November 2017

Bud trembled and dropped the pistol, staring at Tolbert. Oh God, he'd shot him.

"Oh my God, oh my God! I'm so sorry, I didn't — oh God, I thought y' was the guy that broke in! Oh my God, hang on," Bud rambled nervously, catching Tolbert as he stumbled forward and lowering them to the floor.

Bud ran to the bathroom and grabbed a towel, running back and falling to his knees beside Tolbert, applying pressure to the wound. Tolbert cried out and hissed, moving ever so slightly to try to ease the pain.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!"

"Hey, hey, it's — it's okay," Tolbert choked out. He should've yelled so Bud knew he was there. Instead, he'd scared the poor boy out of his wits and now they were both in an interesting predicament.

"Oh God, there's so much blood," Bud whimpered.

"Bud—"

"I'll — I'll be right back, I swear."

Bud got up and scurried into his room. Tolbert could hear him talking and he immediately knew that Bud had called 911. Fear seized Tolbert's heart. If the police got involved, they would arrest Bud without a second thought. No break-in had been reported and therefore they wouldn't know about it.

Tolbert closed his eyes and swallowed thickly. He was certain he'd never had pain that extended to what would be described as excruciating until now. He let out a shaky breath and opened his eyes again. He only hoped Bud wouldn't cause himself too much trouble.

Three weeks later, Bud sat in his cell, staring down at the floor. He hadn't eaten since he'd arrived, and he'd only slept for about three hours (one hour each week). He was too afraid to sleep and he refused to eat whatever it was they served to him. It didn't look appetizing and it made Bud sick to his stomach.

They had charged him with attempted murder. Bud had nearly fainted when he heard the charge. He'd already had his arraignment — bond was set at $200,000 with the added condition that he lived with Tolbert as his sole caretaker. Bud knew that it was a ploy to dissuade the McCoys from bailing him out; why else would the judge add such an idiotic condition?

"McCoy, you got a visitor."

He stood up and let the bailiff handcuff him, and was jerked roughly out of his cell. Bud was used to it now. They hadn't treated him kindly at all and he had the sinking feeling that it was because they all thought he'd done it with the intention to kill Tolbert. Except that wasn't the case at all, even if nobody knew that.

Coming to a room filled with tables, the bailiff released him from his cuffs and instructed him to knock on the door when he was finished. Bud nodded, his eyes landing on the only occupied table in the room.

He crossed and sat down, keeping his hands in his lap and his eyes focused on the plastic tabletop.

"Hey, Buddy."

Bud squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed thickly. He didn't want to think about it, he didn't want to think about it. But now that Tolbert was here, dressed in a denim button-up that exposed the top part of the white bandage on Tolbert's chest, Bud felt absolutely horrible.

"You gonna talk t' me?" Tolbert asked, trying to bend down enough to see Bud's eyes. Bud shook his head. "Alright, that's fine, Buddy. Ya don't have t' talk if ya don't want to. I brought ya yer glasses. Figured ya might need 'em."

"What're you doin' here?" Bud asked plainly, lifting the glasses off of the table and putting them on.

"I came t' see ya. What else would I be doin' here?"

Bud shrugged, despite having a few ideas. Tolbert could have been there just to tell him that he hates him and never wants anything to do with him again. Tolbert could have been there just to tell him that he wouldn't ever be free. Tolbert could have been there just so he could express his hatred toward Bud.

And Bud wouldn't've tried to stop him. It was what he deserved. He deserved to be locked up; he'd shot Tolbert. He'd pulled the trigger without a second thought, thinking that the man was closer to the staircase and if he shot at the wall, it would scare him. But instead, he'd shot his older brother in the chest and he had — thankfully — lived.

He deserved to have Tolbert and everyone else hate him.

"Hey, it wasn't your fault," Tolbert spoke up, pulling the boy out of his thoughts. "It was just a freak accident. That's all it was."

Bud clenched his jaw and stayed silent.

"If... if ev'rythin' goes the way I'm hopin' it will, I'll have you outta here by the end of the week," Tolbert told him, grasping his hand.

"How, Tolbert?" Bud wrenched his hand out of Tolbert's grasp, trying to ignore the hurt look that crossed Tolbert's face for a few seconds. "We ain't got that kinda money. I'm a teenager, but I ain't stupid. I ain't stupid enough ta believe that you'd actually let me live with ya after wh—"

"I'm not gonna let ya stay here, Bud. You're gonna live with me whether ya like it or not."

"You don't want me livin' with ya," Bud shook his head. "Ya don't. I'm — I'm stuck here, I know, that's okay. I'm where I should be."

"No, you ain't," Tolbert said sternly. "Ya should be home. That's where ya should be."

"No, Tolbert, no. I shot ya. I'm right where I should be."

"Yer not where ya should be. Ya should be at home, Bud. Ya didn't mean ta do it."

"Don't ya dare do anythin' t' get that money. We ain't got it, Tolbert. You make as much as I do, so I know you ain't got two-hundred thousand dollars. Don't do anything. I'm fine right where I am."

"Yeah, I totally believe that," Tolbert scoffed. "Ya look like death, Bud."

"I'm fine."

"Bud, ya haven't been sleepin' an' I know ya ain't ate nothin'. Ya've been here for three weeks. How long have ya slept in those three weeks, Bud?"

"Three hours," he answered softly.

"Bud—"

"I'm fine, I really am. I just — I can't sleep here, Tolbert. I'm too scared to. They — they don't treat me right when I'm awake, s' why would I trust them long enough t' sleep?"

"They hurt ya?"

"Jus' a few bruises," Bud sniffled. "Nothin' serious."

"Bud, they shouldn't lay a hand on you. That's assault."

"Don't think there's such a thing as assault after ya put this on," he pulled at the orange jumpsuit he was wearing. "They can do whatever they want an' get by with it. All they gotta do is say I wa'n't cooperating."

"Were you cooperating?"

"Didn't even ask me t' do nothin'. He just — he hit me," Bud confessed. "I think it's 'cause they think I did it with the intent t' kill."

"I don't care what they think. They are not allowed t' touch you like that. Are you listenin' t' me? They can't do that t' you. Not legally. That is assault."

"D'serve worse than a few bruises."

"Bud, stop that. I'm gonna getcha outta here, okay? We'll getcha outta here n get ya back on your medicine, get ya straightened up again. Perry told me it wasn't likely they'd let me bring ya your medicine, so I left it at home. But he said glasses were fine, and that I can talk to ya this way since ya won't call none of us."

"How'd ya get in here anyway? Thought I couldn't have no visitors."

"Perry arranged it. Don't know what he told 'em, but he got it t' where I could come see ya t'day. Don't blame yourself for this, a'ight? It's not as bad as you think it is."

"Uh-huh. And the Civil War was a civil disagreement," Bud quipped, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"Very funny," Tolbert deadpanned.

"I thought it was," Bud shrugged innocently. "I... I think I'll head on back."

"Ya don't have to. We ain't talked long, Bud."

"I just... God, Tol, I shouldn't be near ya. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what I did and how much trouble I'm causin', n—"

"Hey, ya ain't causin' no trouble. It was an accident, I know it was. Ya didn't even know I was there, darlin'. It's okay."

Bud nodded slightly.

"Bud... ya'd tell me if you were havin' them thoughts again, wouldn't ya?"

"How'd you know that?" he asked a little defensively.

"Ya ain't had your medicine for three weeks, Bud. I know how ya are without it."

"I'm fine. Not like I can do anythin' while I'm here."

Tolbert sighed and stood up. Bud stood up as well, glancing at the door.

"Can... can I hug you, please?" Bud whispered.

"Yeah, kid."

Bud wrapped his arms around Tolbert, letting his head lay on his shoulder. Tolbert's arms wrapped around him, and Bud squeezed his eyes shut to will away the unshed tears in his eyes. He knew that it was probably the last bit of comfort he would receive for a while; he had no reason to believe otherwise.

Tolbert had been kind enough to allow him to hug him. Bud knew that Tolbert probably didn't want him living with him, and he was fine with that. Tolbert shouldn't want him to live with him.

"I love ya, Bud."

"I love ya too."

On Saturday, Bud was released. He'd gathered his possessions and changed into the clothes he'd worn to his arraignment — his white button-up, a pair of black slacks, and his nicest pair of dress shoes — and was led to the door that he had to go through. He grimaced when he saw the words Inmates Release, but he had been an inmate for nearly four weeks.

He stepped outside, spotting Tolbert leaning against his red Chevy Colorado. Bud averted his gaze to the ground and watched each step he took. He stopped walking when he got close to the truck.

"Thought I told ya not t' do that."

"Since when have I ever listened t' what ya tell me t' do?" Tolbert retorted. "I ain't gonna let ya sit in there n kill yerself."

"I already told ya I couldn't—"

"Not eatin' n not sleepin' will kill ya, Bud. Get in the truck."

Bud did as he was told. Tolbert got in on the driver's side and started the engine.

"I got yer medicine at my place. It's in the cabinet in the bathroom."

"Okay."

"Just be sure t' read the labels. I highly doubt you wanna accidentally take one of them pain pills they gave me. They knock ya down in less than ten seconds."

"Strong ones?"

"Real strong."

"Reckon that's 'cause of me?"

"Not... not because of you. I don't blame ya for what happened. I woulda done the same thing you did — shoot first, ask questions later."

"Don't make it right," Bud stated, his voice trembling. "I shot you. I shouldn't be here."

"Yes, you should. Ya shoulda been home the day it happened. Got that? This ain't your fault, nor has it ever been your fault. It happens. Freak accidents happen. We're gonna get you home, give ya yer medicine, make ya some food, an' put ya t' bed. Ya ain't slept in three weeks and I honestly have no idea how you're still goin'."

"Poppy always says I'm stubborn like ya. Says I can do anythin' I put my mind to."

"Don't think he meant stayin' awake for three weeks."

"He didn't, but—but I jus' couldn't sleep while I was there, Tol."

"I know. We'll getcha straightened out. We always do."

Bud had changed into a sleeveless shirt and a pair of shorts the instant they got to Tolbert's house. He shuffled to the bathroom across the hall, opening the cabinet and grabbing the orange bottle that had the top half of the label ripped off. He always ripped the top half of the label off so he could tell his medication apart from Sally's.

He still read the label, just to ensure that he had the right bottle. His heart skipped a beat. Lithium? He didn't take Lithium; he took Symbyax. He knew for a fact that it was Symbyax because his doctor had plainly told him that he'd tried everything before putting him on that; that he hadn't wanted to put him on it. But nothing else had worked with Bud and he ended up with it.

Bud went to the living room, finding that Tolbert had his back to him.

"Tolbert, I don't take Lithium."

Tolbert's frame tensed. He must've hidden the wrong bottle in his room, then. Bud knew nothing about what he struggled with and he had planned to keep it that way, but apparently, they both tore the top half of the labels off of the bottles.

"Lithium? You sure?" Tolbert asked, deciding to play dumb.

"Yeah. I take Symbyax," Bud answered, his brows furrowed. "You know that. Ya heard what Doc said 'bout 'em; how he didn't wanna put me on those but he had no choice since nothin' else worked on me."

"Yeah, I know," he sighed, turning around. "Give it."

Bud handed him the bottle. Tolbert left the room and Bud followed him. They entered Tolbert's room, Tolbert crossing and pulling the drawer to his nightstand open. He grabbed the bottle out of it and set the other on top of the nightstand before closing the drawer.

"Here."

Bud approached and took the bottle out of his outstretched hand.

"Why d' you have Lithium?" Bud queried, his voice barely above a whisper.

Tolbert sighed and looked at Bud, who was something between concerned and exhausted.

"Bipolar depression. Ever heard of it?"

"Yeah..."

"I hate it with ev'rythin' in me. I hate havin' t' take those stupid pills, but I do it. I... I feel like I can control my temper better that way. When I don't take 'em, or I run out 'cause I think I have more than what I actually do, I-I have the tendency t' lash out n say the meanest things an' I don't think straight. Heck, most of the time I don't think straight anyways."

"You never told me that."

"It's not somethin' I'm proud of, Bud. I keep it hidden from ev'rybody."

"When?" Bud asked.

"When what?"

"When'd ya get diagnosed?"

"Right after I moved out. I didn't tell anybody. I'm ashamed of it, Bud. I don't need anyone knowin' about it. No one 'cept you n Doc, anyway," Tolbert looked at the floor for a second. He shook his head lightly. "Ya just don't understand."

"I understand plenty. Y' know, like how mine is kept b'tween me, you, Mama, n Poppy. What I don't understand is why ya have half the label ripped off."

"Makes me feel a little better if I don't have t' look at my name ev'ry time I take it," Tolbert admitted. "How 'bout you?"

"Helps me tell mine apart from Mama's since every bottle from the pharmacy is orange. I just... I don't know," he let out a breathless chuckle. "That's — that's the main reason for it. Reckon I don't like seein' my name on the bottle either."

"Reckon we're more alike than I thought," Tolbert chuckled sadly. "I jus' — God, Bud, I never want ya t' be the way I am. I'm scared I'm gonna end up hurtin' you, or one of our siblin's, or Mama, or Poppy. I can't — I can't control everything that happens. I can't control when I snap or—or when I hit someone sometimes. I can't control how I feel. Can't control the anger or-or the despair, or anything else for that matter. I hate it."

"Tol?"

He looked at Bud, his eyes glistening with tears.

"Go take yer medicine. Ya need to."

"I understand," Bud spoke quietly. "I can't control how I feel neither. There's a few days that I can't even convince myself ta get outta bed. I mean... it's honestly worse now. I mean, my — oh God, Tol, how do I even put this into words?"

"Come sit down, darlin'." Tolbert sat down on the edge of the bed. Bud did as he was told, sitting down beside his brother. "I'm sorry for tellin' ya so much, Buddy. I shoulda just told ya why I had the Lithium and let ya go on about yer day. Now ya've got what you've been dealin' with n ev'thin' I told ya on yer shoulders. I'm so sorry."

"Nonono, it's okay. I want — I want t' be here for you just like you are for me," Bud told him shakily. "I want t' help ya."

"Y' can't help me, Bud, that's the thing," Tolbert lowered his voice.

"Yes, I can," he insisted. "Let me help."

Tolbert exhaled deeply through his nostrils, looking at Bud, who was pleading silently with Tolbert to agree to it. Bud felt terribly guilty and he wanted to help Tolbert as much as he could. He was supposed to be Tolbert's caretaker anyway, so what would it hurt to help Tolbert the way he'd helped Bud?

"A'ight," Tolbert agreed softly. "Reckon we'll tell each other ev'rythin'. I love ya, kid."

"I love ya too."

On Monday, Bud was back at work. He'd slept the majority of Saturday and Sunday, and had assured Tolbert that he was well enough to work. Tolbert had even taken him to get his car — a light-blue SUV — the night before.

Now, sitting in the office, waiting for his father to arrive, Bud anxiously tapped his foot. He really didn't have a reason to be nervous. He was just going to try to work out a deal with him. Bud had missed three weeks of work, and Tolbert had been gone as well. Someone had to pick up the slack, and Bud would more than gladly do it. Maybe it would ease his conscience a little.

"Mornin', son," Ran'l greeted as he entered the office.

"Mornin', Poppy."

Ran'l sat down at the desk, a coffee cup in hand. He set it down and clasped his hands together, letting them rest on the surface of the desk and leaning forward slightly.

"How can I help ya?"

"I want t' make a deal with you," Bud informed him, trying to keep his voice steady.

"A deal?" Ran'l quirked a brow. "What type of deal?"

Bud bit down on his lip and lowered his head, trying to calm his racing heart.

"I know what I did caused a bunch of trouble. Y'all are behind schedule n it's all my fault and — I know Tolbert can't work right now. I'll do my work and Tolbert's, pull triple shifts if I have to, as long as ya pay Tol like ya always do."

"Bud—"

"Please, Poppy," Bud pleaded with him. "I can do it. Someone's gotta pick up the slack an' it might as well be me. I'm the reason he can't work."

"Bud, I'm payin' him his normal wages anyways. Ya don't have to do this."

"But I want to, Poppy. I caused a lotta trouble, made Tolbert t' where he ain't able t' work right now. With two of yer men gone for three weeks, ya had t' fall behind. We can catch up, we can. Just — just let me do both of 'em."

"I don't know if your body can handle it, Bud."

"I can, I know I can. Please, Poppy," he pleaded.

"On the condition, you take the second shift in the office. Second shift is office duty," Ran'l negotiated.

"Yes, sir," Bud agreed immediately.

"Good. Never thought I'd get talked int' lettin' you triple your workload."

"Thank ya, Poppy. Please don't tell Tolbert. He don't need t' know."

"A'ight. Tolbert won't know nothin' 'bout it. I promise."

Bud had expected at least one of his brothers to be mad at him. So when he made his way to the mill to start what would be one of the longest days of his life, he was met with a glare from Calvin. Bud just averted his gaze and started to work.

"Hey, Buddy. Ain't seen ya in a while."

"Yeah, well, I've been locked up," he responded a little harshly. He'd been off of his medication for so long that he had to adjust to it again, and it was really taking its toll with his mood. "Can't see me when I'm in a jail cell."

"That's where ya belong," Calvin drawled.

Bud flinched and kept working. He wouldn't let what Calvin said bother him.

"Sorry fer snappin', Pharmer," he muttered after a moment.

"It's okay."

Bud had his doubts about that. Calvin seemed to be the only one that felt the way that he should; he seemed to hate Bud and everything about him, and that was how he should've felt. Bud didn't blame him one bit; he hated himself, too. He hated himself for what he'd done to Tolbert, and had wondered on more than one occasion what might happen if he didn't exist anymore. He'd wondered about what might've happened if he didn't exist at all, too.

Neither one was too pleasant, but Bud couldn't gain control of his thoughts. He couldn't stop them and once he'd thought of it, he thought about it for hours and hours on end, thinking about each possibility as thoroughly as he could. If he didn't exist at all, there was a good chance that Tolbert never would have gotten shot. He would be just fine and he would be able to do his work.

If Bud didn't exist at all, there might've been someone better than him that was born in his place. Someone that was capable of making their family proud, someone who wouldn't shoot their older brother on accident, someone who wouldn't cause so much trouble. Maybe someone who was loved by their family and wouldn't have to feel as though they were walking on thin ice around everybody.

"BUD!" Jim screeched. Bud jumped, startled, and whipped around to look at him. "What're ya doin'?!"

"Sorry, sorry," Bud shook his head. He must've gotten lost in his thoughts again. He had to focus. He'd caused enough trouble to last a lifetime, he didn't need to cause any more.

Pharmer sent him a sympathetic look, but he didn't say anything. Bud just grabbed another board and stacked it. He was fine, everything was fine.

When Bud got home that evening, Tolbert wasn't home. He found a note on the table saying that he'd gone to pick up a pizza and his prescription and that he would be back soon. Bud hadn't thought anything of it and went to his room, tossing his keys on the nightstand and taking his contacts out before grabbing a clean change of clothes and heading to the bathroom.

He took a quick shower and headed to his room once he'd finished, grabbing his glasses and putting them on. He didn't mind to wear them around Tolbert and the rest of the family; they didn't care what he looked like. Bud liked wearing his glasses at home, but he didn't like wearing them in public.

A knock sounded on the front door. Bud answered it, finding Perry.

"Hey, Perry," Bud greeted with a small smile. "What're you doin' here?"

"I need t' talk t' you n Tolbert. Where is he?"

"He went out for a few minutes. He'll be back soon. C'mon, we'll go t' the kitchen."

Bud led him to the kitchen and snatched the note off of the table, wadding it up before tossing it in the trash. He'd made a promise to keep Tolbert's bipolar depression a secret, and he would keep that promise if it was the last thing he did.

"You boys always keep this house s' clean?" Perry queried, sitting down at the table.

"It's usually a little cluttered," Bud snorted. "Tol's goin' crazy 'cause he can't do nothin' but clean the house. He can't even go out t' the shed and organize it 'cause it's where he stores all his heavy stuff."

"Well, at least he's doin' somethin'," Perry laughed.

"Yeah... 'S my fault he can't do nothin', though. Reckon I shouldn't laugh at him when I'm the reason why he's like this."

"Oh, don't blame yourself, Bud. It was all an accident. Your father is allowing me t' review the security cameras, but it's takin' a while."

"That's fine. Perry, is a pistol enough evidence t' say I had a plot t' murder Tolbert? 'Cause that's the only thing they coulda found—"

"I wasn't gonna say anythin' 'til Tolbert got here, but c'mere, Bud. You're gonna have t' answer some questions for me. It's gonna clear up some things in the police report, and it's gonna ease my mind if I get the answers I want."

"Okay...?"

Bud sat down across from him, taking the papers that Perry passed to him.

"Now, I've separated the report. I did have it stapled t'gether, but after reading what I did and seeing photos of their evidence, I want t' show ya those first."

"The only thing they coulda found was the pistol, Perr—" Bud cut himself off after moving the first sheet, finding a photograph of the orange bottle he'd thrown away the day before it happened. "Oh no."

"Bud... what the heck are you doin' with Symbyax?" Perry inquired, leaning forward slightly.

"It's for... for my depression. Nothin' else would work on me," he admitted quietly. "I forgot I threw that bottle away in my room."

"What's with the label, Bud?"

"Mama's got some medicine she's gotta take that she keeps in the medicine cabinet. I rip the top half off so I can tell 'em apart."

"Makes sense. Bud... listen, they're tryin' t' make this out like yer addicted to 'em or whatever, and that you had abused them when you shot your brother."

"Nonono, that's not true at all. I take one a day, just like I'm supposed to. I take it when I first get up so I don't forget."

"Keep lookin', Bud. That your learner's permit?"

"Yeah. I took it out the day I got my license and left it on the dresser. My license is in my wallet if ya don't believe me."

"I believe you, Bud. It's part of my job to believe you, and I ain't dumb enough t' believe that they did all this with just cause. When they arrested you, what did they tell ya?"

"Jus' that I had the right t' remain silent. That anythin' I said could and would be used 'gainst me."

"Did ya say anythin'?"

"Asked 'em why they was arrestin' me when Tolbert was bleedin' out on the floor. They didn't answer me, though. They — God, Tolbert went unconscious and—and they forced me t' go downstairs. I didn't wanna leave him there," Bud burst into a sob. "They—they just left him there, Perry."

"Oh God, listen ta me. Ya listenin'? If ya don't mind, Bud, I want your permission t' access your medical records. If I can get the list of the other medications ya tried before yer doctor gave ya the one you're on now, and make sure it's only that, I can easily disprove what they're sayin' on that. With your permission."

"Like — like you'd tell ev'ryone I got somethin' wrong in my head?"

"Not... not like that, no. It's just a matter of chemicals, Bud. A chemical imbalance. More people deal with it than you think. It will explain the Symbyax easily and I can at least prove you weren't under the influence when you shot Tolbert."

"But... Perry, people'd know I got somethin' wrong with me. Somethin' that makes me think these horrible, horrible thoughts that I can't get rid of, and — what happens if I don't let ya disprove it?"

"The prosecution is gonna fight real hard t' prove that you were abusing the drugs. They're gonna go out, reach the most realistic limit that they can. Likely one such as ya tried t' kill Tolbert 'cause he took the pills away from ya."

Bud paled significantly. He let out a shaky breath, his eyes fixated on the surface of the table. He didn't know what he could do; he didn't want people to know that he had depression. He didn't want people to think that he abused his prescription either.

"Bud! Hey, I'm back!" Tolbert called out. Bud jumped, startled, and watched as he entered the kitchen. "Oh, hey, Perry."

Tolbert set the pizza down on the table and grabbed the paper bag off of the top of it.

"What're you doin' here?"

"Talkin' with your brother. The police report and their evidence is disturbing, to say the least. Especially the allegations they're makin' against your brother."

"What allegations?" Tolbert inquired, tossing the bag on the counter.

"They think I was on drugs when I did it," Bud answered. "Here."

"This is just yer prescription—"

"That no one knows about. Well... Perry does now, but... oh my God, Tol," he whispered.

"Are they really so desperate that they accuse a sixteen-year-old child of somethin' like that?" Tolbert looked up at Perry.

"Apparently so," Perry sighed. "They had no good reason for that allegation from what Bud's told me so far."

"They didn't. Isn't it illegal to search a house without a warrant?"

"Without just cause, yes, it is. But if they suspect something such as attempted murder, they have the right. They searched Bud's room. That's it."

"Perry..."

"Yes, Bud?"

"Y' can get the records," Bud consented. "But I don't — I'm not sure about lettin' you tell everybody in Pike County I have somethin' wrong with my head."

"Ya ain't got nothin' wrong with your head," Perry muttered. "It's nothin' t' be ashamed of, Bud. I'm not gonna force ya t' make a decision now. I want you t' come t' my office on Wednesday, preferably around eleven, and we'll discuss everything then. Alright?"

"A'ight. I'll... I'll let Poppy know. How long will it take?"

"Maybe around an hour? Maybe a little longer, I don't know. It might be an hour or two hours, depending on how many questions you have. I'm sure your father will understand, Bud."

"Yeah..." Bud breathed, his eyes focusing on the table again. "I'll — I'll be there."

"Good. Well... now that you two know what's bein' said, and I know you ain't doin' nothin' ya shouldn't, I'll take my leave. I'll see you tomorrow, Bud."

"A'ight."

Bud gulped as he pulled in the parking lot, shutting off his vehicle. He pulled the keys out of the ignition and got out, closing and locking the doors before making his way inside. Bud didn't necessarily want to be there, but if he wanted to know what was going on, he would show up.

He entered the building, Aunt Betty smiling at him.

"Third door on the left, darlin'."

"Thank ya," he murmured.

Bud walked down the hall, knocking on the door that had Perry's name on it.

"Come in."

Bud opened the door and stepped inside, closing it behind him.

"Hi, Bud," Perry smiled at him. "Have a seat n I'll be right wit'cha. Nonono, Miss Miller, another client just came in. Yes, I can finish this call, I'm sure he won't mind."

Bud sat down, anxiously picking at his nails. He was tired, and he was sore, as he was still trying to adjust to pulling triple shifts. No one but Ran'l knew it; Ran'l had told his other sons to keep out of the office during the afternoon, which left Bud with a few hours to himself to catch his breath and cool off. It gave his swollen ankles a chance to rest, too.

Bud hadn't taken his medicine since he found out what allegations were being brought against him. He had a feeling Tolbert would kill him if he found out that Bud had tossed over half a bottle of his medicine in the trash, but he didn't care. He didn't need it. He didn't need to take them, and he would prove it.

"Alright, thank you."

Perry sighed exasperatedly after hanging up, looking at Bud, who raised a brow.

"That woman, I swear," Perry grumbled, earning a snort of laughter. "Anyway, lets getcha started on your case. It's gonna be fine; I've got some good witnesses lined up. Tolbert is our star witness, other than you."

"I'm gonna have t' get on the stand?" Bud squeaked.

"You wanna get outta this?"

"Yeah."

"Then yes, you have t' get on the stand. It'll be fine, Bud. If they get out of line with you, I will gladly put them in their place. That's why we have objections."

"Okay."

"Now... I do hate doin' this t' you. I know it's somethin' ya've prob'ly pushed t' the back of yer mind and ya don't wanna remember it, but I need t' know what happened that day, Bud. As detailed as you can possibly make it."

"I... I'd just gotten home. I'd gone t' McCarr t' pick up my contacts n my prescription, an' had got home at around three-thirty. If it wasn't three-thirty, it was jus' a few minutes before. I went upstairs t' my room, put the keys down, set the contacts and prescription on my desk before I went to the bathroom. Well... I grabbed the prescription n put it in the bathroom."

Bud licked his lips and took a shaky breath, staring down at his lap.

"The sink was on when I heard the front door slam open. It slammed against the wall like the police were about t' raid the house or somethin', Perry. So — so I turned off the sink and went t' the banister, looked over it. A masked man with a gun was there. It looked like a double-barrel shotgun, but I'm not sure. I wasn't close enough t' really tell, ya know? I got scared and knew I couldn't call anybody 'cause he'd hear me. So I texted Tolbert.

"The texts didn't deliver, so I went t' Mama n Poppy's room n got the pistol that Poppy hid in case someone ever broke in. I'd just loaded it and was tryin' t' calm myself down when somethin' crashed near the stairs. I thought the man mighta came up while I was in Mama n Poppy's room — I'd closed the door when I first went in — and-and I went out t' check the rooms."

Bud fought against the tears that wanted to escape, taking a few seconds to compose himself before continuing.

"I'd made it t' my room when I heard someone behind me. It sounded like he was still on the stairs, y'know? Like — like nowhere close to the wall, but still upstairs? So I turned and shot the pistol, thinkin' it would scare 'em off. Instead of a hole in the wall, Tolbert was standing against it with his hand over his chest. He—he'd been wearing a light yellow shirt, and it had a grass stain near his stomach 'cause he'd fell the last time he wore it. He just stared at me with his eyes real wide and — and he looked terrified.

"I dropped the gun and ran over to him when he stumbled. I caught him and lowered him to the floor before goin' and gettin' a towel. I put pressure on the wound when I got back, but he was losin' so much blood, Perry. I don't — I don't think he wanted me t' call the police. But I did anyway. He needed an ambulance an—an' oh God, it was so bad. Tolbert — he, he tried his best t' tell me that he was okay. I knew he wa'n't, Perry. His eyes were glazed over n he had this weird look in his eyes when the police fin'lly got there.

"They cuffed me almost instantly and I asked why they were arrestin' me when he was bleedin' out on the floor. They didn't answer. They forced my t' my feet and — and when I looked back, Tol was unconscious. I screamed. I screamed and told 'em that he wasn't conscious n they acted like it wa'n't serious, Perry. My brother was bleeding out on the floor an' they both dragged me downstairs and out the door. They left him there alone, Perry. The ambulance wasn't there when they left with me."

"Was there another car there? Another police car?" Perry amended swiftly.

"No," Bud shook his head. "Just my SUV, Tol's truck, and — and what looked like a Harley-Davidson motorcycle."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"My SUV, Tol's truck, and a Harley-Davidson," Bud repeated, lifting his gaze. "What're you lookin' at me like that for?"

"Bud, I want you to think about that list you just gave me."

Bud pulled a face, but he cast his eyes down while he thought about it.

"We don't have a Harley," he said after a moment. "We prefer side-by-sides and four-wheelers. We know how t' ride one, but — we don't very often. Heck, Perry, I can't even think of someone I know who owns one."

"There's my point. It's not yours, not Tolbert's, doesn't belong to anyone you know 'cause ya don't know anyone with a Harley. Bud, either he was still there, or he took off on foot in the woods."

"Oh my God," Bud breathed.

"Did they ask you what happened?"

"No."

"They just put ya under arrest without givin' ya the reason?"

"Yes."

"Alright. Listen... I'm not gonna lie t' ya, Bud. It ain't gonna be easy. But I promise you, I'm gonna do my very best t' get you cleared. I've got sev'ral character witnesses, several people who are willin' t' take up for you. I'm gonna try my very best t' get you outta this, alright?"

"Alright," he nodded slightly.

"Great. You can go now if you want."

"Thanks, Perry. Do I need t' come back again?"

"I'll let ya know if ya do."

Bud nodded and stood, moving to the door and pulling it open. He closed the door and sighed. Bud wasn't going to be alright, was he?

December 2017

Thanksgiving came and went without much trouble. Bud had been in a horrible mood that day, but Tolbert figured he was just having a bad day. It was an unfortunate day to have a bad day, but Bud managed to get through it without snapping too much, and always apologized if he did snap.

But during the first week of December, Tolbert had jokingly insulted Bud and it somehow led to an argument. It had been a remark about the boy's terrible case of bed head, and it hadn't been said with the intent to offend him. Yet somehow it had, and now the two were so deep in the argument that there was no way that one of them could just walk away.

"Why d'ya always have to insult me? I've never done a dagon thing t' you!" Bud yelled.

"I didn't mean t' offend you, Bud! I was joking. I always joke with ya. Ya've never had a problem with it before!" Tolbert retaliated, his face turning red. He was trying to keep from losing his temper, but he didn't see how that was going to work when Bud kept going on and on.

"I don't know why ya always have t' insult me. I'm sick of it! What if I insulted you every time I saw ya?! Huh? Would that make it diff'rent? Would it still be funny t' you?!"

"Bud, calm—"

"I don't wanna calm down!" he interrupted (quite rudely), turning away from Tolbert. He moved and grabbed something, but Tolbert couldn't see what it was from where he was standing. "I wanna go home."

"You can't. Right now, this is your home. I know ya don't like it, but ya gotta stay here, Bud."

"No. No, this ain't my home," he denied. "Never has been and never will be. I don't want it t' be my home."

"Bud—"

"Tolbert... you know somethin's off, don't ya?"

"Figured there was. Why?"

"I scared myself real good the other night," he admitted quietly. He turned around, allowing Tolbert's eyes to flick down at the knife that Bud twirled in his hand. Bud leaned against the kitchen island, his elbows propped up on it while he continued to twirl the knife. "I was in here doin' the dishes. Washed a knife and — I almost hurt myself. It scared me so bad, I shut the water off and ran t' my room. I cried for hours, Tol."

"What'd ya do that for?" Tolbert asked softly, his ice-blue eyes meeting Bud's hazel-green ones.

"I don't know," he whispered, shaking his head. "I just — I don't know. I caught myself before I did it, but it really scared me."

"How long ago was this?"

"Not too long... Friday? Maybe Saturday. Either the first or the second."

"Oh God. Ya need me t' call in—"

"No! I don't need those stupid pills."

"Bud... have you been takin' your medicine?"

"No. I don't need it, so why should I take it?"

Tolbert felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. He could usually tell when Bud had been taking his medicine and when he hadn't, but apparently, he'd gotten a lot better at hiding it.

"Ya need it, Bud. If ya didn't, Doc wouldn't-a prescribed it t' you."

"I don't," he shook his head. "I don't need it! I'm not — I'm not addicted to it. I can give it up anytime I want. I don't want it no more!"

"But you need it, Bud! You're not addicted. It helps you, Bud. That's why ya need it. B'cause it helps you a whole lot. Ya don't even think about hurtin' yourself when you're takin' it like yer supposed to."

"I don't need it," he stated shakily.

"Bud, your body is used t' you takin' that medicine every day. You're gonna go through withdrawals if ya don't start takin' it again. How long's it been since ya took it?"

"Since that night Perry was here."

"Oh God, you've prob'ly already started goin' through withdrawals. Because you're accustomed to takin' Symbyax every day, Bud. You take it the way you're supposed to. There's nothin' wrong with that."

"I mean, I — I feel fine. I just... it's worse than before."

"Listen, I'll call in your prescription. We're gonna getcha straightened out again. Because, Bud, if you go on the witness stand the way you are right now, ya won't be able t' handle it. And by the time January fifteenth gets here, yer gonna be worse. Let's getcha straightened out an' we'll work through all this again, okay?"

"Okay," Bud nodded slightly. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be, honey. I shoulda known somethin' was wrong. Now, will you please put that knife down?"

"Sure thing," he laughed softly, turning and putting the knife in its rightful place. "Better?"

"Much better."

Tolbert had left Bud home alone because of a doctor's appointment. When he returned, he found the boy on the couch, hugging a pillow tightly with his eyes glued to the TV. He didn't seem to notice Tolbert, so when Bud started crying, Tolbert made his presence known.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine," he sniffled.

"Why're you cryin'?" Tolbert asked exasperatedly.

"Ol' Yeller jus' got shot," Bud whimpered.

"Oh," Tolbert nodded, understanding why his brother was so emotional.

"Tolbert... what's gonna happen when I go t' court?"

"I don't know, darlin'," Tolbert sighed as he sat down beside him. He let the boy curl up against him. "Yer bein' tried as an adult. They're tryin' t' say you planned t' kill me... then they turn around and say yer addicted t' drugs. Their conspiracy is literally that I tried takin' 'em away from you n ya got mad n shot me."

"No, that's not it, no," Bud shook his head vigorously. "I'm sorry for what happened."

"It's fine, kid. Ya didn't mean t' do it."

"That don't make it right, Tol," his voice dropped to a whisper. "I'm so sorry."

"I know ya are, Buddy. Don't you worry none about it. Oh! I got yer prescription. I'll let ya by with not takin' one t'night, but you do it first thing in the mornin'. Understand me?"

"Mhm."

By the time Christmas rolled around, Bud was somewhat adjusted to his medicine again. His moods had improved and he wasn't as sensitive (for lack of a better term), so he and Tolbert got along just fine.

"How ya doin', darlin'?" Tolbert asked as he shuffled in the kitchen, his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose.

"A'ight I reckon," Bud mumbled, shrugging lightly. "Tired. But a'ight."

"Want some coffee?"

"Please."

Tolbert poured the boy a cup of coffee and handed it to him. Bud sipped it and sat down on the barstool, setting the cup down on the counter.

"You take yer medicine this mornin'?"

"Mhm. Did you?"

"That's the first thing I do," Tolbert chuckled. "That what yer wearin' t' Mama n Poppy's?"

"Yeah. I just don't feel like wearin' jeans, or a flannel, or a button-up, or anythin' other than what I've got on."

"That's fine. You wear whatever you want."

"I intend to."

"Yeah, whatever. Christmas presents. Ya want yours now or later?"

"Later. We're gonna be rushed if we do it now," Bud pointed out.

"Good point."

When Bud showed up at Sally and Ran'l's home dressed in an oversized black sweatshirt and black sweatpants, Ran'l was surprised, to say the least. Bud was one that usually took pride in his appearance, but he clearly didn't care this year. His hair — while it looked nice — was a little frizzy and curly. He wore his glasses instead of his contacts, and wore his old beat-up Nikes.

Bud locked his car to keep the children out of it and looked over at Tolbert, who had decided he would rather ride with Bud than deal with trying to find a place to park his truck. (Every year someone complained they couldn't get out because of Tolbert's pickup.)

Ran'l and Perry were seated on the porch in rocking chairs, talking with one another. Bud spotted Roseanna sitting on the steps, watching the children out in the yard as they frolicked around and played. She must have been on babysitting duty, otherwise, she would have been in the kitchen helping with the cooking. Sally had worked it out to where each one of them would have a short break — that break being babysitting duty, which usually meant sitting on the porch and making sure the kids didn't kill each other.

"Hey, Buddy," she smiled as he approached.

"Hey," he forced a smile. Bud hurried inside and went upstairs to his room. He didn't really want to be there, but he was, and he supposed he really didn't have a choice in the matter.

He sat down at his desk, turning on the lamp. He looked behind him when he heard someone come up the stairs, finding Perry. Bud found it odd to see Perry in a t-shirt and a pair of jeans with a baseball cap. He was used to seeing him in a suit.

"Hey, Perry," he greeted as the man entered his room.

"Hey. Whatcha runnin' from everybody for?" Perry asked, shoving his hands in his pockets while he leaned against the wall.

"It's just a really bad day," Bud admitted quietly. "It's — Tolbert told ya what I did, right?"

"Throwin' your pills away? Yeah."

"I'm gettin' used to 'em again. It's just a really bad day."

"When I told you that, I didn't think ya'd do anything irrational. I thought it would be best if ya knew what they're going t' bring up in court, so I tried my best t' let you know what's goin' on. This is your case, after all. I don't want ya t' be in the dark about anythin', ya understand?"

"Yeah," Bud nodded.

"If there is anything ya wanna know or you're concerned about, all you have t' do is come t' the office, or call me, or text me if ya want, I don't care. I wanna help as much as I can. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Enough legal talk. We'll talk that the 27th. You do have the time for our meetin'?"

"Nine o'clock, right?"

"Yeah. Unless you wanna do it later."

"Nah, nine's fine. I get t' go in later that way," Bud told him, earning a laugh in response. "What? I can sleep in and go t' the meetin', then head on t' work."

"Nice t' know you're okay with it so you can sleep in," Perry laughed.

"Hey, Buddy," Tolbert smiled as he leaned against the doorway. "I told 'em ya ain't feelin' well. It's not a lie, 'cause ya ain't. Otherwise, ya wouldn't-a run up here like ya had someone chasin' ya."

"Thanks," Bud smiled softly. "I don't understand you, Tolbert."

"A lot of people don't," Tolbert shrugged. "But please explain."

"I shot ya n yer still actin' like nothin' happened. Ya act like nothin' happened at all, that I'm not the reason why ya nearly died—"

"I didn't nearly die," Tolbert rolled his eyes.

"Yes, ya did! Don't lie t' me, Tolbert. Cal told me ya nearly died, that they thought you wasn't gonna make it through that surgery."

"But I did. That's the point. I lived, it's all good."

"No, it ain't," Bud shook his head. "That's not the point at all. The point is that I almost killed you."

"Don't worry about it," Tolbert shook his head. "It's fine. Ev'ryone's alright, yeah?"

"Reckon so."

"See? It's alright, Buddy. An' I'm gonna have a cool scar after this. Might have t' change the story a little, but I'm gonna have a dang cool scar."

"Tolbert," Bud sighed exasperatedly.

"Alright, I'll stop. I love ya, kid."

"I love you too."

Once Bud and Tolbert returned home, Tolbert led the boy to the living room, where the Christmas tree was put up in the corner.

"Sit down, Buddy. That coat looks nice on ya," Tolbert complimented, fixing the collar of Bud's new jacket.

"Thanks, I guess," he mumbled. Allowing his voice to take on a teasing tone, he asked, "You ain't gonna kill me with that new pistol you got, are ya?"

"No, I ain't gonna kill you," Tolbert rolled his eyes. "This pistol ain't gonna hurt nobody unless it has to. Most I'll do with it probably is clean it n shoot at old boards that I can't use anymore."

"Never say it won't hurt nobody. Never thought I'd hurt anybody, but..."

"That's diff'rent. You were tryin' t' defend yerself."

"Don't matter. I still hurt you," Bud countered, his voice trembling terribly. "God, I nearly killed ya, Tol."

"Hey, stop that right now," Tolbert commanded. "I'm fine, a'ight? I'm fine, you're fine, that's all that matters right now."

"I'm real sorry for it," Bud whispered. "I didn't — I don't know why I didn't stop t' make sure no one was there. That was real dumb."

"Don't worry about any of that. Worry about the presents under the tree with yer name on 'em, will ya?"

Bud let out a breathless laugh and nodded.

"Good. Hang on, I'll find 'em in a second."

Tolbert set the case down and moved to the tree, kneeling down and pulling the remaining presents out from under it. He mumbled to himself while he sorted them, picking up the ones that had Bud's name scrawled on the paper. He had no doubt that Bud would probably make a joke about it (he always did) and set them on the coffee table while he shook his head.

"There."

"Dang, Tol, did you write that or did a headless chicken?" Bud jested, earning a playful glare in return.

"Shut up and open it."

Bud kept his head lowered and picked up one of the gifts, hiding an amused smirk from Tolbert. He opened the paper, taking out two leather-bound books. He flipped it over, finding his name engraved on the front. He glanced at Tolbert before opening it, finding that it was a notebook. Lifting the one on top, he found the bottom was the same way.

"There's no way—"

"I may have found somethin' you misplaced a while back. Figured ya'd use those. I'd say yer gettin' tired of writin' in the backs of your notebooks for school."

"Yeah... Where'd you even get these?"

"Online," Tolbert shrugged. "You've got another one, kid."

Bud set the notebooks beside him and leaned forward, grabbing the other.

"Y-ya know, really, those were enough," Bud mumbled.

"And I got ya another one anyway."

Bud (accidentally) ripped the paper and pulled out a smooth black frame. Within it was several photos of Bud and Tolbert, his favorite being the largest one. He was on Tolbert's back, both of them laughing and shirtless with frizzy hair. He couldn't remember what day it had been taken, but he knew that it was summer and it was hot, and that he and Tolbert had been playing jokes on almost everyone that day.

And below it, there was something typed out. Bud's eyes scanned the small block of text.

To my favorite brother, who has made life a thousand times better for me. Throughout your life, we've shared many laughs and smiles — and while we've shared tears as well, I thought you'd appreciate something to cheer you up when you're down. Here's a small collection of my favorite memories with you.

I love you, kid.

Bud's eyes watered and he wiped at them, sniffling while he tried to keep from crying. It seemed to be all that he did and he was tired of it.

"Ya a'ight?" Tolbert queried.

"Fine," he answered. He set the frame on the couch and moved to where Tolbert was, sitting on the floor beside him and wrapping his arms around him tightly. "I love you."

"I love you, kid."

Bud sighed as he entered Perry's office, sitting down in one of the chairs in front of the desk.

"Mornin', Bud. This is the last time I'll meet with ya before the trial, alright?" Bud nodded mutely, waiting for Perry to continue. "And this time, I'm askin' if you'll let me tell them exactly why ya had that bottle in your room."

Bud lowered his head a little. If he let Perry tell it, he could be cleared of that allegation almost immediately. If he didn't, he'd have a lot more to fight. But, if he allowed Perry to reveal his depression, everyone would know that there was something wrong with Bud. The upside to not allowing it was the fact that it would all stay hidden.

"Do it," Bud said quickly. "I mean, I've got nothin' t' lose at this point."

"Oh, you could lose quite a bit if they find ya guilty, which I highly doubt. I've got several witnesses lined up. Wanna hear the list?" Perry asked, shuffling a few papers on his desk.

"Sure."

"Alright... we have Tolbert, Roseanna, Pharmer, your father, your mother, Frank—"

"Did you just say Frank? As in Frank Phillips?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Oh my Lord," Bud groaned. "I don't like him, Perry!"

"Well, he likes you. He's willin' t' testify in your defense, Bud."

"Ain't there someone else ya can get? Nancy? Jefferson? Uncle Harmon?"

"Harmon's already on the list. So's Alifair and Pharmer, and Jim, so don't start by listing them either. Now... your Uncle Harmon? That's a true victim of attempted murder. Jim Vance tried killin' that man as sure as I'm livin'."

"Why didn't he push that case?"

"He didn't have a single shred of evidence to prove that it was Jim Vance. If ya remember correctly, Bud, he was attacked from behind. He can't claim that he saw him 'cause he didn't, but he swears on his life that it was Crazy Jim."

"Crazy's puttin' it lightly," Bud remarked. Perry snorted at that. "Are ya sure ya can't get no one else but Frank? He's insane, Perry!"

"Yes, Bud. I'm sure. Besides that, he's already scheduled to appear."

"Oh God," Bud breathed. "Why would ya ever ask him anyways?"

"'Cause you need people t' clear yer name. Ya might not like him, Bud, but he's willin' t' get up there n clear your name. Ya understandin' me?"

"I'm not a child, Perry," Bud rolled his eyes. "I understand plenty o' things."

"I know that. I'm sorry if it came off that way, 'cause I assure you, that ain't what I meant at all. I'm just wantin' t' make sure ya fully understand everything — like the more people you have testifyin' in your defense, the better off you'll be. We've got a strong, solid case, but a few character witnesses never hurt none."

"Reckon so..." Bud was silent for a moment. "Did my records help you any?"

"As a matter of fact, they did," Perry beamed. "I was able to compile a list of every medication they gave you before giving you Symbyax. Now... now I want ya t' know that I will be askin' you about this on the stand, a'ight? But I don't think you gotta worry 'bout the stand too much. Not yet. It's gonna take a few days, and those few days are gonna be every other witness before you. Tolbert's gonna be our first witness."

"Okay. That's — that's fine, I mean... I'd rather have t' tell 'em why I have t' take it than have them accusin' me of usin' 'em the wrong way."

"You're a good kid. Judge Wagner knows you n he knows you're a good kid. I think we can win this pretty easily. We have enough evidence to prove everythin' ya told me, an' I have no doubt we can shoot down the prosecution's case in less than twenty minutes. Their case is based on an allegation, which really, should be illegal. It's nothin' but hearsay."

"I can understand why they assumed... it's kinda weird t' see a bottle with half the label ripped off, ain't it?"

"People rip labels off things all the time. That don't mean a thing."

Bud couldn't argue with that. He had a good point.

"We are gonna win this, Bud. I won't hold ya anymore. Go on, get outta here."

"Thanks, Perry."

January 2018

Bud had had a bad day. He'd dozed off for a couple of minutes and overslept (he hated insomnia with a burning passion), which made him late for work. Then he'd been sent to Pikeville to make a delivery, and had gotten stuck in traffic because of road work. After that, the saw broke down, which stopped production for the day, and Bud had been forced to spend most of his day in the office. And now? Well, now he couldn't sleep.

And maybe he wouldn't have minded it nearly as much if he didn't have to go to court the next morning.

So, with much chagrin, Bud got out of bed and went to Tolbert's room.

"Tol?" He spoke up, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Hm?" Tolbert hummed, looking over at him.

"I can't sleep."

"C'mere."

Bud shuffled to the bed and climbed on it, lying down beside Tolbert and curling up against him. Tolbert wrapped an arm around Bud, bringing his hand up and scratching the boy's scalp. Bud hummed and scooted a little closer.

"That feels nice," Bud murmured, his eyes fluttering shut.

"Does it?" Tolbert stifled a laugh, looking down at the boy in amusement.

"Mhmm... feels real nice, Tol'ert."

"Glad ya like it, darlin'," Tolbert chortled, not bothering to hide his amusement this time.

"Tol..."

"Yes, baby?"

"I'm real scared," Bud confessed, wrapping his arms around Tolbert's middle.

"I know you are," Tolbert spoke softly. "But it's gonna be alright. I talked t' Perry the other day n he said he'd object the second that other lawyer gets outta line with ya. It's gonna be alright, honey. We ain't gonna lose this. Nothin' bad's gonna happen t' you, I promise ya that much. I won't let it."

Tolbert lowered his head and planted a kiss on his brother's forehead.

"I don't wanna go t' prison," Bud sobbed.

"Ya ain't gonna go t' prison," Tolbert tried to assure him. He knew that if things didn't go the way they wanted it to, it was likely that Bud would go to prison. He didn't want that; Bud would get hurt in prison.

"If we don't—"

"We're gonna win. We've got too good a case t' lose, Bud."

Bud clenched the fabric of Tolbert's shirt in his hand, trying to calm himself down.

"How—how's your wound?" Bud asked, changing the subject.

"Alright. Healin' nicely, too. Ya wanna see it?"

"I... I dunno, Tol," Bud stammered.

"It's gonna be a really cool scar. So we'll change the story a little t' make it better. How 'bout I pitch ya some ideas, an' you tell me if they're good or not?" Tolbert suggested, already thinking up several different ways to make Bud laugh.

"A'ight," he agreed softly.

"Let's see, how about... I was down in Pikeville; ya know, like down an alleyway tryin' t' take a short cut t' my truck, and these guys came up t' me an' mugged me. Instead of jus' givin' 'em what they wanted, I tried t' fight an' one shot me. And the idiots forgot what they attacked me for, which is why I could still pay my bills in November."

"Tolbert," Bud tried to hide his amusement. It didn't work, as he ended up laughing while saying, "That's terrible!"

"Alright, geez. You're so picky. Uhm... A serial—"

"Stop right there, I know where it's goin'," Bud interrupted. "No one's gonna believe you were shot by a serial killer who missed his aim, Tolbert."

"It happens!"

"The one with you gettin' mugged is more believable than that, an' we all know there ain't no one crazy enough t' even attempt t' mug you. Yer known throughout Pike County, Mingo County, and Logan County as Crazy McCoy. Why on earth would they be that stupid?"

"They're not from Pike, Mingo, or Logan County," Tolbert offered.

"Oh yeah, they go from state t' state muggin' random people 'cause they're bored," Bud drawled sarcastically. "You can do so much better than that. I know you can. I've heard yer ghost stories n yer scary stories that ya come up with. They scare the livin' daylights outta me."

"Alright. How 'bout I was out huntin—"

"No."

Bud was a nervous wreck. He couldn't get his hands to stop shaking long enough to button his shirt, and he really didn't want to ask Tolbert for help.

"Hey, kiddo, ready t' go?"

"No," he huffed. "I can't get my stupid hands t' stop shakin'!"

"Here, I'll get it. All ya had t' do was tell me," Tolbert told him as he crossed the room. He buttoned the shirt and smacked Bud's bicep. "There. Tuck yer shirt in and grab yer phone. We gotta go."

Bud glanced at Perry, who patted the boy's shoulder as he sat down beside him. Across from them, at the other table, sat a woman dressed in a white shirt, grey cardigan, grey pencil skirt, and grey heels. Her dark blonde hair was pulled back in a tight bun on the back of her head, a diamond ring on her left ring finger.

"I'm in trouble, ain't I?" Bud nervously looked at Perry.

"With her? Nah. You'll be fine. Ya ain't gettin' on the stand t'day anyways. Tolbert is."

"Is that s'pposed t' make me feel better?" Bud raised a brow. "You know what's gonna happen if she implies I'm addicted t' drugs, Perry."

"He'll likely lose that temper of his an' she won't do it again."

"He'll be held in contempt for that."

"Not if he just answers her question," Perry countered, a sly smirk appearing on his face. "I've already talked with him about that, Bud. He knows what he can and can't do."

"Hope so," Bud mumbled.

Tolbert was called to the stand. Bud hadn't really noticed it before, but he now he noticed that Tolbert was wearing his denim button-up, the first few buttons unbuttoned and revealing the white bandage over the wound on his chest. He only wore it because the seatbelt bothered him if he didn't.

After being sworn in, Tolbert took his seat and let out a deep exhale through his nostrils. It was clear that he didn't want to be there, and Bud really couldn't blame him.

"For the record, please state your name," Perry requested as he stood up.

"Tolbert McCoy."

"Tolbert, how d' you know the defendant?" Perry asked as he crossed to the stand.

"He's my younger brother," Tolbert answered.

"And are the two of you... close?" Perry had obviously tried to think of a better word with the slight pause, but he couldn't.

"Yeah, I guess that's the word for it," he shrugged.

"Tolbert, what happened November the third, 2017?"

"I had gotten a call earlier that day from Mama sayin' that her n the rest of the children were goin' t' Pikeville. Poppy had a deliv'ry t' make in West Virginia, and he took the rest of the boys with him. It was Bud's day off, so he d'cided t' stay at home and Mama asked me t' check in on him ev'ry once in a while.

"I musta been out in the shed the first few times he texted me. For whatever reason there is, the WiFi don't reach out there, and I didn't get his texts until I went back in the house. He said someone was in the house n that he had a gun, what looked like a double-barrel shotgun. So I grabbed m' keys n I headed over t' the house."

Tolbert paused and swallowed, glancing at Bud.

"When I got there, the door was open, and a motorcycle was parked out front. Not a single one of us McCoys own a motorcycle; we jus' don't like 'em too much n never wanted one. I went in n saw a man slippin' out the back door. I thought he mighta done somethin' t' Bud 'cause the house was dead silent, so I went upstairs.

"He didn't know I was there. I managed t' stay s' quiet Bud didn't even know I was there. He thought I was close t' the banister and shot at the wall that I'd moved next to, and hit me instead of it. He never meant t' harm anyone. He shot t' scare an' hit me instead."

Bud clenched his fists under the table, fighting to keep from crying. His eyes fixated on the surface of the table, licking his lips and letting out a shaky breath.

"He caught me when I fell n he lowered me t' the floor. God, he was so scared. He ran n got a towel, and he came back n put pressure on it. It didn't really help none with the bleedin', and he — he went n called the police."

Tolbert stopped for a moment, his brows furrowing while he licked his lips.

"When he came back, I told him he was a stupid idiot fer callin' them. I knew that they were gonna arrest him when they got there. He ignored me n just... picked me up n held me... reckon he actually cradled me in his arms. He ignored me when I called him a stupid idiot... he was so scared, God, I've never seen him like that b'fore.

"He applied pressure again and tried t' stop the bleeding. He kept apologizin' an' sayin' that he didn't know I was there. I don't even remember the police gettin' there. But I remember hearin' Bud scream b'fore I blacked out."

"Is that all that happened?" Perry questioned.

"Yeah," Tolbert nodded.

"No further questions," Perry stated as he turned toward the judge.

"Cross-examine, Miss Barker?"

"Yes, Your Honor." She stood as Perry took his seat, rounding the table. Her heels clicked against the tile floor, and she stopped near Tolbert. "The defendant is your... brother, correct?"

"Yes."

"May I ask the difference b'tween your ages?"

"Ten years."

Miss Barker looked a little shocked, but quickly shook it off.

"And you're older?"

"Yes," he confirmed. "I'm twenty-six and he's sixteen."

"The defendant was arrested and charged with attempted murder — your murder, to be precise — and the police, with just cause, searched his room. They found a pill bottle that had half of the label ripped off, and it was Symbyax. Is your brother addicted to drugs?"

"No, he is not," Tolbert responded through gritted teeth. He wouldn't lose his temper while he was on the stand; he would wait until he was free to go and he could go outside for a couple of minutes.

"Are you sure? Teenagers his age are very good at hiding things from—"

"Randolph McCoy, Junior has never abused drugs in his life. He's a good kid. He was raised right and he couldn't lie if his life depended on it, so no, he isn't addicted to drugs. Bud is a good kid. This entire case was made up 'cause he told them he shot me on accident and they found the gun at the scene."

"Why would he need something like Symbyax?" Miss Barker demanded.

Tolbert glanced at Bud and Perry. Perry shook his head.

"I'm not goin' t' answer that," Tolbert stated calmly.

"Alright. In that case, did your brother ever confide anything to you that could be considered... alarming? Disturbing, perhaps?" she pressed.

"He tells me everything. Everybody has thoughts that are disturbing, and there are times he scares himself. He comes to me when he does."

He could see Bud heave a sigh of relief out of the corner of his eye. Tolbert shifted slightly in the chair, watching the woman as she began to pace back and forth.

"That bandage there... is that where the wound is?"

"Eh, the general area," Tolbert nodded. "It's more... here."

Tolbert pointed to where the bullet had entered his body.

"And you still have to bandage it?"

"Only when I go somewhere. If I don't, the seatbelt rubs against it an' it don't feel too good."

"Does your brother know the extent of the injury he inflicted upon you?"

"Yeah," Tolbert nodded. "He's sixteen, he's not stupid."

He didn't miss the way she quirked a brow. Tolbert wouldn't care to admit that he didn't like her; that he thought she was a stuck-up snob that had been roped into a case she didn't want to be a part of. That much was evident by the way she composed herself.

"How severe was it?"

"Eh... wasn't too bad, y'know? I was down a few days n that was it."

"Just a few days?"

"Well... I mean, I'm still not workin' — my employer won't let me — but I'm fine. Bud's helped me out a lot with the things I couldn't do when I got him outta jail, but... I don't reckon you'd care too much about that."

"You're right. We're not focused on what he did after you bailed him out. We're focused on what he did ta you on November third of last year," Miss Barker stated harshly. "Why would you defend him?"

"Because it was an accident!" Tolbert raised his voice. "He was tryin' t' defend himself. Did ya not listen t' a single word I said b'fore you stood up?"

"I want t' know what he was doin' with Symbyax."

"And I've told you I ain't gonna answer that."

"Uh, Your Honor, objection!" Perry stood up quickly. "She's harassing the witness."

"Sustained. Stop harassing him, Miss Barker. He's already stated he won't answer the question."

"No more questions, Your Honor."

Bud glanced at Tolbert as he sat down beside him on the couch.

"Why didn't you tell her?" he asked quietly.

"Perry told me not to. He said that's somethin' that you and you alone should answer."

"I'm sorry you had t' get up there. Y-ya didn't have t' defend me, I woulda understood if ya didn't. I did shoot ya, after all. Ya shouldn't — my God, ya shouldn't've defended me."

"I'm goin' t' defend you. Ya didn't mean t' do it."

Bud sniffled and forced his tears back. He didn't want to cry. If he were to judge by the way everything had gone on the first day of the trial, they were going to lose. And they were going to lose terribly.

"Tol... can I sleep with you t'night?" Bud whispered.

"Yeah, kiddo. Go get ready for bed."

Bud nodded and did as he was told. Tolbert got up and went to his room, changing into a pair of sweatpants and leaving his shirt off. He shuffled over to his bed and got in it, grabbing the TV remote and turning it on.

Tolbert flipped through the channels and stopped when he found a Disney movie marathon. Bud liked Disney movies and Tolbert didn't mind them much.

Bud entered the room and rushed over, climbing on the bed and curling up against his older brother. Tolbert turned the volume up a little, setting the remote on the nightstand beside him.

"Whatcha sleepin' in here for, kid?" Tolbert queried, pulling his fingers through Bud's thick honey-brown hair.

"Don't wanna be alone," Bud murmured in response. That wasn't the full truth, but it was enough to appease Tolbert. He wanted to spend the last however many days he had with Tolbert. He didn't want to be alone, and he didn't want to waste the last few days he had with Tolbert.

"Ya sure that's it?"

"Mhm."

"I know you, Bud," Tolbert muttered. "Somethin's bothering ya."

"I... I don't wanna be alone. I don't — I don't wanna waste the time I have left with ya. Please, don't make me leave."

"I'm not, honey, I'm not," Tolbert assured him. "What d' ya mean the time ya have left?"

"We're not gonna win," Bud whispered tearfully, his voice trembling. "There's no way we can win after what went down t'day."

"Hey, nothin' happened, Bud. It's just the first day of the trial an' yer stressed n scared. Ya shouldn't even have t' go t' court. It was a accident."

"N-no!" Bud exclaimed. "We're not gonna win. There's no way she's gonna keep lettin' ev'ryone get by with not answerin' her question."

"It's gonna be alright, baby. I promise."

On the third day of the trial (Wednesday), Bud finally opened social media again. And almost immediately, he found articles about him. He read through the comments, finding some that gave him the benefit of the doubt and others claiming that he deserved life and even worse, the death penalty.

Bud's heart leaped to his throat. How could he possibly keep a positive attitude with these types of comments from people that didn't even know him?

He went on the messenger app and found several message requests. His hope for winning the case dwindled as he read each request, and he wished that he'd never opened social media again.

Trying to kill your brother? That's shameless and evil. I hope they give you the most severe penalty the state of Kentucky has.

I hope you get the same thing your brother did.

Why don't ya just do the taxpayers a favor and kill yourself? We don't have to waste money on you in prison that way.

And the more he read, the more Bud wanted to just curl up and die. He hadn't meant to shoot Tolbert. He hadn't meant to cause so much trouble.

His heart stopped when he read one message.

You probably did it because of drugs. You're guilty and won't admit it. You teenagers seem to have it in your mind that you can do anything you please when you please, and that's not how the world works. If your brother did something, it was likely to protect you. I hope they give you the worst penalty possible.

Bud didn't even know these people, had never even heard their names before. Without much thought, Bud hurled his phone across the room and ran out of his room.

He nearly ran into Tolbert, but he managed to make it to the kitchen before Tolbert caught up with him. Tolbert wrapped his arms tightly around Bud's waist and held him in place, refusing to let him move.

"Let me go! Let me go!" Bud fought against him, trying to wrench himself out of Tolbert's grasp.

"Hey! HEY! Stop it!"

"Let me go, Tolbert, let me go!"

"What're you doin', Bud?" Tolbert demanded.

"I don't wanna live anymore!"

Tolbert tightened his grip, dragging the boy out of the kitchen and to his room. Tolbert closed the door swiftly, Bud bursting into a sob.

"I don't wanna live. I wish — I wish I'd never been born," he cried, hanging his head low.

"Hey, stop that," Tolbert chided softly, placing his hands on Bud's biceps. "What's... why don't ya wanna live, Buddy?"

"People — people've been sendin' me messages. They want me dead, Tol, they want me dead. I don't even know these people!"

Tolbert realized that Bud must've finally gotten back on social media. He pulled him into a tight hug, letting the boy cry into his shoulder. Tolbert held him close, refusing to let go. Sobs wracked Bud's body, the boy clinging tightly to Tolbert.

"I wanna die, Tol," he sobbed, his hands clenching Tolbert's shirt.

"Hey, shh... shh, it's okay, baby," Tolbert cooed, rubbing Bud's back with one hand. "I don't want you t' die. I want you here with me, Buddy. I need you n I love you."

"N-o, you don't," Bud tried to get out of the embrace. "I — I sh-sh—shot you!"

"Listen t' me. Listen, okay?" Bud nodded. "I love you very much. I don't care what the idiots on the internet says, I want you here with me. I want ya livin' n breathin', Bud. I need you, Buddy. I really do. So does Mama n Poppy n the rest of our crazy family. We need you and we love you, baby. Don't listen t' them idiots."

"I wanna die," he whimpered. "Let me die, Tolbert."

"Absolutely not," Tolbert refused. "Let's... let's sit down on the bed, 'kay? We'll talk."

"Mkay."

Tolbert led Bud to his bed, taking off his shirt before getting in bed. He laid on his side and faced Bud, who scooted close to him, his eyes locking on the wound on Tolbert's chest.

"I wish I was never born," he whispered.

"Quit talkin' like that," Tolbert chided softly.

"It's true, Tol. I jus' wanna die n I wish I was never born. None of this woulda happened if I wa'n't born. If... if it wasn't fer me, there might be another person... another son more worthy of Poppy's name that could make y'all proud. Someone who wouldn't shoot you, or — or have somethin' wrong with his head, or just sit around and wish he would die."

Tolbert gently placed a hand on Bud's face. Bud's eyes flicked up and met Tolbert's, his eyes glistening with tears.

"I jus' wanna die, Tolbert," Bud wailed, throwing his arms around his older brother. Tolbert wrapped his arms around Bud, letting the boy nuzzle the crook of his neck and cry. "I wanna die."

"I'm — God, Buddy, I can't lose you. Ya hear me? I can't lose you. Not now. I love ya so much, baby. I want ya t' live. I want ya t' live t' be old n grey, t' be able t' say you did whatever you wanted t' do in life. I want ya t' grow up n find ya a pretty girl t' get married to n have a family if ya want. I want you t' be happy, and I'm tellin' ya, Bud, dyin' ain't gonna make ya happy."

"Yeah, it would," he argued meekly. "I wouldn't be mis'rable no more."

"Bud, I promise you, it's gonna get better. I love ya, baby. I need ya in my life."

"I love ya too, Tol... I just don't wanna live no more. All I wanna do is die. I don't wanna fight no more."

"Hey, yer just havin' a bad day. We'll delete all yer social media accounts 'til this blows over n we'll make ya some new ones. How's that sound?"

"A'ight, I reckon," Bud spoke in a hushed whisper.

"I understand how ya feel, though. I can understand it. Ya don't know the things I've thought about doin' before... came close a few times b'fore I got diagnosed. Came close not too long 'go, too. So I understand how ya feel, Bud. I really do."

"I just don't wanna live."

"I know. But... let's try this, okay? If this don't work, we'll try somethin' else, I promise. I'm always gonna be here for ya, Buddy. You start thinkin' like this or feelin' this way, you call me or just show up. I don't care. But don't ya dare do anythin' that'll bring harm t' you."

"Okay." He paused for a second. "Will you do the same?"

"Yeah, reckon I will if ya want me to."

"Yeah," he nodded slightly. "I wanna help ya like ya help me. Can't do that if I don't know when somethin's wrong."

Tolbert breathed a laugh.

"That's a good point, baby. Why don't ya try t' get some sleep now, hm? We got a long day 'head of us t'morrow."

On the fifth day of the trial, Bud didn't want to go to the courthouse. He knew that he would be called to the stand, and he didn't want to be called to the stand. Not to mention, he'd run out of contacts again and had to wear his glasses.

"You're gonna be fine, kid," Tolbert assured him as they exited the house. Tolbert shut and locked the door behind him, following Bud to his SUV. "Ya sure ya wanna drive?"

"Yeah," Bud nodded. "I wanna — I wanna drive t'day."

"Okay. I won't stop ya."

Bud swallowed thickly as he took his seat, watching Perry as he stood up and approached the stand.

"For the record, state your name, please."

"Randolph McCoy, Junior."

"Do you mind if I call you Bud?"

"No."

"Relax, Bud. I just need t' ask you a few questions."

Bud nodded and anxiously started picking at his nails, watching Perry as he paced the floor.

"Do you take Symbyax?"

"Yes," he answered without hesitation.

"Why?" Perry pressed. Bud could see the smirk on Miss Barker's face.

"It's for my depression. It was the only type of medication that would work on me," Bud replied honestly, his face turning red. "I'm not very proud of it n try t' keep it quiet."

He could feel Tolbert's gaze on him. His eyes flicked toward him, as he'd opted to sit right behind Bud's seat at the table, and his eyes met his.

"Have you ever been suicidal?"

Bud swallowed thickly.

"...Yeah. That's — that's more recently, though."

Perry looked surprised at that.

"I—I mean, I was when I was first diagnosed, an' when they tried all them other medicines, but up 'til a couple days ago, I ain't been suicidal in over a year," Bud amended, trying to make it better.

"What happened with that?"

"Nothin'."

"Bud... What happened on November third?"

Bud took a shaky breath and closed his eyes.

"Poppy, Jim, Calvin, n Pharmer had gone t' West Virginia. I... I think it was up north, close t' Wheeling, 'cause they were gone most of the day. While I was out in McCarr runnin' a few errands, Mama took the girls t' Pikeville. I got home n found I was alone, but I didn't think nothin' of it. I get left home alone all the time.

"I went upstairs t' my room, set down the contact lenses that I'd picked up n took the prescription to the bathroom. While the sink was on... the door slammed open downstairs. It sounded like the police were gonna raid the house or somethin', so I shut off the water n went t' the banister. I looked over an' there was a man there, an' he had what looked like a double-barrel shotgun. I got scared n knew I couldn't call nobody. He'd hear me if I did. So I texted Tolbert."

Bud stopped talking and closed his eyes for a second.

"The texts didn't deliver at first, so I went t' Mama n Poppy's room an' got the pistol. It was only there in case someone ever broke in. I loaded it and heard somethin' crash at the bottom of the stairs. I thought maybe he'd come up while I was loadin' the pistol and — and I went n looked in the rooms.

"I made it t' mine when I heard someone behind me. I swear, I thought they were close to the banister, that was where it sounded like they were. So I spun around an' shot at the wall. Tolbert was there instead, clutchin' his chest and lookin' at me with wide eyes. I caught him when he stumbled, lowered him t' the floor, an' went an' got somethin' t' put pressure on the wound."

Bud was trying his hardest not to cry. He bit on his lip, his gaze focused on his hands.

"What happened then, Bud?" Perry inquired.

"I went back an' put pressure on it. Kept 'pologizin' n that idiot tried t' tell me that it was okay; that he was okay. But he was losin' so much blood. I — I got real scared an' called 911. Went back n he called me a stupid idiot. I heard it but acted like I didn't. I jus'... cradled him in my arms and applied pressure again. Tol was losin' so much blood.

"When... when the police got there, Tolbert had this weird glaze over his eyes. They told me t' Kay him on the floor n I did, thinkin' they'd help him, y'know? But... but they made me get up against the wall n arrested me. When I asked why they were arrestin' me instead of helpin' him, they didn't answer. I let 'em drag me t' the stairs before lookin' back. That was when Tolbert went unconscious.

"I screamed. I screamed real loud n tried t' tell 'em he was bleedin' out, but they jus' told me t' shut up n go downstairs with 'em. No one was there when we left the house. Not an ambulance, not another police officer, no one. No one except maybe the man that broke in. The motorcycle out front had t' belong t' him 'cause none of us like ridin' 'em. But I swear, Perry, no one was there when we left."

"Did they tell you why they arrested you?"

"No," Bud shook his head. "I didn't even know what I was bein' charged with 'til the man who booked me went n asked."

"So you had no idea they were chargin' you with attempted murder?"

"No."

"Bud, did you intentionally shoot Tolbert?"

"No, I didn't."

"No further questions, Your Honor."

"Cross-examine, Miss Barker?" Judge Wagner looked in her direction.

"Yes, Your Honor."

She stood and rounded the table. Bud could feel his heart racing in his chest and knew that it wouldn't take much to send him into a panic attack, but he sincerely hoped he could make it to the end of the day without having one. He didn't want to have a panic attack in front of everyone that was in the courtroom. But if one started, it was like he was alone and had no way to breathe or calm down.

"Bud... that was your name, correct?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Bud, there's more to it than that, isn't there? Symbyax isn't a medication that's usually given to teenagers. Your brother found it and tried to take it away from you, didn't he?" she accused.

"No!" Bud exclaimed. "It's — it's my prescription."

His chest was starting to get tight. Nonono, he couldn't have a panic attack now.

"There was no man, Bud. It's somethin' you've made up t' get by with attempted murder."

"Objection! That's speculation!" Perry cried out.

"Sustained. Move on, please," Judge Wagner drawled.

"Now... you say the police never told you what they were charging you with and that they had left your brother there alone. Why?"

"'Cause it's the truth."

"I highly doubt that. Did you take Symbyax that day?"

"One that mornin'. Jus' like I'm s'pposed to."

Tolbert, from where he sat, knew what was going on with Bud. He leaned forward and tapped Perry's shoulder.

"Ya gotta get him off that stand. He's gettin' ready t' have a panic attack," he whispered in the man's ear.

"Tolbert, there's nothin' I can do until she says she's done questionin' him."

"The officers returned some time later and searched your room. They found a learner's permit but no driver's license. Can you explain that?"

Bud couldn't breathe.

"I can't breathe," he mumbled. "I can't breathe!"

"Oh, stop fakin' and answer the question!" She slammed her hands down on the banister in front of Bud.

Bud's breathing was swift and irregular. He couldn't draw in a breath and it scared him. His chest was tight and the room was starting to spin and blur. He was going to die.

"I can't breathe!" He brought one hand up and tugged at his shirt, pulling it away from his neck. "Oh God, I can't — I can't breathe!"

Out of the corner of his eye, he could barely make out Tolbert smacking Perry's shoulder. Perry nodded and stood up. He said something that Bud didn't comprehend, as Bud was too focused on his inability to breathe to really notice anything else.

Bud was going to die. He didn't want to die. A sob tore from his throat while he continued pulling at his shirt, trying to take in a breath. He could hear exclamations and gasps but didn't fully comprehend anything until someone placed a hand on his arm. He whipped toward them, finding Tolbert.

"C'mere," he instructed gently. Bud did as he was told, stumbling into his brother's arms. Tolbert grunted and managed to turn Bud away from the people who were watching, lowering both of them to the floor. "Hey, ya know who I am?"

Bud nodded.

"Tol, I can't breathe! 'M gonna die, I don't wanna die!"

"Hey, hey, you're okay. It's gonna be okay. Here, let's get the top few buttons undone. See if that helps ya any." Tolbert kept his voice soft and steady, unbuttoning the top three buttons of Bud's shirt. "Shh, honey, you're alright."

Tolbert wrapped his arms around him, ignoring the way the boy fought against him. It was always like that; Bud would fight for a minute or two and then calm down, which led to him being able to catch his breath after a few minutes.

Bud still resisted, shoving Tolbert while he tried to get out of his grip. His head fell against Tolbert's shoulder, another sob tearing from his throat.

"'M gonna die!"

"Yer not gonna die," Tolbert murmured softly.

"I am. 'M gonna — 'm gonna die, Tol'ert! I don' wanna die!"

"You're alright, I promise ya ain't gonna die. You're okay, honey, breathe for me. Can ya do that? Take a breath, honey, you're okay," Tolbert cooed, pulling his fingers through Bud's hair.

They sat there a few minutes, Bud slowly calming down. He whined quietly, bringing one hand up and rubbing his chest.

"M' chest burns," he mumbled breathlessly.

"No wonder, baby. You're okay, I promise you're okay," Tolbert assured him, planting a kiss on his forehead. "Y' okay, darlin'?"

"I... I think so," Bud nodded slightly. "Oh God, I just ruined our whole case, didn't I?"

"No. You can't help it. Panic attacks just happen, Bud. You're alright, ev'rythin's alright. Ya can get back up there if ya think ya can."

"Y-yeah. I can do it. I'm fine. It just... it was too much," he whispered.

"I know. Get up there n tell the truth. That's all ya gotta do, no matter if she believes ya or not."

Bud nodded. Tolbert stood and helped the boy to his feet, patting his shoulder before returning to his seat. Bud took the stand again and immediately apologized.

"It's alright, Bud," Judge Wagner smiled at the boy. "You jus' answer the question."

"...What was it?"

"Mr. Johnson, read back the question, please."

"They found a learner's permit but no driver's license. Can you explain that?" Mr. Johnson read back what had been asked.

"Yeah. I keep my license in my wallet; my wallet was in my back pocket when that happened."

"That doesn't explain the learner's permit," Miss Barker sighed exasperatedly.

"I took it out the day I got my license. I got my license on my sixteenth birthday."

"When was that?"

"October thirtieth."

"And ya just left the learner's permit on the dresser?"

"Yes. I don't need it no more, so I took it out. I just left it there 'cause there was nothin' else I could really do with it."

"Why did you shoot your brother?"

"I didn't mean to. It was all an accident, a terrible freak accident. I thought he was by the banister, I really did. I shot t' scare, not t' harm."

"Is it possible that you just missed your aim?"

"No," Bud shook his head. "I'm a sharpshooter; I don't miss my aim. I aimed at the wall and shot it. I knew what I was shootin' at."

"So... what you're sayin' is you never miss?"

"Yeah."

"It's possible that you just missed your aim. Why wouldn't ya shoot at him if ya thought it was the man that broke in?"

"B'cause I don't wanna kill anybody!" he exploded. "I couldn't live with myself if I killed anyone, even if it was jus' t' save my own life. I couldn't kill anybody."

Miss Barker looked stunned at the sudden outburst.

"Why can't you admit ya did it?"

"'Cause I accidentally shot Tolbert. I didn't mean ta do it. If I'd meant t' do it, I'd gladly admit I did. But I didn't. I never meant t' hurt anybody, really, I didn't. Figured Poppy wouldn't've cared too much 'bout a hole in the wall once he learned why it was there. That's all I intended t' do from the start — shoot t' scare."

"No further questions," Miss Barker stated irritably, turning and returning to her seat.

"Y' can step down now, Bud."

Bud's anxiety was rising. He had Tolbert sitting behind him, and he gave the boy's shoulder a reassuring squeeze before the jury returned to the courtroom. They'd been out for about three and a half hours to make their decision, and now they had to hear the verdict. Bud didn't want to hear the verdict; the verdict was the thing that Bud feared the most.

"Well, have you reached a verdict?" Judge Wagner queried, looking toward the jury.

"We have, Your Honor," an older man replied as he stood up.

Bud grimaced and lowered his head. He knew what it was going to be; he was going to go to prison. He felt Perry gently nudge him and looked up, meeting the man's eyes. He gave the boy a small, reassuring smile.

"We find the defendant not guilty as charged."

The case was declared closed and Bud looked at Perry, who remarked, "I told ya we'd win."

That evening, at Ran'l and Sally's, Bud knew he had a lot of questions to answer. And he knew exactly which ones his parents would start with. So while he and Tolbert sat in his room, talking while Tolbert sharpened one of Bud's knives, Ran'l and Sally knocked on the open door.

"Howdy," Bud grinned. "I've been expectin' ya."

"Ain't no way," Ran'l scoffed, playfully rolling his eyes.

"Oh, but there is. I know Tolbert didn't tell y'all what I did the other night. Tolbert won't say nothin' if I ask him not ta."

"Alright. Ya know why we're here. Spill it."

Bud scooted over to the middle, allowing Sally to sit on one side of him while Ran'l rounded the bed and sat on the other.

"It was jus' a bad night. I got on social media again n read some of the comments... checked my messages, too. People I don't even know were tellin' me they wished I'd die an' that they hope that the same thing that happened t' Tol happens t' me... It was — I don't know, I just wanted t' die. I still do, but I'm not gonna do nothin'."

"Why d'ya wanna die, baby?" Sally asked quietly.

"I dunno, Mama," he shook his head. "I jus' do. Reckon it's where it's real bad again. I — I usually don't wanna die."

Sally didn't say anything. She planted a kiss on his cheek, pulling her fingers through her son's thick, curly hair.

"If it makes any diff'rence, I don't want ya t' die, baby."

"I know. I'll get out of it soon enough. It don't happen very often... it's jus' never been so bad that I actually intended t' do it."

Much to Bud's surprise, Ran'l pulled him against his side, letting the boy lay his head on his shoulder.

"I hope ya never do, son," he murmured, giving Bud's shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"I hope I don't either. I don't think like that very often, and that's usually all it is — thoughts. Thoughts 'bout dyin' and what it might feel like. How it might affect y'all an' then 'gain, it might not affect ya at all. That's the thought that always bothers me the most."

"Of course it would. We all love ya very much, Bud. We don't want ya leavin' us."

Tolbert didn't say anything; he just reached forward and took hold of Bud's hand, rubbing the back of his palm with the pad of his thumb.

"But y' ain't gotta worry. I promised Tol I'd talk t' him when I feel that way."

"Good. I'm glad ya trust someone, Bud," Sally smiled softly, rubbing her son's shoulder. "An' I'm glad ya can come home again. The girls ain't had no one t' bicker with an' it's nearly drove 'em crazy."

"Cal n Pharmer are still here!"

"'Parently they don't bicker like you do," Ran'l piped up. "Or that's the excuse the girls gave me."

Bud threw his head back and laughed.

"Yer kiddin' me!"

"I'm not," Ran'l chuckled.

"Oh Lord, that's good. I'll be sure t' let Cal n Pharmer know they 'parently don't bicker right."

June 2018

"Hey, Tol," Bud forced a smile as he got out of his vehicle, closing the door.

"Hey, darlin'. Whatcha doin' here?" Tolbert asked as he dragged what looked like a chest into the shed.

"Came t' see ya," he shrugged innocently.

"There a reason for it?" Tolbert stood upright, revealing the scar on his chest. Bud's eyes snapped down to the cement and he tugged on the hem of his shirt.

"No. Jus' wanna see ya."

"Okay. Gimme a minute an' I'll be in the house. Ya can go on in."

Bud nodded and went inside. He hated seeing the scar; it was nothing but a reminder of what he'd done to Tolbert. He didn't think it was right that Tolbert had to live with a scar from a bullet wound and a surgery incision because of him. If anyone should have to live with it, it should be Bud.

He sat down on the couch and kept his eyes glued to the floor. Tolbert had told him time and time again that it wasn't his fault; that no one was really at fault with the freak accident that had occurred. He said it was something that had gone down so fast that no one was at fault.

Bud didn't believe that. He believed that he was fully at fault for what had happened. He never should have texted Tolbert. If he hadn't texted him, Tolbert wouldn't have shown up, and it wouldn't have turned into an attempted murder case. Bud wouldn't've gone to jail, Tolbert wouldn't have fought for his life, and the family would be the same as it always was.

"My God, Bud! I can hear you thinkin'," Tolbert remarked as he plopped down beside him.

"Won't you shut up," Bud said jokingly, smacking the side of Tolbert's head. "I'm sorry if I'm botherin' ya. Ain't seen ya 'cept when yer workin' an' we hardly ever work the same shift."

"Speakin' of that, I found out you worked triple shifts up 'til Poppy said I could work 'gain."

"Who told you that?" Bud looked at him in surprise.

"Jim. Said he saw ya workin' in the office durin' second shift and figured Poppy made ya do that 'stead of workin' all three at the mill."

"Yeah. Said only way he'd 'gree t' it was if I said I'd work the office second shift."

"What were ya pullin' triple shifts for? I know ya wa'n't paid for it."

"I made a deal wit' Poppy. Said I'd do your work an' mine s' long as he paid ya yer normal wages. Took a few days t' get used t' it, but it was fine."

"You shouldn't be pullin' triple shifts or makin' deals with Poppy."

"Poppy didn't wanna agree t' it," Bud quickly defended Ran'l. "He said he'd pay ya yer normal wages anyways, but — but it was my fault ya couldn't work no more, an' it was my fault we fell behind, so I shoulda been the one pickin' up the slack."

Tolbert sighed heavily.

"I swear, you're gonna be the death of me."

"Hope not."

"Well, I still say ya are. Whatcha wanna do? It's my day off."

"I dunno," Bud shrugged. "Ya wanna tell one of yer scary stories?"

"Sure thing, kid," Tolbert smiled softly. "Sure that's what ya want?"

"Yeah," Bud nodded.

"A'ight. Let's see... It started a long, long time ago..."