FOUR: Stand By Me

Prompt: Ethan is a chronic sleepwalker.

Noctambulism

(nŏk-tăm′byə-lĭz′əm)

n.

Sleepwalking

December 19, 1958

When Ethan woke up, he woke up injured.

It wasn't the first time this had occurred, but he didn't remember there being so much blood.

And Grayson wasn't there.

He was supposed to stop him from doing things like this.

He blinked in the darkness and his eyes adjusted to see the bare winter trees all sad and cold against the gray backdrop of the forest. There were the woods, all thick on their farm, and the wind that blew lightly against him. Then there was the sensation of having his feet bare and cold against the dead yellowing grass. He curled his toes, feeling how cold he was. His pajama top was of a thick cotton material, but it wasn't doing much to keep in his body heat.

That was the first thing he noticed.

Then there was the sensation in his hand, in the meat of his pajama clad legs, and Ethan looked down. He was right up against the fence post, as though his body walked straight up to it, betraying him. He felt the barbed wire before he saw it and grimaced.

It wasn't that tall, really, the wire going right to his hips, but it was tall enough. He opened his palms, bringing them up to his face. He moved back and felt the sliced flesh as he pulled away from the sharp material. Droplets of blood ran down his arms and hit the grass softly, and he stared as they did so.

Ethan Dolan found himself at the edge of the woods, his hands sliced, and thighs punctured with the shiny barbed wire that surrounded the land to keep the neighbor's cows at bay.

He looked at the blood on the wire and then on himself. He turned around as the pain flared up deep and thick, walking slowly back to the house.

Grayson was still asleep when he made his way up the concrete steps and through the open door and into the house, hands held straight in front of him, limping. He didn't want to get blood on anything. The cold had corrupted the inside, sending the warmth out and the chill in. He used his hips to close it and it made a little bang as it did so, the black and white picture in the frame on the wall of a smiling Ethan and Grayson moving slightly. It was them at their school dance, hair slicked back with two honeys in their arms. He let his eyes move away from it.

He looked over at the Christmas tree in the living room's corner, the silver tinsel heavy on the tree and the shiny wrapped presents laid on the carpeted floor. The fireplace's last embers were still lightly burning, and Ethan inhaled the hickory smoke.

He focused on the staircase that led to his and Grayson's shared bedroom and began walking up. He tried not to grasp the banister, but he felt it right under him, the blood soaking partway in the wood.

Ethan closing the front door had woken Grayson from his deep, well-needed sleep, and his eyes fluttered opened, meeting the blackness of his ceiling.

He turned his head to the side in the low light and did not see the familiar form sleeping in the twin bed across the room.

He rose up from the covers, sliding off the bed. He really hoped Ethan was in the bathroom, really hoped he himself hadn't screwed up. He had locked the door and could've sworn there was no way that his brother could get out.

But he had.

Grayson had been exhausted and hadn't woken up. He always woke up when these things happened.

"Geeze Louise," he said under his breath, and went to the door, yanking it open and finding it unlocked. He stepped out into the hallway quickly, and heard movement down the long corridor.

He turned the corner and stopped when he saw the familiar outline in the dark.

"Ethan?" He said, concerned, and was making his way down the steps at his brother's grimace. He was there with the stark, unnatural red on him in the low light.

"I got out again," the other male stated quietly, blinking up at his brother moving towards him quickly. His normally slicked back hair was a mess on top of his head and in any other time he would be laughing. He looked like a damn bunny.

"Shit," he said when he saw the cuts on his palms, the blood dripping out onto the hardwood floor. He looked at the rip in his pants and scowled. He was beside him so close that Ethan could see the rapid rising and falling of his chest. He hoped he hadn't woken their mother up with all his racket, but since she wasn't there, he knew he hadn't.

Gray put his hands under his and felt the slickness of the liquid against his own. He took his wrists and looked at the blood, rubbing his fingers gently against the skin.

Ethan was shaking but was trying not to.

Their eyes met on the stairs in the dark.

"I'm sorry, E," had said and was grabbing him, leading him to the bathroom.

"It ain't your fault," he said quietly as Grayson held his hands gently.

But it was.

Grayson was running the warm water in the wide white tub and taking Ethan's palms, trying to clean the wounds. He had antiseptic and rolls of bandages spread out on the light pink tile floor, and Ethan could feel one of the rolls besides his cold, bare foot. Gray bent over as he sat on the edge of the tub, trying to get warm. He had pulled a thick plaid winter blanket out of the hallway closet and threw it over his shaking shoulders. It smelled distinctly of cinnamon and fabric softener.

"I thought you went out to play back seat bingo," said Ethan. He was referring to why Gray had taken their cherry out that evening without explaining. It was late that night when he came in, and Ethan was already sleeping soundly. It was sooner than usual, though.

He had told Ethan that to try to make it seem like he was getting all the honeys. He said that every time, but the other male knew better. Because Ethan was the older twin by twenty minutes and somehow that was supposed to make him the older and the wiser of the two, Grayson had always felt as though he was living in Ethan's shadow, being the younger twin, the less outgoing twin. Ethan never made him feel like that, though. It was always clear that they stood on equal ground.

He liked to make Ethan think that because he was the only person he thought he needed to impress.

Grayson was really going out to buy his Christmas present.

No one knew about Ethan's sleepwalking besides Grayson. Not even their mother sleeping soundlessly two rooms over. They didn't want to worry her none with it. She had the farm to worry about and praying their father would get home safe. Vietnam was very far away from Long Valley, after all.

Ethan didn't want anyone to know, either, so Grayson wasn't telling. It made him feel like something was wrong with him. It made him feel like a freak, especially when everyone thought he was the cool guy, the guy who had all of his shit together.

Sleepwalking was something he had done almost every night since they were kids. It was as normal as breathing to him by then, except when he got hurt.

And, like everything else, Grayson was the one to look out for him. He was a light sleeper normally and would grab Ethan and pull him back to bed if he noticed him up walking around.

But he hadn't that night.

"You know I did. I got Baby Betty tonight," he said and turned to a trembling Ethan. He was looking at the blood on his pajama bottoms, and Grayson was taking his hands again, lightly scrubbing the cuts. He crouched down in front of him and took the glass bottle of antiseptic to the wounds, holding his palms over the bath tub. Ethan grimaced as it bubbled, leaking out to land in the whiteness of the bath's bottom.

"Bogus."

"Bogus my ass," he said, smiling at him lightly, looking like he himself was about to fall asleep again.

"Your hair's funky," Ethan commented and closed his eyes for a moment, feeling as his twin began to wrap his hands with the pure white material. He moved his palm, hand gripping his wrist, to get a better angle and around and around the bandage went. He did it quickly, and pulled away when he was done, placing the dressing roll back on the ground.

"My hair?" He said, and Ethan felt his brother put his large hand to the top of his hair and ruffle it up.

"Your hair's funky," he whispered lightly and Ethan's eyes fluttered open, wet.

"Get bent."

He smiled at that, pretending not to notice the tears in his eyes threatening to spill over.

Ethan took off his pants and let Gray clean the punctuate wounds on his thighs grimacing as the pain, sharp and bitter, made him feel queasy. The blood came off on the white rag as a light pink and his brother made sure to put the crème on it to help it heal.

"Does this feel okay?" He asked as he rubbed a finger full on one of the cuts that was slightly inflamed. The red of it was startling against the paleness of his skin.

"No," he deadpanned. That was a deeper cut and it stung.

"Sorry," he said and was wrapping the white bandage against the skin.

"It's alright."

Ethan was lying in Grayson's bed looking up at the ceiling, trying to ignore the throbbing in his legs and hands. Gray was right at his shoulder and he could hear his light breathing in the dark. He had helped him in a pair of loose pajama bottoms which felt warm under the blankets, and he was trying to get comfortable.

He sniffled and shook as the tears began to fall down his warming cheeks. He was trying not to cry, but it was impossible. He felt his twin stiffen beside him.

"Shhh, it's going to be okay," he whispered and brought his hand up to his side and his fingers spread out over his rib cage, feeling each one. He rubbed at them lightly, gently, soothingly.

"I'm sick of this," Ethan croaked out in cold of the December's night.

He was sick of his chronic sleep walking.

He was sick of having to be strong, to be the man of the house, to make everyone else think everything was okay.

He was sick of watching their mom worry.

He felt his brother's large palm go still against his side, and then he was pulling him, and Ethan found himself on his side, facing him.

"I know," Grayson whispered, watching the outline of him shake lightly, sniffling. He was shaking his head as though in disagreement.

"But everything is going to be okay," he said quickly, reassuringly, rubbing the skin there in a tender motion.

"Do you know why?" He asked gently, and Ethan looked into his eyes.

"Why?" He asked and brought his bandaged hand to his eyes to wipe away the tears with a shuddery breath. He couldn't, though, because the material was too bulky. Gray was already doing that for him, though, as he brought up his sleeve to his cheek.

"Because I'm right here, E. I'm always going to be here for you," he said as he pulled back his hand to rest contentedly at his side again.

His twin smiled at that and let his eyes close for a moment, saying, "I know."

He felt as Grayson wrapped his arms around him in the dark, bringing them comfortably together.

"I'm not going to let anyone hurt you," he whispered in his ear and felt as Ethan relaxed, going slack against him.

Even yourself.

"I know," Ethan whispered, and he knew.

Gray had made a mistake but that wasn't going to happen again.

They had to be strong for each other, they had to be strong for her until he came back from the long, foreign war.

Ethan fell asleep to his brother rubbing gentle circles into his back and whispering soft reassurances into his ear. He watched as his twin went completely still in sleep, and closed his own eyes, opening them after a few moments.

"Don't make me be the big brother again," he whispered in his ear, his nose pressed up to the side of his feathery black hair, "I really want you to be okay."

Ethan mumbled lightly in his sleep and Grayson's hand stilled there as he closed his own eyes.

And he was.

Because he had Grayson.

And that's all that really mattered.