It was better this way. Even if Jake and Alex didn't see it now, they would eventually—after someone else got hurt. It always went like that. They'd separate for a few months, get back together, enjoy the reunion for a day and then ruin it. When they were 12, Alex broke his arm when he fell out of the giant oak Eliot dared him to climb, cutting his visit short by a week. Two years later, Jake hurt his ankle during a game of football when Eliot dodged his tackle. The sprain was so bad that they worried he might have damaged his growth plate, though thankfully a few weeks on crutches and another couple months of physical therapy were enough to get him back to normal. All three of them almost died a week after their 16th birthday, when they "borrowed" the work truck to celebrate getting their licenses. Eliot took a corner too fast rolled the truck with his brothers in the bed. He still had the scars from that one—from the crash and from his father's reaction to it.

No, it was better to just go back to their own lives. Eliot couldn't be responsible for any more of his brothers' injuries.

He couldn't let their faces join the dead that paraded through his nightmares.

A car revved and then slowed behind him, and he knew without looking that it was Ernesto. He let out a breath, listening to the mechanics in the car door as the window rolled down.

"Hey," Ernesto said. Eliot turned to face him and found Jake looking at him instead. A moment later, Alex rolled down the back window and leaned out as well.

"I said I'd meet you guys later," Eliot said.

Ernesto gave him a broad smile from the driver's seat. "Yeah, but we're going to eat now."

"Eat what?"

"Local cuisine. Trust me, you'll love it."

There were very few things any of them could have said to tempt Eliot, but local cuisine was one of them. He really didn't want to leave the country without trying out some of the famous street food, maybe picking up a couple new recipes. He liked to include a rotating menu of ethnic dishes in his food trucks, and if Ernesto was offering...

Well, another hour with his brothers couldn't hurt. How much trouble could they get in with Ernesto to supervise?

Eliot sighed and opened the back door, forcing Alex to slide over to the other seat. "What do you have in mind?" he asked.

"A great little place," Ernesto answered vaguely. "Alex loves it."

"Yeah, just don't take anything that looks like an egg from this guy," Alex warned.

"Balut is an egg," Jake said.

"It's—just—" Alex sputtered. "Trust me, man, just don't do it."

Eliot leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms. "I've had balut. It's not bad if it's prepared right."

Ernesto laughed. "You see, Alex? You're missing out."

"I'll miss out," Alex said. "I'm happy missing out. You guys eat all the fetal duck you want, I'll stick with the soup."

Eliot didn't want to engage, but curiosity got the better of him. "What soup?"

"You'll see," Ernesto said. "We're not far now."

A few minutes later they sat at a table outside a street vendor, waiting for bowls of Ernesto's mysterious soup. Jake had taken off his ruined shirt and changed into an extra one of Ernesto's, a plain gray long sleeve with "Mactan Police Department" displayed across the front. It was too small, pulling tight across the muscles in Jake's arms and shoulders, but it was better than going to a restaurant covered in blood.

"This will fix you right up," Ernesto promised, passing Jake a spoon and napkin. "It's better than anything you'd get at a hospital."

"Better than blood?" Eliot asked in a flat voice.

"Better than blood," Ernesto said. "This will make him strong again."

"I'm open to anything at this point," Jake said.

A flush of guilt burned through Eliot, banishing the pleasant feeling that had started to settle in. Jake was still pale, and he leaned on the table like he didn't have the strength to hold himself up.

If you'd been stronger... if you had resisted the music... if you'd gotten to Flores sooner...

Eliot shook his head. He couldn't change what had happened. All he could do was make sure it never happened again.

"Ah," Ernesto said, beaming at the chef who set a tray of steaming bowls on the table.

"Mr. Walker," the chef said to Eliot, before blinking in confusion at Alex and Jake. "Mr. Walker?"

"Here," Alex said. "These are my brothers."

The chef grinned. "Brothers! Very good! Here, Mr. Walker, your special bowl. I would have used special bowls for your brothers too if I had known."

"There's no need," Alex said. "Thanks, Chef."

He gave them each a bright smile and hurried back to his kitchen. Jake poked uncertainly at his bowl, but Eliot was already busy inhaling the smell of spices that wafted from the soup. Garlic, ginger, onions... some kind of chili... bird's eye, maybe? He took a spoonful and tasted coconut, black beans, tomatoes, and lemon juice—and eel.

"Reef eel soup?" Eliot said.

Ernesto chuckled. "I'm impressed! Have you had it before?"

"A couple times," Eliot said. "But only with grouper. Never eel."

"Eel?" Jake repeated bleakly.

"I know," Alex said. "But it's good, really. Give it a try."

Jake didn't look convinced, but he obediently dipped his spoon into his bowl and took a careful sip. "Hmm. Yeah, it's not bad."

"It's good, right?" Alex said. He bounced a little as he swallowed his own spoonful. "I was pretty sure Ernesto was just trying to chase me away the first time he brought me here. But it's good stuff. You gotta try the lechon too."

That Eliot had had before, and he could only imagine how great it would taste when prepared by a specialist. He'd planned on leaving by nightfall, but maybe he could afford to stay for one more meal. Maybe—

"Ah." The sound slipped out before Eliot could contain it, and the look the others gave him made him want to flee into the kitchen with the chef. "Uh, it's nothing," he said. "I just bit my tongue. The peppers made it burn a little."

"Mmm," Ernesto said knowingly. "When you bite your tongue it means someone is thinking about you."

Alex snorted. "Yeah, Flores. Or maybe Kai, trying to figure out how to explain everything to Ocampo."

"There's one way to know," Ernesto said. "Think of a number between 1 and 26."

They waited expectantly, so Eliot blurted, "10," to make them stop looking.

"10." Ernesto took a bite of eel from his soup, still nodding like a sage. "The 10th letter of the alphabet is J. Who is the first person you think of whose name starts with J?"

Eliot looked at Jake. Jake looked down. He appeared to be focusing the majority of his concentration on his spoon, which—

Eliot swallowed. Jake's spoon was shaking.

"I'm sorry," Eliot said. The words tore out of him, as if they were seizing their opportunity to escape. "I'm sorry I couldn't stop it, Jake. I should have. I should have protected you."

"Protected me?" Jake said blankly. "How could you have protected me?"

"From Flores. If I hadn't listened to the music, I could have disarmed him before he shot."

"Thinking kind of high of yourself, doncha think?" Alex said. "Remember, he had more than a gun. You were gonna disarm all three of them by yourself?"

Jake nodded. "And you couldn't have resisted the music. It's not about strength—it's magic. Just forget about it."

But the thought was in the open now, and Eliot couldn't take it back. He didn't want to. He was tired of hording it in the darkness with the rest of his failings, and now that it was out, he couldn't stop the rest from following. "I protect people now," Eliot said. "I didn't used to, but now that's what I do. I help. And it's my job to—"

"Dammit, Eliot." Jake slammed an open hand on the table, sloshing the soup in the bowls. The others looked at him, stunned, but Jake didn't take his eyes off of Eliot. "I'm not your job. I'm not some little kid you have to look after. I have a whole life completely separate from you, alright? I take care of myself. I don't need a big brother, Eliot." He paused, breathing hard, his eyes burning. "I just need a brother."

The words stung. They slipped under Eliot's skin like brambles, pricking at his excuses. I'm not your job. Was that how he was looking at it? Like a job—a con? Had he really gone so far that he couldn't even be honest with his brothers?

With himself?

He wasn't guilty... he was afraid. He knew that loss was a part of life, but up until now he had believed himself safe from the pain of losing his brothers. After all, you couldn't lose something you had already lost. Without a relationship, they were just a fond memory that he could come back to when certain smells or songs triggered his nostalgia. But if they kept going from here... if he let them in and something happened...

"Share with the class," Alex said. Eliot gave him a sharp look, and Alex waved a piece of eel in his face and shrugged. "Fine, I'll go first. I haven't reached out to either of you because I was more comfortable blaming you for the fact that we didn't talk. That was crap, and I'm sorry. Your turn."

All Eliot could manage was a few stunned blinks. He glanced at Ernesto, hoping the man would rescue him, but he got the wrong idea and pushed back from the table. "I think I'll get us some lechon."

"No," Jake said. "You don't have to go." He took a deep breath, meeting Alex's and then Eliot's gaze firmly. "I didn't reach out because—well, I didn't know how to find you, but also because I was mad. I got used to being mad, and it got... comfortable. You know, familiar. But that was wrong. I shouldn't have let it get in the way."

They turned to Eliot—even Ernesto, who didn't seem to find it awkward that he'd just been caught in the middle of a heart-to-heart-to-heart. That old urge creeped up on Eliot again, the one he'd thought he'd mastered. The urge to run away and hide. To protect himself before anyone else.

Hell if he was going to let it control him now. "I didn't contact you," Eliot said softly. "Because I didn't want to lose you. I was afraid that you wouldn't want anything to do with me or that something would happen while I was away, and it was easier to deal with that by just not knowing you. Happy?"

A smile pulled at Jake's lips, though he made an effort to hide it behind his spoon.

"Happy might be stretching it," Alex said. He cleared his throat, coughed, and added, "I need a beer. You guys want a beer? Yeah, I'll just—I'll get a few. Be right back."

He got up to make his order, and Ernesto leaned forward with a grin. "I told you. This soup will fix any problem."

"Reef eel soup for the soul," Jake commented.

Soup for the soul. Sitting there with the sun shining on his face, his brothers close by, and the smell of cooking food surrounding him, Eliot could believe it.