Work Text:
-z-
All of Beacon Hills knows about what happened – about your addict of a brother.
They whisper, sometimes, about how high he was when he wrapped his car around a tree, killing himself and his wife (a pretty little thing, the poor dear – she should have taken that baby boy of hers and she should have run).
Luckily, Greenberg hadn’t been in the car (he had been at home, playing with his daddy’s dealer).
And when the Sheriff arrived at your doorstep, a dirty and stinking Greenberg on his hip – and, though every instinct was screaming for you to say no, don’t even think about it, you couldn’t turn him away.
So you took him in, raised him up, taught him all you knew about basketball and lacrosse and hockey. And everything was just so perfect (not Greenberg, though, the kid couldn’t make a pass to save his life, but that’s okay).
And the day of the Hale fire, you went home and you hugged Greenberg close and told him how much you loved him and how proud you were of him. You told him that if he ever died on you, that you would bring him back and he would be doing laps until he died again.
Greenberg had laughed against your chest and told you that he wouldn’t leave because seriously, you can’t even remember garbage day.
-x-
All of Beacon Hills knows what happened – about how your brother got himself and his wife dead and left you with his son.
And they all know how you and Greenberg were arguing on the way home from practice, how you took your eyes off the road for one second to shout at your nephew, how a large herd of deer careened into the side of your car, how you lost control and the car flipped.
And they all know how it was the only time the Sheriff ever got sick at a scene because you had been holding your nephew’s shattered body in your arms as you screamed at him to Wake up! Wake up, boy, it’s time for practice! You want those five minutes on the field don’t you?!
And somewhere deep in your mind, something snapped and broke and you didn’t remember the next few weeks as your body healed.
And you didn’t remember the week before the accident.
-x-
All of Beacon Hills knows about what happened – about how your nephew died in your arms, about how you couldn’t deal with it, about how you forgot.
And since they know, they whisper to their sons on the lacrosse team to play along, to never say anything. Because they know that one morning, you’re going to wake up and you’re going to remember, and they pray that these simple days of happiness will be the ones that will carry you through the pain of your loss.
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End.