Authors Notes: Apologise for the delay in updating this. Also, apologise now for any medical inaccuracies or anything. I'm not a doctor nor would I ever claim to have any knowledge of the medical profession beyond a basic first aid certificate.
Balance Of Power
Andy had been in the department for a little over 4 hours now. He checked his watch to confirm and it blinked 12:36am at him. He hadn't gotten any further than the door of the exam room, before becoming a coward again.
The balance of power in their relationship should have shifted, but it hadn't. He was still cowed by the man in the bed. His brother looked older, ill. Covered in cuts and bruises. He couldn't muster any sympathy though. He was still unmistakably Andy. Still had a cold glint in his eye, a surface expression of concealed nastiness.
This time, he opened the door and stepped through it. The figure on the bed blinked and looked up at him, a smile half-curving his lips as he recognised his visitor.
"Well, if it isn't my darling little brother,"
"Andy,"
His own tone was bitter, clipped. The word even tasted sour.
"How are you? It must have been...."
"13 years, I've counted,"
He had left home at 18 to go to college. He was now 31.
"You made it I see,"
"You were never going to stop me,"
There was a hint in his tone of the determination he'd always had. Even when no more than a battered heap, he'd been defiant. Andy couldn't take his dreams away, unless he allowed him to, and he was strong enough not to let that happen.
"I was never trying to. You had brains and I didn't. What can I say?"
"I figured sorry would be a good place to start,"
He kept his distance. He didn't trust himself or his brother. How did someone now so feeble hurt him so badly? His vision was crystal clear with the absolute clarity of hate.
"After all this time, what good would sorry do?"
"It would be a start,"
He was tense, awkward, poised to either attack or run. He was reacting the way he always had and that scared him.
"A start to what? Reconciliation?"
"It might start to make amends for what you did,"
"What I did? I kept two unruly teenagers under control in a household that was cracking up faster than I could repair it,"
Rage boiled under, prickled at his skin as the blood ran hot in his veins, but deep down he was still scared. He was still the little brother. He couldn't shake that mentality.
"You beat us half to death,"
He blurted, then watched as Andy's face twisted into an amused smirk.
"Now, now, little bro. I exerted discipline, that's all,"
"You weren't our guardian, we weren't your responsibility,"
He had wondered over the years where his dad had gone and why he'd never tried to help them.
"Your guardian was an alcoholic and an unfit mother,"
Andy winced as he tried to move. His voice was strained but still he was trying to be dominant. Dave noticed the change in his breathing, the differing patterns on the monitor.
"Yeah, but she didn't hit us!"
He didn't, couldn't, hate his mother. She was a helpless, pathetic creature. She was ill. He had rationalised his feelings for his mother a long time ago, and only felt pity for her.
"She just watched me do it instead,"
He had to force himself not to turn away, bitterly aware of the truth in Andy's words. She'd cowered from her eldest son too, her eyes glazed.
"Mom wasn't like you,"
He fired back. His mother hadn't been like Andy. She was a good person at heart, she'd just been broken by a life that had finally become too much to bear. He wondered if she'd ever found the answers she sought at the bottom of the bottle or simply more questions.
"No,"
Andy agreed, pausing briefly, his breathing shallow.
"She wasn't from my school of discipline,"
Andy finished. Discipline? The coldness in Andy's stare told him he did actually believe that. That he didn't see what had been wrong with his behaviour.
"Discipline does not usually involve concussion, fractured ribs or cigarette burns on a 12 year olds arms. God knows what else went on...."
His temper was flaring, defiant and bitter, he was glad that at least now the playing field was semi-even. Andy's colour rose.
"I never touched her. Not like that,"
The denial came too easily. He watched the heartbeat slow, barely aware of it.
"How do I know that? I wasn't there all the time and in the years I was she never once came crying to me. She dealt with her own pain, "
"She always was stronger than you,"
And with that sentence, he just knew. He felt awful. Salt had just been poured into raw wounds and he couldn't bear to hear details. Andy picked up on his distress as easily as he always had.
"What? You couldn't protect her? Truth was, if you'd tried you wouldn't be here now,"
"She wasn't asking for it, she didn't deserve it!"
He reeled at Andy's twisted sense of reality, his selective memory. There wasn't remorse anywhere in his brother's soul, and likely never would be either.
"But you did?"
Andy's tone was cruel and mocking. He was still a bully even in his weakened physical state.
"Do you feel any remorse?"
He knew the answer virtually before he asked the question. He caught the calculated gaze with his own pained, victimised one. He was being submissive. Still.
"What for?"
It was a cruel put down, a degradation.
"It felt damned good to leave. I had fun in college; I was no angel and never have been since. You'd be disappointed in me. I was well adjusted till that point. Till Dad left I was a normal kid. So was she,"
" Bet she's normal now - kids, husband. What's your excuse?"
Still he was demeaned. He could fight back now. However uselessly, the ammo was there.
"How does it feel that now I have the power? I could control whether you live or die and there's nothing you can do,"
The words reverberated off the walls, and buried themselves deep into Dave's conscience. Andy fell silent, struggling for breath, hands clasped on his chest, his whole posture screaming 'hammy death scene'. After a moment, his eyes closed and he fell limp onto the bed.
But Dave did nothing. He froze, every medical instinct screaming at him to help, every muscle tensed against the instinct. He may have wished his brother dead, but he hadn't meant it. Not yet, you bastard, there's much more to be said.
He just watched, as the monitor slowed and eventually read just a flat line, the room filled with its incessant warning shriek. What kind of brother, what kind of person was he that he could just let Andy die?
Maybe, if Andy died, some of the pain the shame he carried would go with him. He closed his own eyes, unwilling to see anymore, unable to think clearly, unable to move.
Balance Of Power
Andy had been in the department for a little over 4 hours now. He checked his watch to confirm and it blinked 12:36am at him. He hadn't gotten any further than the door of the exam room, before becoming a coward again.
The balance of power in their relationship should have shifted, but it hadn't. He was still cowed by the man in the bed. His brother looked older, ill. Covered in cuts and bruises. He couldn't muster any sympathy though. He was still unmistakably Andy. Still had a cold glint in his eye, a surface expression of concealed nastiness.
This time, he opened the door and stepped through it. The figure on the bed blinked and looked up at him, a smile half-curving his lips as he recognised his visitor.
"Well, if it isn't my darling little brother,"
"Andy,"
His own tone was bitter, clipped. The word even tasted sour.
"How are you? It must have been...."
"13 years, I've counted,"
He had left home at 18 to go to college. He was now 31.
"You made it I see,"
"You were never going to stop me,"
There was a hint in his tone of the determination he'd always had. Even when no more than a battered heap, he'd been defiant. Andy couldn't take his dreams away, unless he allowed him to, and he was strong enough not to let that happen.
"I was never trying to. You had brains and I didn't. What can I say?"
"I figured sorry would be a good place to start,"
He kept his distance. He didn't trust himself or his brother. How did someone now so feeble hurt him so badly? His vision was crystal clear with the absolute clarity of hate.
"After all this time, what good would sorry do?"
"It would be a start,"
He was tense, awkward, poised to either attack or run. He was reacting the way he always had and that scared him.
"A start to what? Reconciliation?"
"It might start to make amends for what you did,"
"What I did? I kept two unruly teenagers under control in a household that was cracking up faster than I could repair it,"
Rage boiled under, prickled at his skin as the blood ran hot in his veins, but deep down he was still scared. He was still the little brother. He couldn't shake that mentality.
"You beat us half to death,"
He blurted, then watched as Andy's face twisted into an amused smirk.
"Now, now, little bro. I exerted discipline, that's all,"
"You weren't our guardian, we weren't your responsibility,"
He had wondered over the years where his dad had gone and why he'd never tried to help them.
"Your guardian was an alcoholic and an unfit mother,"
Andy winced as he tried to move. His voice was strained but still he was trying to be dominant. Dave noticed the change in his breathing, the differing patterns on the monitor.
"Yeah, but she didn't hit us!"
He didn't, couldn't, hate his mother. She was a helpless, pathetic creature. She was ill. He had rationalised his feelings for his mother a long time ago, and only felt pity for her.
"She just watched me do it instead,"
He had to force himself not to turn away, bitterly aware of the truth in Andy's words. She'd cowered from her eldest son too, her eyes glazed.
"Mom wasn't like you,"
He fired back. His mother hadn't been like Andy. She was a good person at heart, she'd just been broken by a life that had finally become too much to bear. He wondered if she'd ever found the answers she sought at the bottom of the bottle or simply more questions.
"No,"
Andy agreed, pausing briefly, his breathing shallow.
"She wasn't from my school of discipline,"
Andy finished. Discipline? The coldness in Andy's stare told him he did actually believe that. That he didn't see what had been wrong with his behaviour.
"Discipline does not usually involve concussion, fractured ribs or cigarette burns on a 12 year olds arms. God knows what else went on...."
His temper was flaring, defiant and bitter, he was glad that at least now the playing field was semi-even. Andy's colour rose.
"I never touched her. Not like that,"
The denial came too easily. He watched the heartbeat slow, barely aware of it.
"How do I know that? I wasn't there all the time and in the years I was she never once came crying to me. She dealt with her own pain, "
"She always was stronger than you,"
And with that sentence, he just knew. He felt awful. Salt had just been poured into raw wounds and he couldn't bear to hear details. Andy picked up on his distress as easily as he always had.
"What? You couldn't protect her? Truth was, if you'd tried you wouldn't be here now,"
"She wasn't asking for it, she didn't deserve it!"
He reeled at Andy's twisted sense of reality, his selective memory. There wasn't remorse anywhere in his brother's soul, and likely never would be either.
"But you did?"
Andy's tone was cruel and mocking. He was still a bully even in his weakened physical state.
"Do you feel any remorse?"
He knew the answer virtually before he asked the question. He caught the calculated gaze with his own pained, victimised one. He was being submissive. Still.
"What for?"
It was a cruel put down, a degradation.
"It felt damned good to leave. I had fun in college; I was no angel and never have been since. You'd be disappointed in me. I was well adjusted till that point. Till Dad left I was a normal kid. So was she,"
" Bet she's normal now - kids, husband. What's your excuse?"
Still he was demeaned. He could fight back now. However uselessly, the ammo was there.
"How does it feel that now I have the power? I could control whether you live or die and there's nothing you can do,"
The words reverberated off the walls, and buried themselves deep into Dave's conscience. Andy fell silent, struggling for breath, hands clasped on his chest, his whole posture screaming 'hammy death scene'. After a moment, his eyes closed and he fell limp onto the bed.
But Dave did nothing. He froze, every medical instinct screaming at him to help, every muscle tensed against the instinct. He may have wished his brother dead, but he hadn't meant it. Not yet, you bastard, there's much more to be said.
He just watched, as the monitor slowed and eventually read just a flat line, the room filled with its incessant warning shriek. What kind of brother, what kind of person was he that he could just let Andy die?
Maybe, if Andy died, some of the pain the shame he carried would go with him. He closed his own eyes, unwilling to see anymore, unable to think clearly, unable to move.