Chapter Text
It had been three months, and it still hadn't fully hit Matt. People said that these things took time, that processing them was the most difficult task, especially at the beginning, that it would hit him when he least expected it.
Chris was dead, and Matt still hadn't come to accept it.
It happened in seconds, the whole accident. One moment, Chris was driving, laughing at his own joke like he usually did, the next one, a truck hit the driver's side. Somehow, Matt survived — everyone talked about a miracle, but he wasn't sure about that. A miracle would've been if they had both survived, but that hadn't been the case.
A funeral was held, a channel was put on a hiatus, they moved back to their parents' house, and Matt spent most of his time in his room, staring at the ceiling. If he wasn't in his room, he was with Nick, who didn't look any better; hollow eyes and pale face, barely containing himself from crying whenever he looked at Matt. That was one of the reasons why Matt refused to look in the mirror — he would be forced to see Chris' face staring right back at him.
It was a strange feeling. He survived and he didn't, at the same time. A part of him was forever lost, once it got lowered into that grave, right with Chris.
Matt couldn't help, but ask himself over and over again why was it possible that he'd survived, but Chris hadn't. In what world was that even fair? Who decided that he was the one, who was meant to keep on living?
According to his therapist, it was called a survivor guilt. Classified under PTSD, causing depressive symptoms, or something like that — these days, his therapy sessions weren't exactly productive. He'd started a more intense therapy again, three times a week, but most of them were spent in silence, as he sat there, his eyes unfocused.
Nick started therapy, too, but they didn't exactly talk about it. They had yet to get to that point, because even mentioning Chris was difficult, let alone properly talk about him. Fuck, just being in the same room was difficult at times.
People around him kept saying that it would get better with time. Matt didn't believe that — how exactly was it meant to get better when a part of his very own soul got forcefully ripped out of him? No one fucking got it.
During sleepless nights, Matt wondered if Chris had been far too bright for this universe, to the point that the world simply wasn't ready for him and he had to be snatched away too soon. Or, maybe, Chris had always been doomed to be a supernova, cursed to disappear in a sudden eruption. He wondered if there was another universe where they all made it. Where they got to grow old together.
Matt turned to the side, curling himself into a small ball. He could swear his heart was slowly breaking, each day bringing a new crack. Apparently, people could die of a heartbreak — he remembered seeing it somewhere a long time ago, laughing at the absurdity of it. How could a heartbreak ever kill someone? He didn't get it, at least not at the moment.
Now, though, he understood it far too well. Especially during those moments when he could swear some invisible force was squeezing his entire chest, his ribs enclosing around his heart, crushing it. Maybe then, he would be able to join Chris in the afterlife.
But, honestly, despite the sleepless nights, he preferred those over the ones with dreams. Or, well, nightmares really. Anytime, he did manage to fall asleep with the help of his medication, he had the same nightmare — Chris survived, only to die a few days later. It was as if some higher being was laughing in his fucking face.
Chris was dead. Chris was dead. Chris was dead. Chris was dead. Chris was dead. Chris was dead. Chris was dead. Chris was dead. Chris was dead. Chris was dead. Chris was dead. Chris was dead. Chris was dead. Chris was—
"Hey, Matty."
Matt sat up so quickly he almost caused himself a whiplash, his eyes wide, his breathing ragged. He looked around his room, looking for the voice. He would've recognized that voice everywhere, it'd been following him around ever since the three of them learned how to talk.
It was Chris' voice.
"Matty."
Oh, fuck. Holy fucking shit. Was Matt going crazy? He must've been, right? He was hearing Chris' voice — who was very much dead. Matt knew that, of course he did. He'd seen Chris' unmoving body in the wreckage of the car.
"Please, I'm sorry," whispered Matt, covering his ears, as if to block out more of the voice. "I didn't mean to survive. I would—I would've switched with you. I promise, Chris. I'm so fucking sorry," he choked, his throat feeling tight.
Because Matt would've. He would've switched their places if it had been possible. Honestly, he would've done anything in the world to bring Chris back, to somehow save him.
"I don't blame you," said Chris, his voice more clear now. Oh, Matt was losing his fucking mind. "It's really important for me that you know that. I'm not mad, and I don't blame you."
Matt was somewhat aware of the fact that he wasn't actually talking to Chris — it was just his brain playing cruel tricks on him, he was sure there was some fancy, medical explanation for it, but in his own layman's terms, he was sure he was slowly going insane.
"You're not real," whispered Matt, lowering his hands from his ears. He stared into the darkness of his room, his shoulders slumping. "You're not real. You're not actually here. Chris, you died."
"Oh, trust me, I know," huffed Chris, and had he been right before Matt, his younger brother would've been rolling his eyes. "But I am here. In a way. It's very complicated, Matty, I'm not really sure how to explain it."
Had Matt been any smarter, he would've probably taken a double dosage of his sleeping meds, hoping it would knock him out, so he didn't have to suffer through this. But it'd been three months, and it hadn't hit him until now just how much he'd missed hearing Chris' voice. In a way, he assumed that he'd taken it for granted, especially during those moments when he'd tell Chris to shut up.
"Just start talking," breathed Matt, ignoring just how crazy this whole thing was — if anyone were to walk into his room, they would lock him right up, he was sure. "You've always been good at that, no?"
"Asshole," mumbled Chris, but his voice carried a hint of a smile. "Well, when I… died, I guess a part of me stayed here. My, uh, I don't know, soul? I guess? It's a really weird feeling. It's like, hm…" he trailed off with a hum.
Matt pulled one knee to his chest, resting his chin on top of it, as he let Chris think about his words a little longer.
"It's like my soul is now inside you. Or inside your mind, or some shit," said Chris in the end, making Matt snort, despite the situation — give it to Chris, being as eloquent as ever.
"Is it… ah, where even are you?" asked Matt, his eyebrows knitting together. "Is there like some, I dunno, fucking mind palace?"
"Nope. It's kinda like when I was in my own body? But I felt like I was half-awake for most of the time. Drifting in and out of consciousness," explained Chris, even as his tone sounded uncertain. "I kept calling for you, but you haven't heard me until now."
Matt swallowed around the lump in his throat, burying his fingers in his hair, tugging on it — the sharp pain was enough to prove this to him that it was real, but he tried again. And then again. Soon enough, he was pulling on his hair as quiet sobs were escaping his mouth.
"Matty," murmured Chris, his voice so gentle it made Matt's chest hurt.
"I miss you," choked Matt, digging his dull nails into his scalp. "I miss you so much. And Nick misses you. Justin does, too. And Mom and Dad. Nate as well, and—and…" he trailed off, letting out another choked sob.
Yes, Chris was far too bright for this world, to the point it simply wasn't ready for the light he brought with each step. For the warmth. For the sheer energy of Christopher Owen Sturniolo.
"I'm right here," said Chris, and oh, Matt could tell that his brother would've done anything to hug him right now — he'd always been so touchy, and Matt hated himself for pushing him away at times. "I guess I'm here in spirit? But also in you. Yes, I am inside you… No, wait."
The sudden laugh that suddenly escaped Matt almost startled him. He couldn't really remember the last time he managed to actually laugh without that constant nagging feeling that kept telling him that it would've been better if Chris had been there, too. Well, it seemed like Chris had been there the whole time.
"You're an idiot," sniffled Matt, rubbing his eyes. "Guess you took that codependency of yours to the next level, huh?"
"Oh, fuck off," scoffed Chris, but Matt could tell he was smiling.
Matt sighed, lying back down on the bed, staring at the ceiling above him, as if it held all the answers of the universe. "What now?" he asked, biting the inside of his cheek. "I… I will be honest, Chris, I still half-think that I might be either losing my mind from grief, or that this is just an elaborate prank my mind pulled on me. But if this is actually happening—" he took in a deep breath "—what do we do now?"
Chris hummed as if deep in thought, the sound echoing inside his brain. "Well, it's not like you can just tell people right away, huh? They'd definitely lock you up," he noted.
Matt groaned, dragging his hands across his face. His head was starting to hurt, and he couldn't figure out if the reason was all the crying he'd just done, or the fact that he and his dead brother were sharing a body. Or something like that. Really, it must've been the latter, because he doubted he possessed the brain capacity to fully understand what was happening.
"I know," mumbled Matt, heaving a sigh, letting his arms flop uselessly by his sides. "I have no fucking idea what to do."
"Well, we won't be able to figure anything out if you keep being sleep-deprived, hm?" mused Chris. "Why don't you get some rest?"
Matt snorted, rolling his eyes. "I find out that my brother's soul somehow survived inside of me, and you're telling me to go to sleep?"
Chris was quiet for a moment, and Matt was convinced that he wouldn't hear his brother's voice anymore — that all of this was just some complex auditory hallucination fabricated by his grief-stricken brain. But then, finally, Chris spoke up again, "You haven't really slept unless you take a shit ton of sleeping pills, but you rarely ever take them."
Matt closed his eyes, swallowing around nothing. "I keep having nightmares. You survive and then you die. I can't… I can't deal with them," he admitted, his voice cracking. Then, once he managed to fight off more tears, he continued, "And I miss you sleeping next to me."
Chris giggled, the sound making Matt smile. "Then, I'll keep an eye out for you. Like you've done for me before."
"How?" breathed Matt.
"I'll figure something out," replied Chris, sounding so certain of himself it made Matt smile. "What? Are you doubting my capability?"
"I'm denying its existence," mumbled Matt.
"Hey!"
The situation was so fucking bizarre. Chris died, but not really. His soul lived on, hidden for almost three months deep inside Matt's brain, only to emerge during a random night. And, now, his brother insisted on watching over him while he slept — rather sweet of Chris, really, and Matt did very much appreciate it.
"Just get some sleep, Matty. You definitely need it," murmured Chris, his voice gentle.
Matt hummed in response, turning on his side, his eyes still closed. If he tried hard enough, he could imagine Chris lying right next to him, feeling the warmth seeping deep inside his skin. If he tried hard enough, he could imagine Chris shifting, trying to find a good sleeping position. If he tried hard enough, he could pretend that Chris was still alive.
"I'm right here with you," added Chris, "until the end."
Feeling somewhat refreshed wasn't something that Matt was used to these days, because, after all, his relationship with sleep got rather complicated after the accident. So, to feel kinda alright was definitely new.
Matt sat up, blinking slowly as he looked around himself. He could feel the memories from last night sinking in, little by little, his eyes widening.
Did he actually talk to Chris, or was it all just his wishful thinking? Was his brain pulling the cruelest prank on him by letting him speak to his brother, only to snatch him away once more? Or was he just losing his fucking mind?
"Man, your mind is fucking loud," groaned Chris, making Matt's head snap up as if looking for the source of the voice, before realizing it was coming directly from his brain.
"Chris?" asked Matt, his voice small.
"Yeah?" replied Chris, sounding somewhat amused. "Who did you expect?"
Matt let out a choked chuckle, rubbing his eye. "No, I just… I thought it was just a dream, you know? I thought you were gone."
"No, I'm right here. See? I kept an eye on you!" chuckled Chris, the sound making Matt smile.
Over the course of those three months, Matt was slowly coming to realize that missing someone was sometimes about the tiniest of things. Because he was missing the way Chris laughed, the way Chris left his empty cans on the countertop, the way Chris nagged both Matt and Nick with his shenanigans. Missing and mourning someone, in its very own core, was such a bittersweet feeling — because what was grief, if not love with nowhere to go? Because Matt had yet to be done to give Chris all the love he'd held for him.
Well, it seemed like the universe saw it, too, and maybe that was why this whole situation happened in the first place.
"You sure did," replied Matt after a moment, finally dragging himself out of bed. He dug through his closet, looking for clothes that seemed relatively clean — doing laundry, or even bringing clothes to the washing machine, so someone else could take care of them, seemed like an impossible task these days. Showering wasn't any better. Oh, and he couldn't really remember the last time he shaved, but he assumed that had to do with the fact that he just couldn't stand to look at himself in the mirror.
When Matt walked into the bathroom, just about to take his shirt off, but he paused, frowning. "Can you see everything I do?" he asked, his voice unsure.
"Uh, yeah?" replied Chris, sounding just as unsure.
Matt bit on the inside of his cheek, narrowing his eyes at the shower in front of him. "Can you… I don't know. Turn around? Look away?" he asked, his frown deepening.
"Dude, how the fuck am I supposed to turn around when I am inside your body?" asked Chris, his voice laced with so much outrage it made Matt grimace. "Just don't look at your dick, or something!"
Matt groaned, pressing a heel of his hand against his eye. "I just want to take a shower in peace! Can't you close your eyes?"
"Your eyes are now my eyes. We're, I dunno, soul-bound, or whatever the fuck is going on here!" exclaimed Chris, and Matt knew that if he could, his brother would've already been throwing his arms up in exasperation.
Matt sighed, rolling his eyes. "I hate everything about this."
"You're telling me."
And so, Matt was forced to take a shower with his eyes closed for the most time, all while listening to Chris chatter away inside his brain. He wouldn't admit it — at least not out loud — but he missed the constant sound of Chris' voice. He didn't even realize how quiet the house suddenly had gotten. Sure, Nick still liked to talk, but it didn't seem… enough, in a way.
This was nice, almost comforting, despite how strange the whole situation was.
Once Matt finally stepped out of the shower and got dressed, he allowed himself to finally look in the mirror, after what seemed like forever. Oh, he looked awful. And he was being fucking generous with that adjective — the circles under his eyes were dark, his face was a sickly shade of gray, his eyes were hallow, his beard unkept, and it seemed like he'd lost some weight.
Chris hummed, and Matt let the soft sound soothe him, almost on instinct. "Do you feel like shaving your beard?" he asked, keeping his tone light. There was no judgment there, just some curiosity. Chris had always been like that, whenever Matt's mental health did a quick dive into a Mariana Trench. Not once had he gotten judged by Chris.
Matt shrugged in response, scratching at his cheek. "I don't really know," he mumbled. "Seems like a lot work."
"I guess so," agreed Chris, "but do you wanna try?"
Matt opened and closed his mouth, licking his dry lips. The question carried much more than what met the eye — it was Chris' way of asking if Matt wanted to get better. He did. He just wasn't sure how.
Despite that, he slowly nodded, already looking for his razor — he could barely remember where he placed it. "Sure, I'll try."
Shaving had never taken this long before — really, it'd always been a matter of a few minutes for him, trying to get it out of the way as soon as possible, but now… Matt had to stop every couple of moments, when looking at himself was getting too much, tears blurring his vision. For years, he'd insisted that there were so many differences between his and Chris' appearances, but now he couldn't stop focusing on all the details that made them the exact same.
But, even as Matt was on the verge of breaking down, perhaps even punching the mirror, Chris was right by him, whispering words encouragement, his voice echoing through his brain.
Once he was finally done, he slid down the tile wall, burying his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. One simple task was all it took to drain him out this bad — just how pathetic was he, really?
"You're being hard on yourself again, Matty," noted Chris, his voice as kind as ever. "I want you to know that I'm proud of you."
Matt sniffled, wiping at his eyes, trying to get rid of those annoying tears. He hated it. Anytime he believed that he was finally done crying, it just happened all over again — he didn't even know where he was getting all those tears from. "Thanks," he mumbled.
"Do you feel like getting breakfast?" asked Chris with a soft hum.
"What is this?" huffed Matt, but his voice carried no malice. "This is like a reverse possession. The entity inside of me is trying to improve the quality of my life."
Chris scoffed, "Don't call me an entity, you asshole."
Matt let out a quiet chuckle, carefully standing up from the cold floor. His vision was still a little blurry around the edges, despite the tears being gone, and his head was spinning, making him think just when was the last time he even had any food.
"I guess food might be nice," mumbled Matt, finally managing to leave the bathroom, before stepping outside his bedroom. The entire house was far too quiet — with Chris gone, there was no one to roam around far too early, already waiting for everyone to wake up with a smile on his face.
Matt missed that, too, he realized. Seeing Chris smile was one of those little things that he couldn't get back, even if Chris was… well, not really gone, but not entirely alive, either. How were they even supposed to refer to this whole situation, anyway?
When Matt walk into the kitchen, he was met with a sight of Nick, leaning against the kitchen island, his eyes unfocused. It took him a long moment to realize that Matt was standing there, his head slowly turning. Then, Nick's lips curled up in a faint hint of a smile. Matt noticed how red-rimmed and puffy his eyes were, and he easily assumed that neither of them were having a good morning.
"Hey," said Matt, clearing his throat. Talking to each other became difficult on a good day and downright impossible on a bad one. They used to bicker, of course, that was bound to happen between siblings, but these days, they were regressing to their old ways of how they'd once been, to the point of hostility. At times, it was difficult to hold a conversation without Chris.
"Hi," replied Nick, his voice far too monotone for a guy as dramatic as him.
Just as Matt was about to leave the kitchen to spare himself the awkwardness of it all, his body moved forward, as if completely on its own. He pulled Nick into a tight embrace, burying his face in the crook of his brother's neck.
For a brief moment, Nick stood there, completely frozen, before wrapping his arms around Matt, too. "Hi, sweetheart," he murmured, and Matt fought against the sob that tried to desperately claw out of his throat. "What's up? Why the sudden hug?"
Matt shrugged, grabbing the back of Nick's shirt. "I don't know," he replied with far more honesty than he'd expected. "It was like my body moved on my own."
Nick hummed, pressing a quick kiss against Matt's temple. "How…" he trialed off, taking in a deep breath. "How are you feeling?"
"I finally got some sleep," said Matt against Nick's neck, carefully choosing his words. He couldn't talk about what had happened last night, not without Nick thinking that he was pulling some terrible prank on him. "Slept almost the whole night."
"Good, that's good, dear," whispered Nick, burying his fingers in Matt's hair, gently scratching his scalp.
"What about you?" asked Matt, ignoring just how stiff the conversation sounded. It was strange, not being able to talk about everything and anything, like they once used to. The pain was still too much, it would continue to be too much, for years to come.
But those were baby steps, Matt assumed.
"Not the best," replied Nick, his tone careful. "I think I'll have to talk to my psychiatrist to up my dose of the sleeping pills."
Matt hummed in response, pulling away just enough to look at Nick properly. Seeing his older brother become a shell of a man was not something that he'd ever expected. Because his older brother had always been so dramatic and full of life, always wildly gesturing with his hands, but now he'd lost a part of himself, his soul missing a whole piece that could never be replaced.
The thing about grief, that not many people realized, was the fact that it was inevitable. The moment one started to care and love those around them, it was too late — they were doomed to grieve those people, sooner or later. And, well, it was even worse for the three of them; the bond had started the moment they were born, maybe even before. The countdown to when they would inevitably grieve one another had begun.
"Do you—" Matt cleared his throat, fighting against the tears "—do you maybe want to take a nap? See if that helps you?"
Nick offered Matt a soft smile, this time with more conviction. "That'd be nice. Thanks, sweetheart."