “Okay, Wirt. You’ve heard he’s fine, right? Who told you that? Your mom?”
Wirt frowned slightly, “My step-dad.” He replied.
“Okay!” Sara repeated again, sounding a bit more cheerful, “And you know he wouldn’t lie to you, right?”
There was a long pause, before Wirt nodded grudgingly, shifting so that both hands were stuffed in his pockets again.
Sara looked satisfied at the progress.
“So Greg is definitely fine.” She insisted, “And Wirt?”
“Yeah?” Wirt replied weakly, sniffing miserably and reaching a hand up to scrub at his right eye, irritated at the moisture that seemed to be building behind it and the left.
“It’s not your fault.” Sara insisted, “I promise. These things can happen to anyone. Even someone as cheerful and good as Greg! They’re nobody’s fault, really. Especially not yours.”
Wirt stared at her for a minute longer, feeling his heart quiver at the small, comforting smile she was giving him, before he sniffed again and returned the smile shakily.
“That’s my guy!” Sara cried, bouncing on the balls of her feet in victory, “Feeling any better?”
“A little.” Wirt answered honestly, testing his lungs and happily finding that he was able to take a (mostly) full breath without it snagging on the sap in his lungs, “Thanks, Sara.”
“Anytime, buddy!” Sara replied cheerfully, a full on grin spreading across her face, “Talk to me any time you’re feeling like that, mmkay?”
Wirt gave a small, watery smile in return, “Okay.”
---
From the point of his and Sara’s “conversation” on, Wirt’s school day became a little bit more bearable. By the time the final bell was rung, he was feeling a hesitant cheer creeping in, forcing a little hum out of his throat as he left the school and began his lonesome trek home.
The October day’s air had grown chillier yet, however, and the further Wirt got, the quieter he became, hugging his arms tightly around his waist in a poor replacement for the parka he’d (semi-intentionally) left at home that morning. How Greg had maintained his cheerful attitude during their walk home the evening before, Wirt thought, was a mystery.
The thought twisted Wirt’s gut more than he’d anticipated, despite his best attempts toward viewing the situation positively.
As far as he knew, he could turn the corner just ahead and be home, just as they had the night before, and Greg would still be in the hospital, possibly in worse condition than he had been that morning.
“No.” Wirt murmured to himself, clenching his eyes shut momentarily against the dark thought, “He’s fine.”
He hadn’t heard from either of his parents all day, which could either mean that they had come home exhausted from their early morning excursion and forgotten to call the school and inform Wirt or-
Or things could have gotten worse. Greg could have gotten worse and they didn’t want to burden Wirt with the news while he was at school. Maybe they didn’t want him to know at all. It was his fault, after all. Greg must have told them the circumstances of his illness. They probably all knew it was all his fault, now, and didn’t even consider him worthy of being kept in the loop and now--
NO.
Wirt stopped in his tracks, shivering in the breeze that fluttered past and squeezing the fabric of his sweater in his hands.
Greg was fine.
“He’s fine.” Wirt repeated out loud, forcing his feet to continue their trek and turn the corner toward home, the concrete beneath them slowly wetting as the sky opened up and began to drizzle softly.
“He’s fine. Fine, fine, fine, fine, fine-”
As the rain water began to increase its assault on his ducked head, Wirt let his mantra die off and scurried the last few steps into his yard to collapse against the heavy wood of the front door, breaths heavy and weary with exertion.
He briefly contemplated simply sliding to the floor and spending the rest of the evening on the front porch, allowing blissful ignorance to overwhelm his senses and wash away the worries that would inevitably be waiting behind the closed door.
The thought was quickly discarded, however, when a voice (one that sounded distinctly like--Sara? No--) urged, “Go in! Face your problems head on! You can’t run forever.”
With a heavy sigh, Wirt reached a trembling hand out and turned the front doorknob, closing his eyes before pushing the door open forcefully and stepping into the house.
His eyes remained closed for another moment longer, until it became clear that only silence would answer his entrance.
Only then did Wirt slowly open his eyes, scanning the dark entryway slowly for any sign of life or movement.
From somewhere to his right-- (“the kitchen” Wirt reminded himself wearily) came the unmistakable clatter of dishes being pulled out of the cupboard, causing Wirt to jolt slightly at the sudden sound. Otherwise…
There.
Wirt’s gaze zeroed in on a small lump of blankets on the living room couch, their only movement the slow inhale and exhale of the being underneath-
“Greg.” Wirt breathed, before propelling himself into the room unsteadily, legs shaking badly beneath him.
It was as if the one word broke a spell that had been put on the house (or maybe Wirt himself), and suddenly (finally) a fog seemed to lift.
From inside the kitchen, the sound of Wirt’s mother humming softly over her cooking could be heard, and underneath that; his step-dad muttering over his own work in the study at the back of the house.
Wirt allowed himself a moment to reel back from the sudden onslaught to his senses before turning his attention back to Greg who--
Who was stood up now, wrapped tightly in the fleece throw from the sofa and staring at Wirt with a (somewhat) flushed face and wide, perceptive eyes.
“You had a bad day, brother!” He cried in dismay, frowning dramatically, “And I wasn’t there to fend it off!”
Wirt chuckled involuntarily, his eyes welling and dripping two stray tears onto his cheeks before he could even register the urge; much less do anything to stop it.
“It’s fine, Greg. I-Oof.”
Greg had charged forward at the first sign of tears, wrapping his arms tightly around Wirt’s torso and burying his face in the fabric of the old sweater.
“You’re not fine!” He cried, voice slightly muffled, “You’re crying!”
He looked up at Wirt then, face taking on an unusually solemn expression, “Was it something I did?”
Wirt blinked in shock, his long arms hanging limply at his sides, “What? No, no. Greg! It wasn’t anything you did.”
“It was because I went back to the hospital, wasn’t it?” Greg insisted, face falling, “We woke you up early when we left and it made your day bad.” He looked away before murmuring, “All because I was fooling around again.”
Wirt felt his gut twist at the words, and he knelt down to Greg’s level immediately, placing both his hands on the younger’s shoulders. “Greg, what?”
“I was fooling around yesterday in the rain and got sick.” Greg explained, looking more exasperated with the news than he did frustrated, “Doctor Willow said I was probably there because I went out into the rain without a coat or-” He wrinkled his nose, “Go-losh-es. And I was being silly and fooled around in puddles on the way home.”
Wirt’s eyes widened at the words, and for a long moment he thought he might have to exit the room and throw up.
“Greg.” He forced out instead, taking a deep breath and forcibly ignoring the roiling of his gut, “It wasn’t your fault. And I’m not angry about being woken up early.”
Greg cocked his head slightly, “You’re not?”
“No.” Wirt replied immediately, and opened his mouth to confess his guilt. It was his fault. He’d been negligent and Greg had ended up in the hospital and--
He paused, closing his mouth and swallowing sharply before trying again.
“It’s no one’s fault, Greg.” Wirt said instead, his voice only wobbling slightly, and tried to ignore the sting that came from Greg’s shocked expression, “Sometimes, these things just-um, happen? And they’re really-really no one’s fault. They just, yeah, happen.”
He was suddenly very glad that Sara wasn’t there to watch his clumsy attempt at the reassurances.
Greg eyed him disbelievingly before repeating, “No one’s fault?”
“Um, yeah.” Wirt replied, glancing away uncomfortably before letting out another “oof!” as Greg hugged him tightly again.
“So it wasn’t my fault?” The younger asked quietly.
“It wasn’t your fault, Greg.” Wirt confirmed, smiling softly and ruffling his younger brother’s hair.
“And it wasn’t your fault.” Greg insisted, peeking up and holding Wirt’s shocked gaze in his own stern one.
“Wha-? I-” Wirt coughed a little, “Greg, you’re tired.”
“It wasn’t.” Greg murmured, his eyelids drooping as if on cue, “Okay?”
“Greg-”
“I’m okay.” Was the sleepy whisper that halted any argument Wirt could have formulated, the words dying on his lips as his little brother snuggled closer, one round cheek pressed against Wirt’s racing heart, “Okay?”
Wirt sighed and dropped back onto his heels, suddenly just as exhausted as his young companion.
He gathered his small brother close, burying his face into Greg’s soft hair and closing his eyes against the returning threat of tears.
“Okay, Greg. Okay.”