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“A,” Little Brian says. He clears his throat and tries again, softer. “A is for... apple. You like apples, Dex. Remember? Mom used to cut them up for us.”
Dexter blinks.
“B,” Brian continues. He reaches out, slow, giving Dexter every chance to pull away. When he doesn't, Brian takes his brother's hand. It is cold and clammy. Dexter lets him hold it, limp and unresisting, but doesn't squeeze back. “B is for... Brian. That's me. I'm Brian. Your big brother.”
Dexter stares through him.
“C,” Brian whispers. His throat feels tight, like suffocating hands are wrapped around it. These hands are memories of what happened inside the container, the odor of blood, the way Dexter screamed and screamed while Brian held him so tight, whispering shh, shh, I've got you, I've got you as their mother's blood soaked into their clothes and his own tears ran hot down his face.
He wants to cry now. But he doesn't, Dexter needs him to be strong.
“D,” Brian says, and his voice only wavers a little. “D is for... Dexter! That's you. Say it, Dex. Say your name.”
Harry clears his throat in the kitchen. Brian ignores him.
“E,” Brian tries. He squeezes Dexter's hand, gentle, trying to pour everything he can't say into that touch. I'm here. I'm here. I won't leave you. “E is for... e-very-thing, hmm what's the words... oh! Everything is going to be okay! I promise!”
He doesn't know if he's lying but he knows Dexter needs to hear it, even if he can't say it back.
“F,” Brian says. He shifts closer, close enough to smell Dexter's shampoo—some generic baby wash Harry bought, not the smell of Mom. “F is for... family. We're family, Dex. You and me, no matter what!”
Dexter tilts his head just a fraction. His eyes focus not on Brian's face, but on their joined hands. His thumb twitches.
Brian's heart stops. ”That's right,” he breathes. He brings their hands up, presses Dexter's palm flat against his own chest, right over his thundering heart. “Feel that? That's me, Dex. That's your brother. I'm alive. You're alive. We're alive.”
Dexter's fingers curl just slightly. Brian thinks he might break apart. The sob rises in his throat but he swallows it down.
“G,” he manages. “G is for... good. You're good, Dex. You're so good. What happened wasn't your fault. It wasn't—”
“Brian.” Harry's voice is too gentle.
Brian doesn't look up. He keeps his eyes locked on Dexter's, willing his brother to see him, to really see him. “H,” he says, faster, urgent. “H is for—”
“Son.” Harry is closer now, standing in the doorway. Brian can smell his aftershave. “We need to talk.”
“Not now.”
“Brian.”
“H is for,” Brian says, gripping Dexter's hand tighter, too tight, but he can't loosen his fingers, can't let go, because letting go means— “H is for here. I'm here, Dex. I'm not going anywhere. I—”
A hand on his shoulder. Harry's hand, heavy and just simply felt wrong. ”C'mon son, there's a car outside.”
Brian's head snaps up. Harry isn't looking at him. Harry is looking at Dexter with something like pity, something like fear, something that makes Brian want to bite his hand until it bleeds.
”What do you want?” Brian's voice sounds small. He hates it. He hates Harry. He hates this house with its clean floors and its normal smells and its walls and its fake loving family because its fake! Because Mom isn't here! Because nothing is right!
Harry says quietly. “It's only temporary, son. Just until—”
“No!” Brian scrambles up, pulling Dexter with him, wrapping his arms around his brother's too-small shoulders. Dexter doesn't resist. He's like a doll, limp and silent, and Brian holds him so tight he can feel Dexter's ribs against his own. “No! No, you can't! Dexter needs me! Look at him, look at him! He needs me!”
“Brian.” Harry's voice breaks. “You're five years old. You can't raise a child. He needs professional help, and you... you need a stable home. The state—”
“I don't want to!” Brian is shouting and crying now, breaking his promise to himself but unable to stop. He presses his face into Dexter's hair, smelling the baby shampoo, memorizing the weight of his brother in his arms. “He doesn't talk, don't you get it? He doesn't talk to anyone but me! If you take me away, he'll—he'll—”
He'll disappear, Brian doesn't say. He'll go somewhere I can't follow, somewhere inside himself, and I'll lose him forever.
But Harry is already reaching and Brian knows with the certainty of a child who has already seen the worst the world can offer that he is going to lose, because adults always win.
“Say the alphabet,” Brian whispers desperately into Dexter's ear. His tears soak into Dexter's hair. “Please, Dex. Please, for me. A, B, C—just say something. Say anything. Make him see. Make him understand that we can't—”
Dexter turns his head. Just slightly. His lips brush Brian's ear, and for one heartbeat, Brian thinks—he hopes—
But there is no sound. Only the warmth of Dexter's breath, the slight pressure of his brother's hand finally, finally lifting to grip Brian's shirt. Small fingers, desperate fingers, don't go.
“I love you,” Brian says. It comes out broken. “I love you, Dex. I love you, always remember that, okay?”
Harry's hands are gentle when he pulls them apart, too gentle, like he's being kind.
Dexter doesn't scream or cry when he watches with empty-eyed as the social worker leads Brian toward the door, as Brian fights and kicks and begs, as the door closes between them with a sound like a container locking shut.
In the car, Brian presses his face against the window and watches Harry's house until it disappears.
He doesn't cry. He has no tears left.
A is for apple.
B is for Brian.
C is for chameleon.
D is for Dexter.
E is for...
Brian closes his eyes and tries to remember the sound of his brother's voice.
He holds onto it. He holds onto it so tight his teeth grind and his nails dig crescents into his palms.
He will hold onto it forever.
D is for Deer, Doting, Dreamy, Darling, Dexter,
Please, baby brother, don't forget me.