AN: Somehow Sarah Brightman's 'Deliver me' got in a loop on iTunes and this made it's way out. I will follow up with more, but I can't promise when...
Kinda... Emotional, but how could it not be?

One day

The sun. It lighted the room through the curtains. How could it still shine? Why did it still shine? The world should be a big, dark hole. Instead the hole was inside him. Consuming every emotion, making him numb.

Turning to lay on his back he glanced at the door. Out there people still lived. Breathed. Worried about nonsense like if the looked fat, what the parents of their boyfriends really thought of them.

The ceiling. Above was the sky. Heaven. A fantasy-place his twin may be now.

The door opened and someone walked in. Opened the curtains and window to let the May-weather in.

"You need to eat or at least drink something. And take a shower," Charlie told him. What's the point? Still he sat up. "Come, Fleur's actually a decent cook."

They walked down the stair and he caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror on the opposite wall. Knowing it was a stupid thing to do, he went closer and took it in, every detail.

His hair was tousled after the time in bed, but the dirt and dust was still evident. His lower lip had a crack and a thin stream of dried blood went down onto his chin. He didn't remember how that had happened. He had bags under his bloodshot eyes, eyes that was still seeing, watching the face so alike his brother's.

"Hi, good to see you up." She went over and gave him a hug. He couldn't muster the strength to return it, or appreciate it.

"Slept well?" Bill asked from the table as they got into the kitchen.

"No, not at all," he answered almost inaudible.

He could feel their eyes on him as he stood by the counter, not wanting to sit down, because then he had to eat. Food would only make him gain strength to cry. He wasn't going to cry, at least not in front of his brothers and sister-in-law.

"Do you want eggs?" Fleur asked, filling him with a cold anger, he had justified not eating for himself a second ago. He shook his head and muttered something about taking a bath, marching up the stairs again. "'E do not 'ave it easy now. I 'ope 'e do not 'urt 'imself." She looked at the guys and they took the hint.

"We have to have a talk with him, but just now he have to... None of us has had time to really take it in," Bill said and looked down at his hands. How had he let this happen, he was supposed to look after them, protect them.

Fleur hated seeing them in pain, but how was she supposed to fix it? All she could do now was to hold their hands. Charlie supported his head with one fist dug into his hair, deep in thought, but still gave a slight smile at the small gesture. Only his wife would ever notice all the emotions in Bill's minuscule nod.

After a while she had to got up to turn off the stove and put the eggs back in the refrigerator, breakfast could wait. Bill also got up and she followed him with the eyes. "Coffee's going straight through me," he said as he went up the stairs.

The bathroom door wasn't locked, no surprise there. "Getting any cleaner?" he asked the curtain in front of the bathtub. The joke was useless, stupid and meaningless, he knew that, still he waited for an answer.

It didn't come and he yanked back the curtain, revealing George with his head under water and eyes closed.

His stomach became an icy knot as he grabbed hold under the shoulders and dragged the body of his younger brother up from the water, hoping it wasn't too late. Taking hold under his back he lifted the limp mass out off the tub and laid him on the floor, getting ready for mouth-to-mouth. George coughed once. Then some more.

"Idiot!" Bill told him and stood up, his shirt drenched and eyes livid with anger. "Do you ever think about anyone beside yourself? Isn't it enough to loose one of you?" George wanted to answer him, to say that he used to care about another person, a person that was no more. But he couldn't, he just laid there, sprawled on the floor.

Bill left and he got back in the tub on shaking legs. Stupid of him to think it would go unnoticed here in his brother's house. The only place worse would be his mother and father' would be better to do it in the shop.

One birth, one burial.

Bill came back, carrying some clothes. George just kept gazing into the wall and, to his great disappointment, he started to worry about how his mother would handle another dead son.

The oldest buttoned down his wet shirt, took it off and threw it on the floor. Fleur was very right and they had to keep close eyes on him. Sitting down on the toilet-lid and buttoning up the dry shirt he looked at the broken boy sitting in the bathtub, slightly leaned forward. "When you're done it's clean clothes for you here." No response.

The silence stretched on and the water became cooler. "Are you going to sit there 'til I get up?" Having your older brother stare at your naked torso gets annoying no matter what the situation is.

"Well, I have to, seeing as you try to commit suicide if we leave you alone." The words was spoken lightly, but hit hard.

"Gimme a towel," he sighed and stood up, trying not to trip. That would be ironic, falling now and breaking his neck.

When he was dried up he started dressing. The jeans was too long and the t-shirt tight, but who cares? Nothing really matters.

Descending the stairs they smelled bacon. It turned out Charlie had gotten hungry after all. Still refusing nutrition, George took his place standing by the counter. They tried to get him to at least take a glass of juice. He just shook his head.

Fred used to love bacon, preferably with strawberry jam. He had never understood why, and stuck to his mint jam. One time Angelina had called them both nuts, whereas they had discovered that peanuts should be kept away from them all.

A tear trickled down his cheek and he hated how cliché it was. Another one refreshed the pat. He tried to blink several times, hoping the others hadn't seen it. They had.

Charlie got up and put his strong arms around him. Now it was lost, he started sobbing on his shoulder, saying to himself that he wasn't a seven-year old boy that had fallen off the broom. It didn't work since he would rather be a seven-year-old with a bloody knee than a twenty-year-old without a twin.

He tried pushing his face far enough into the curve beside the neck to disappear, his sobs growing louder. Bill came and joined the hug from behind. "Shh, shh." The whisper was meant to be soothing, still all that was real to George was the sound and touch of the three beating hearts and the pain for the one that had stopped.

Breathing uneven, his legs began to give in under him and they slowly sank down, sitting so close together it made it difficult to breath. Still the physical touch was essential.

Watching the three brothers, all with tear-wet faces and clinging onto each other made Fleur's heart break a little, but it was a relief to know they had each other.

George tried to steady his breath a bit, took a good hold of the back of Charlie's shirt to make it clear he wasn't to leave and focused on the beating of the hearts again.

He could feel Bill's on his back, powerful and steady. Charlie's was a bit faster, but just as firm. His own was rapid, sometimes jumping over a contraction, painful. And alone. Unaccompanied. Partner-less.

Someone arrived by floo and they could hear Fleur going to check who it was. "Go burn in Hell," a tired female voice told her before it sounded as someone fell down on the couch.

George hadn't noticed his hold had loosened before Charlie made to get up. "You okay?" The older asked and received a small nod. Bill didn't dare do anything but keep holding around his younger brother, face hidden in the back of his shoulder. "Kevin, you look awful," they could hear Charlie say from the sitting room.

"I've spend all night stitching up Katie Bell and Lav-Lav Brown. And draggin' dead bodies around today." Her voice shook a little at the last part and George wondered where Fred's corpse was. The thought made his insides turn to ice and fresh tears appeared.

Feeling small he turned slowly to face Bill. He was crying too. They resumed the hug, arms gripping on for support, sitting on their knees, one between the other's thighs to get as close as possible.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry... It's my duty as a big brother to watch out for you," Bill said into his one ear, voice trembling. George knew he should say something back, but neither his voice nor lips functioned.

Beside, what should he say? Unless it had been Bill and not Fred standing in that exact spot... He tried to visualise the funeral; Fleur all dressed in black, their mother wailing over the death of her oldest son, their father trying to keep it together but failing, Ginny crying her eyes out on Harry, he and Fred sending up fireworks as a last 'thank you for keeping us alive'.

Or what is it had been Charlie; Bill and Fleur dressed in matching black, their parents holding hands and crying in silence, Ron squeezing Hermione's hand red and blue to hold the tears back, many of the dragon-tamers from Romania saying their good-byes while he and Fred let go of a dozen red fire-balls.

Or Percy, that would have been justice; Some of the few surviving ministry-people giving boring speeches, their mother stone-faced and cold while their father gave her a worried look, Ginny putting on a stubborn face, he and Fred hiding Nose-bleed Nugats in the food at the gathering afterwards.

Or Ron, the most likely; Hermione and Harry sitting next to each other, she gazing on the casket while tears run freely down her face, their mother sobbing into Percy's shoulder while their father held a speech, followed by Harry saying he could never have made it as far without his best friend, in the end a spectacular and sad display of fireworks by him and Fred.

Or the youngest of them all, Ginny; Harry would be broken beyond repair, all her brothers would go into shock, their parents would blame themselves for not protecting their baby girl.

Or what if he himself had just stood six feet to the left; Fred would be the one sitting here now, crying his eyes out. But he hadn't and the wall had collapsed, a big block of stone had hit his twin's head, instantly breaking the neck, stopping the heart. No pain.

A fresh load of tear made their way out trough his red-rimmed eyes. How was he supposed to live on? He couldn't, and reality would be his parents crying over two dead sons, Ginny sobbing in Harry's arms, Ron finally succumbing but still gripping Hermoine's hand like a lifeline, no one sending up fireworks.

They were already hurting so much and he was going to add to the pain he was reminded as Bill moved his head, brushing their cheeks together.

"I have to let you go now, or we'll be sitting in a puddle of pee." His arms relaxed, trying to let go of his younger brother, wanting to stay. George sniffed and sat up properly, looking into the worried and scarred face of his brother.

"Then you'll better go," he said and they both stood up, one ran to the bathroom and one walked slowly out in the sitting room.

One of the sofas were occupied by Charlie and a woman he assumed was Kevin, it wasn't easy to recognise her with long brownish hair instead of the usual shorter blue. On the other one Fleur sat, watching the couple laying in each other arms. He took the seat beside her and she touched his thigh, wanting to do something more but being afraid of him getting upset.

The small act of affection made him think of what he could have had. What his siblings had. Bill had Fleur, supporting him through fire and water. Charlie had Kevin, giving him someone to talk to. Percy may get back with Penelope, giving him someone to make up his wrongs with. Ron had Hermione, being an inspiration in bad times. Ginny had Harry, making her strong to help others.

Fred had been his only support, the only one he could talk to, the only that make him hit the decision of leaving school, the only one that inspired him to drive Umbridge mad, the only one that made all cruel words from Slytherins and other envious students bounce off.

They had spend nine months in the womb together, twenty years as pranksters together and was going to spend the eternity buried next to each other. One day apart was already too much.

As Fleur carefully rubbed his leg he came to a realisation. Shit, I'm going to die a virgin.

AN: Yeah, I had to finish it with a bit of humour. Sorry if it sounds a bit as Wesleycest some places, that wasn't the intention.
Review? I would appreciate it.