Chapter Text
Rain tapped softly against the narrow apartment windows, a steady rhythm that had settled over the city sometime during the early hours of the morning. It wasn't the violent, wind-driven kind that rattled glass or flooded streets—just a patient drizzle that blurred the skyline into a wash of muted grays. From the twelfth floor, Severus watched it gather in crooked trails down the pane before disappearing beyond the ledge below.
The apartment was quiet.
Not silent—never silent. The low hum of the refrigerator carried from the kitchen. Pipes groaned somewhere inside the walls as another tenant started their shower. A police siren wailed several blocks away before fading into the distance. Ordinary sounds. Familiar sounds. The sort that blended together after years of hearing them until they became less like noise and more like proof that the world outside continued whether he participated in it or not.
He rested one hand against the cool metal rim of his wheelchair for a long moment before pushing forward.
The bearings gave their usual, nearly inaudible whir as the chair rolled across the hardwood floor. His movements were practiced—almost absentminded now. Left hand. Right hand. A slight correction around the corner of the sofa. Another push carried him into the small galley kitchen where the scent of yesterday's coffee still lingered faintly in the air despite the machine having been cleaned the night before.
Rolling up to the counter, Severus reached for the familiar ceramic mug resting beside the sink. The once-white glaze had long since yellowed with age, and a thin crack ran from the rim to the handle—a souvenir from when it had slipped from Tommy's hands years ago. Most people would have thrown it away. Severus had simply glued it back together and kept using it.
He carried it across the kitchen to the water dispenser tucked neatly against the far wall. With a press of a button, the machine hummed to life, sending a steady stream into the mug.
While it filled, his gaze drifted back toward the apartment window.
The rain had dwindled to little more than a mist, leaving shimmering trails across the glass. From twelve stories up, the streets below had become an impressionist painting of blurred movement and muted color. Headlights stretched into glowing ribbons against the wet pavement, taillights bled crimson into the reflections, and umbrellas bobbed through the crowds like dark petals carried downstream.
The thick blanket of gray clouds that had smothered the city all afternoon was finally beginning to fracture. Here and there, narrow slivers of twilight peeked through, the last remnants of the setting sun staining the western horizon with bruises of violet and amber before surrendering to the coming night.
One by one, the buildings answered the darkness.
Office towers illuminated floor after floor until their windows resembled countless tiny stars trapped behind glass. Apartment complexes flickered to life in uneven patterns, each light hinting at lives unfolding behind closed curtains. Massive holographic advertisements awakened atop neighboring skyscrapers, casting shifting colors across the rain-slick rooftops below. Electric blues, brilliant magentas, vivid greens, and warm golds bled together against the damp cityscape, transforming the gloomy evening into a sea of neon reflections.
It was beautiful.
Artificial.
But beautiful all the same.
Severus found himself lingering a moment longer than he'd intended, quietly watching the city settle into its nightly rhythm. Somewhere below, traffic continued to crawl through the streets, emergency sirens echoed faintly between the buildings, and a transport shuttle passed overhead, its navigation lights disappearing into the thinning clouds.
'Cup full.'
The calm, automated voice pulled him from his thoughts.
Blinking, Severus looked down to find the dispenser had long since stopped pouring. Tiny droplets clung to the rim of the mug before slipping over the side and collecting in the shallow drainage tray beneath.
A faint, humorless smile tugged at one corner of his mouth.
"So it is," he murmured to no one in particular.
He wrapped his fingers around the cool ceramic, careful of the crack running along the handle, and turned his chair toward the living room. He'd only made it halfway across the hardwood floor when the right wheel suddenly caught.
The chair lurched to an abrupt stop, throwing him forward just enough for the water to slosh over the rim of his mug. A cold splash soaked through the fabric covering his thighs before dripping onto the floor.
"Crap..." he muttered under his breath.
Looking down, he watched a small puddle form in his lap. Out of habit, he brushed at the damp spot with the palm of his hand, even though he couldn't feel the water seeping into his pants. It was more annoyance than necessity.
His attention shifted to the stubborn wheel.
"Don't start."
He reached behind the backrest, feeling around the storage pouch strapped securely to the frame until his fingers found the familiar metal cylinder tucked inside. Pulling it free, he gave the can a quick shake before leaning over to inspect the wheel.
His wheelchair had seen better days.
It wasn't one of the sleek, lightweight models everyone seemed to own now. This one had been with him for years, patched together with replacement parts whenever something inevitably wore out. The bearings complained every so often, the brakes occasionally stuck, and every few weeks one of the wheel joints decided it wanted to seize for no apparent reason.
The repair technician had sold him a specialty lubricant years ago, launching into a lengthy explanation about synthetic polymers, friction reducers, and protective coatings that Severus had long since forgotten. Whatever was actually inside the can didn't matter. It worked, and that was enough for him.
He aimed the nozzle at the small pivot joint connecting the wheel assembly to the frame and pressed down.
A weak hiss escaped the nozzle, and a tiny fizz of lubricant shot out.
His brow furrowed.
Giving the can another vigorous shake, he tried again.
Nothing.
He frowned harder, shook it once more, and pressed the trigger a third time.
Silence.
"...You've got to be kidding me."
Tilting the can, he gave it one last hopeful shake before squeezing the trigger again.
Still nothing.
With an irritated sigh, he let the can rest against his leg and glanced around the apartment.
It didn't take long to spot the problem.
His spare can sat exactly where it had been left after using it last week—on the bookshelf across the living room.
Severus stared at it for a long moment. "Of course."
He couldn't help the dry laugh that escaped him.
"Brilliant planning."
Setting his mug carefully on the floor beside him, he placed both hands on the wheels and tried forcing the chair forward.
The left wheel rolled without issue.
The right refused to budge.
He rocked the chair backward, then forward again, hoping the movement might loosen the joint. Nothing.
Gripping the armrest with one hand, he leaned his weight into the frame while trying to muscle the locked wheel loose with the other.
The metal responded with an unpleasant squeal before jamming even tighter.
"Oh, screw you."
He slumped back into the chair, pinching the bridge of his nose as frustration settled over him. His apartment suddenly felt far larger than it had any right to. The spare lubricant sat no more than a dozen feet away, close enough to see the faded label on the can, yet completely out of reach.
His gaze drifted from the shelf to the coffee table, where his phone rested beside the remote.
Another few feet.
Just far enough to be useless.
With a slow exhale, he looked around the room, searching for anything—anything at all—that he could use to pull himself closer, or drag the can within reach. His eyes landed on the broom leaning against the wall near the front door, but it was no more accessible than the phone or the shelf.
He shook his head with a humorless chuckle. "Well... this is embarrassing."
Looking down at the stubborn wheel one last time, Severus tightened his grip around the handrim and gave it one final, forceful jerk, hoping whatever had jammed inside would snap back into place.
Instead, a loud metallic clack echoed through the apartment.
The right wheel suddenly gave way.
Before he could react, the left wheel rolled freely across the hardwood while the right locked again almost immediately. The uneven movement twisted the chair sharply to one side, throwing his balance completely off.
"Shit—"
The world lurched.
His hand shot toward the kitchen counter, fingers stretching for the edge, but it was just beyond his reach. The chair pitched forward, its momentum carrying both him and the frame over together.
He hit the floor hard enough to drive the breath from his lungs.
Pain exploded through his shoulder as it struck first, followed by the side of his face scraping against the hardwood. The wheelchair came down with him, one handle digging painfully into his ribs while the twisted footrests trapped his legs beneath the frame.
A strained groan escaped him as he squeezed his eyes shut.
"...No."
For a moment, he simply lay there, collecting himself as the dull ache in his shoulder settled into a persistent throb. His coffee mug had skidded several feet away, leaving a trail of water across the floor that slowly spread between the floorboards.
He planted both palms against the hardwood and pushed upward, trying to lift enough of his weight to shove the chair aside.
The locked wheels held fast.
He adjusted his grip, wedging one forearm beneath the frame while the other pushed against the floor, straining until the muscles in his shoulders trembled from the effort.
Nothing.
The chair shifted barely half an inch before settling back down, pinning him just as securely as before.
"Come on..." he growled through clenched teeth, refusing to give up.
His breathing had grown noticeably heavier by the time he finally let himself sink back onto the floor, frustration replacing determination. If he'd been able to use his legs, he would've had the chair off himself in seconds. As it was, he simply couldn't generate enough leverage from the awkward angle.
He stared at the underside of the chair for a long, silent moment before letting out a bitter sigh.
"What a way to die," he muttered. "Crushed by faulty maintenance."
The electronic lock on the apartment door buzzed from the other room, and a second later, the front door swung open.
"Brother! I'm back. I was able to secure real bread today—"
The cheerful voice stopped abruptly.
There was a heavy thud as something hit the floor, followed by hurried footsteps crossing the apartment.
"Sev?"
His twin rounded the corner into the living room, only to freeze.
His gaze swept over the scene in an instant—the overturned mug, the puddle spreading across the hardwood, the locked wheelchair resting at an impossible angle, and Severus trapped beneath it with an expression that could only be described as deeply irritated.
"...How?"
Severus didn't even bother looking at him.
"I'd rather not discuss it."
Tommy blinked once before shaking his head, dropping into a crouch beside him. "No, I think we're discussing it. I leave you alone for two hours, and somehow you've declared war on your own wheelchair."
"It started it."
A laugh escaped Tommy before he could stop it.
"I'm serious."
"I know," Tommy replied, still grinning as he reached for the frame. "That's what makes it funny."
"You are a terrible brother."
"So I've been told."
Bracing his boots against the floor, Tommy wrapped both hands around the wheelchair and lifted it just enough to free Severus's legs before carefully rolling it off to the side. Only then did he offer his brother a hand, though they both knew Severus didn't need it.
Instead, Tommy hooked an arm beneath Severus's shoulders and helped him back into his chair with the ease of someone who had done it enough times that neither of them needed to think about the motions anymore.
"The wheels locked up," Severus groaned, shifting carefully in the chair as he looked down at the darkened patch spreading across his sleeve from where the water had spilled earlier. His fingers brushed over the damp fabric absentmindedly before he looked back toward the floor.
Tommy had already moved on from teasing him, crouching beside the old coffee table to retrieve the empty lubricant can that had rolled underneath during the fall. He reached beneath the worn wooden frame, his fingertips brushing against the metal before he pulled it free and gave it a quick shake.
The hollow rattle that followed answered his question.
"This one's empty."
Severus stared at the can for a moment before letting out a quiet breath through his nose.
"Yeah"
Tommy turned the can over in his hand, checking the bottom as if a miracle might somehow reveal itself. When nothing changed, he tossed it lightly onto the table before looking around the room.
His eyes landed on the bookshelf.
The spare can sat on the second shelf, tucked between two old medical manuals Severus hadn't opened in years.
Severus watched silently as Tommy crossed the room.
Four steps, that was all it took, four simple steps.
Tommy didn't have to think about it. Didn't have to calculate distance or wonder if something was within reach. He simply stood, walked, and grabbed what he needed.
It was such a small thing. Something most people wouldn't even notice.
But Severus noticed. He always noticed.
A quiet, bitter feeling settled low in his chest as he watched his brother reach the shelf without hesitation. It wasn't anger toward Tommy. It never was. He loved his brother more than anything.
That almost made it worse.
Because Tommy had everything Severus had lost.
The ability to walk, the ability to run.
The ability to simply move through the world without having to plan every action around what his body could no longer do.
Tommy returned a moment later, shaking the spare can lightly beside his ear. "Shit..."
Severus looked up, watching as Tommy's brows pulled together as he tested the weight again. "It's low."
For a brief second, his expression shifted to concern, but not for the wheelchair.
For Severus.
But just as quickly, Tommy smoothed it away, replacing it with the same confident expression he wore whenever he wanted everyone around him to believe everything was fine.
"No biggie," he said, waving the can dismissively. "I'll pick some more up tomorrow."
He dropped back down beside the chair, angling the nozzle toward the stubborn joint. A soft hiss filled the room as the lubricant sprayed into the mechanism, the smell of synthetic oil mixing with the lingering scent of coffee and rain.
"But you don't have time for that," Severus said quietly, looking out the window as Tommy paused. "You head out in a week."
The words weren't a question; they both knew the answer.
Tommy had been counting down the days since he received the confirmation.
One week. Seven days until he reported to base.
Seven days until the RDA transport took him farther from Earth than either of them had ever been.
"You have to be on base before then, don't you?" Tommy didn't answer immediately. He continued working on the wheel, though the silence itself was enough.
Severus looked away.
He already knew.
He and Tom shared the same face, the same dark hair, though Tommy's has faded to dirty blonde over the years, the same sharp features, and the same birthday. They had shared a womb, a childhood, and every hardship that came afterward.
But they had never truly been alike.
Tommy had always been the one who moved first.
Born only minutes before Severus, he carried that fact like it was some sacred responsibility. Their father—an awful man whose name Tommy had unfortunately inherited—had left behind nothing worth remembering, yet somehow Tommy had managed to become everything their father never was.
After their parents died, it was Tommy who stepped up. He was the one who found work, the one who made sure there was food on the table, the one who refused to let their circumstances define them.
Then he joined the Marines.
Not because he wanted glory, and not because he wanted another uniform.
Because someone had to make sure they survived.
Severus had followed him into the Marines for a different reason.
He had never been the reckless one.
He wasn't the person who charged ahead without hesitation or trusted strangers easily. He wasn't the person who could walk into a room full of people and somehow leave with ten new friends.
That was Tommy.
Severus became a Marine medic because he knew exactly what happened when people weren't there to help.
So when Tommy had told him about the RDA's Avatar Program, Severus hadn't felt excitement.
He'd felt fear.
Because all they had ever really had was each other.
And now Tommy wanted to leave Earth.
Not just another city, not another country, but another planet.
All because curiosity had gotten the better of him, and because the money the RDA offered was enough to give Severus a better life. A better apartment. Better medical equipment. A chance to stop living paycheck to paycheck in a city where everything seemed designed to remind him of what he'd lost.
Severus hated the idea.
Every part of him hated it.
But he had also seen the way Tommy's eyes lit up whenever he talked about Pandora.
He had watched him spend hours studying the Na'vi language, had listened as Tommy excitedly explained every new phrase he'd learned, every piece of information from his training, every detail about the world waiting for him millions of miles away.
For once, Severus had seen his brother genuinely excited about something that wasn't survival.
He couldn't take that away from him.
"Sev..."
Tommy's voice pulled him back.
The wheel gave a quiet click as he finished tightening the mechanism and tested it with his hand.
"You know this is for the good."
He stood, placing his hands on the handles of the chair and gently pushing it forward and backward to make sure everything worked properly.
"After my first month, I can send all the money back to you."
Severus watched him carefully, and there it was again, that stupid confidence, that certainty that everything would work out because Tommy had decided it would.
It was one of the things Severus admired most about him.
And one of the things that terrified him the most.
"Hey," Tommy said suddenly, his voice shifting back into the easy, playful tone Severus knew too well. He rested his forearms against the armrest of the chair and leaned closer, a mischievous smile slowly spreading across his face. "Let's go out drinking to celebrate, hm?"
Severus stared at him.
He knew that look.
That ridiculous, over-the-top expression Tommy had perfected over years of trying to convince him to do things he absolutely did not want to do.
Tommy widened his eyes, lowering his voice into the most exaggeratedly pleading tone he could manage.
"Come on, Sev."
There it was, the puppy dog eyes.
A weapon far more dangerous than any argument.
"Get my last drink in before I go sober," Tommy added dramatically, bringing the back of his hand to his forehead as if he were a dying actor in some ancient theater performance. "A final farewell to the good life."
He even wiped away an imaginary tear.
Severus stared at him for several seconds, completely unimpressed."You're an idiot."
Tommy's grin widened. "But you love me."
"Unfortunately."
"That's basically a yes."
Severus sighed, but there was no real annoyance behind it. Tommy had always been good at that—finding a way to drag him out of his own head when he spent too much time trapped inside it.
He wasn't a drinker.
Never had been.
He'd seen enough alcohol ruin lives to have little interest in making it part of his own. During his years as a medic, he'd seen soldiers use it to bury memories, drown regrets, or pretend they weren't carrying things that followed them home.
Alcohol didn't erase anything.
It only delayed the moment when everything came back.
But this wasn't about drinking.
It was about Tommy, it was about spending one more normal night together before everything changed.
"Fine," Severus finally said.
Tommy immediately straightened. "Yes!"
"Don't make a big deal out of it."
"I wasn't going to."
"You absolutely were."
"I absolutely was."
Severus shook his head, but a small smile threatened at the corner of his mouth.
He looked down at himself, taking in his current attire.
A worn tank top and a pair of old boxers.
Not exactly the outfit one wore when leaving the apartment.
He looked back up at his brother.
"Jeans?"
Tommy snorted. "Yeah, probably."
He pushed himself up from beside the chair and started toward their shared bedroom.
"Hell yeah," Tommy said, opening their bedroom door, "I refuse to let my little brother embarrass me in public."
Severus raised an eyebrow.
"Your little brother?"
"Technically."
"By four minutes."
"Four very important minutes."
"You're insufferable."
"And yet, you love me."
Tommy's laughter lingered in the apartment as he disappeared into their bedroom, leaving Severus alone in the living room with the muffled sounds of dresser drawers opening and closing, hangers scraping together, and what was almost certainly several shirts being tossed carelessly onto the floor in the search for one specific outfit.
Severus couldn't help the faint smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Some things never changed.
Tommy had always been loud where Severus was quiet. He filled every room he walked into without even trying, humming under his breath, talking to himself when nobody answered, cracking jokes that only amused him half the time. It was a habit that had driven Severus insane growing up.
Now...
Now the apartment felt wrong whenever it was silent.
He sat there for another moment, listening.
The old refrigerator hummed steadily in the kitchen. Rain continued to patter softly against the windows, though it had eased into little more than a drizzle. Somewhere in the building, plumbing groaned behind the walls, followed by the distant bark of a dog several floors below.
And through it all...
Tommy sang.
Terribly and wildly off-key to the point Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're murdering that song."
The singing stopped abruptly. "I'm giving it character," Tommy called back.
"It had character before you got involved."
"Jealousy doesn't look good on you."
"It looks better than whatever you're doing."
A snort answered him, followed by another drawer being yanked open.
The smile faded from Severus's face as quickly as it had appeared.
This was normal.
Trading sarcastic remarks over the sound of drawers slamming shut. Listening to Tommy make enough noise for the both of them. Knowing that no matter how long the day had been, he wasn't coming home to an empty apartment.
It was ordinary. Comfortably, wonderfully ordinary. And in a week's time, it would be gone.
The thought settled over him like a weight.
Not forever, Tommy had promised, just long enough to complete his contract.
Long enough to earn enough money that neither of them would have to worry about bills anymore.
Long enough to come home.
It sounded simple when Tommy said it, so simple enough that Severus almost believed it.
Almost.
With a quiet sigh, he pushed against the rims of his wheels and rolled toward the bedroom, pausing briefly in the doorway.
The room was exactly what anyone would expect from two grown men who had shared it for b\]]far longer than either cared to admit.
Tommy's side looked as though a small tornado had passed through. Clothes were strewn across the bed, one boot sat inexplicably beneath the desk while its partner rested near the closet, and several photographs had been pinned haphazardly to the wall over the years—old Marine unit pictures, a faded snapshot of the two of them as teenagers standing on a pier, another taken after Tommy's first promotion.
Severus's side, by comparison, was almost painfully neat.
His clothes remained folded, and books were stacked in orderly piles.
The small nightstand beside his bed held little more than a lamp, a watch, and the novel he'd been slowly working through for nearly a month.
"Found it!" Tommy announced triumphantly, emerging from the closet with a dark, faded button-up shirt held above his head like a trophy.
"You were looking for a shirt," Severus observed.
"I found a shirt."
"You've pulled out half your wardrobe."
"Necessary casualties, brother, necessary casualties."
Severus watched as Tommy immediately launched into some sort of ridiculous dance, sliding across the hardwood in his socks while humming the same song he'd been butchering moments earlier. He spun once, nearly lost his balance, caught himself on the edge of the bed, then pointed dramatically at an imaginary audience.
For someone preparing to leave Earth in a week...
He looked happy.
Not nervous, not even frightened, but oh so fucking happy, and there was something strangely comforting about it.
If Tommy could stand on the edge of something so enormous with a smile on his face...
Then perhaps Severus could stop dreading it for one evening.
Rolling over to his dresser, he pulled open the second drawer and retrieved a pair of dark jeans along with a charcoal-gray shirt. The cotton slid easily over his head, settling comfortably across his shoulders as he tugged it into place before setting the jeans across his lap.
Getting dressed had become routine years ago.
Not easy.
Never easy.
He gathered the denim in his hands, bunching one pant leg before carefully guiding his right foot through the opening. His fingers worked with practiced precision, tugging the fabric over his ankle and up his calf before repeating the process with the left. Once both legs were in place, he paused to smooth out the twisted material around his knees.
It had taken months to learn the most efficient way to dress himself after the accident.
At first, every movement had been awkward. Frustrating. He'd spent more time tangled in clothing than actually wearing it, relying on nurses, therapists, and eventually Tommy far more than his pride had been willing to accept.
Now it was muscle memory.
Different from before, certainly, but no less his own.
He leaned to one side, gripping the edge of the mattress for support as he tugged the waistband over one hip, then shifted his weight the opposite direction to pull it over the other. It was slow work, but steady. A final tug settled the jeans comfortably into place before he reached for the belt lying neatly coiled atop the dresser.
Behind him, Tommy had somehow progressed from dancing to attempting what looked like a military march, only with significantly more hip movement than any drill instructor would have tolerated.
Severus threaded the belt through the loops without looking up.
"You do realize," he said dryly, "that if anyone from your unit saw you now, they'd revoke your rank."
Tommy looked genuinely offended.
"They'd promote me."
"For... whatever that was?"
"It's called confidence."
"It looked more like a seizure."
Tommy barked out a laugh. "You've got jokes today."
"I've always had jokes."
"No, you've always had sarcasm. There's a difference."
"I'm wounded."
"I doubt it."
Tommy wandered over to his side of the room, still grinning to himself as he began buttoning his shirt. He'd only managed three buttons before getting distracted by the reflection in the mirror, ruffling his hair with both hands until it somehow looked even messier than before.
Severus watched the entire performance through the mirror without saying a word. "...You know that accomplished nothing, right?"
Tommy tilted his head, studying himself from another angle. "I disagree."
"It somehow looks worse."
Tommy laughed again, louder this time, choosing to ignore his brother.
The room fell into a comfortable silence after that, broken only by the soft clink of Severus fastening his belt and the rhythmic tapping of Tommy's fingers against the dresser as he searched for his wallet.
Neither of them felt the need to fill every quiet moment with conversation.
They never had.
There was an ease between them that only came from a lifetime spent together. They knew each other's habits almost as well as their own. Tommy always patted his pockets three times before leaving the apartment, despite never once forgetting his keys. Severus always checked that the stove was off, even on days he hadn't cooked. Tommy whistled when he was in a good mood. Severus rubbed the scar on his left wrist whenever he was thinking too hard.
Little things.
"Found it," Tommy announced, holding up his wallet before slipping it into his back pocket. He reached for the keys hanging beside the bedroom door, spinning them once around his finger. "Ready?"
Severus gave his jeans one last tug to straighten them before resting his hands on the armrests of his chair.
"As ready as I'll ever be."
Tommy nodded toward the hallway. "Good. Because if we leave now, we can beat the dinner crowd."
"And if we don't?"
"We're eating stale peanuts at the bar instead of getting actual food."
Severus grimaced. "Lead the way."
Tommy flashed him a grin, the same easy grin he'd worn since they were boys, and stepped into the hallway.
Severus followed a moment later, switching on the chair's motors as the familiar hum filled the apartment. He cast one brief glance over his shoulder at the bedroom before pulling the door closed behind him.
The apartment fell silent.
For now, it was only for the evening.
A week from now...
He forced the thought from his mind before it could take root.
Tonight wasn't about next week.
Tonight was about his brother.