Hey everybody! I wrote this one-shot to replace one of my stories that I really wasn't going to continue. It's really focusing on the brotherly relationship between the Weasley twins after George lost his ear. It takes place several hours after the Battle of the Seven Potters, and I imagine that Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny are all in bed. There is absolutely no twincest, I hate that concept. Please leave me a review!

Disclaimer: I am borrowing Harry Potter from JK Rowling, I didn't write it.

George rested his head back on the pillow that his mum had provided for him. He closed his eyes, trying to just remember how to breathe. Trying to ignore the nearly unbearable pain on the side of his head. Trying to ignore the warm liquid that was oozing from the wound and through the bandages, making them even more uncomfortable. Just breathing, that was all he had to do, all he had to focus on. He had been breathing for nineteen years straight, after all. It should have been the easiest thing in the world.

He just wanted to sleep. That was all. This was supposed to be a relatively easy night, nothing was supposed to go wrong. He wasn't supposed to be in pain. But God, was he ever in pain. He desperately craved something, anything, to take the pain away so he could sleep. He was so exhausted. But he just focused on his breathing.

Eventually, he managed to even it out into a soothing, if shaky, rhythm. He had always been calmed by rhythms. As long as it remained totally even, 4 counts in, 8 counts out, he would be able to relax just a little bit.

Somebody placed a cool cloth over his eyes. George breathed a sigh of relief; he was now sealed in his dark haven. Somehow, the cloth soothed a bit of the pain. George knew that it was probably a placebo effect, but he didn't care.

When the same rough hand brushed a hand over his forehead and then swiftly removed the cloth, the pain came back full force. George had to fight to keep his breath in the steady, slightly hypnotic rhythm. His mind started to fade; breathing and pain became the only things that George was aware of.

When a pounding headache began to accompany the pain from the gaping hole in his head, George decided that he couldn't go any longer without the cloth back over his eyes. He took a moment to muster all of his strength to ask for the cloth back before taking in a deep breath.

The movement of his chest as it rose with the breath caused his whole body to jolt with pain. He was unable to form words, but a groan finally escaped him. The pain, which had been building in intensity since he had regained consciousness to Fred arriving from the battle a few hours ago, became the only thing that George could think about. His breathing now came in halted gasps. His vision, which had been a calming black, was dotted with spots of all different colours that created a bit of an unsettling, textured, pulsing tapestry.

A hand on his shoulder brought his mind out of the pain a little bit. He recognized that hand, even through several layers of blankets and clothing. He tried to call out, but his attempt turned into a pathetic whimper.

"Shh. It's okay. Do you want me to hold you?" Fred's muffled voice offered. George didn't think he would ever get used to only hearing out of one ear, especially when that ear was pressed against a pillow.

George knew he couldn't nod. He didn't want to move. But he did crave a comforting touch more than anything, so he made a small noise in the back of his throat, hoping that Fred didn't mistake it for a no.

Fred was unbelievably gentle, a side of him that was reserved solely for his three younger siblings (George was exactly 10 minutes younger than him, which he never failed to bring up). He scooped George up, which earned him a weak groan of pain, and laid down on the blood-soaked sofa. Blood made Fred queasy anyway when it wasn't his twin's. He had to swallow his vomit as George rested his head against Fred's shoulder. George's soft, contented sigh as Fred held him and tried to soothe his mind with soft whispers made Fred more sure of what he was doing. He tried to ignore the fact that he was probably easing his twin out of life.

"Need anything?" Fred asked.

George just groaned. He wanted that damn cloth back, but he couldn't form words.

Fred seemed to sense that the answer was yes. "Water?"

George groaned again. Almost, he thought as hard as he could, hoping that Fred would understand.

Fred thought for a moment, but he couldn't figure out what George wanted. Despite being cool to the touch, George was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He ran his fingers through George's hair, which was plastered to his scalp with blood, both fresh and dry, as what he hoped was compensation. Fred had to suppress his urge to vomit once again.

Mum came over to the twins and kneeled down in front of George. "So much blood," she mouthed, but she wouldn't dare say it aloud in front of George. "Hey, baby," she said, "I'm going to change your bandages again."

George whimpered.

"I know, I'm sorry. I have to do it, though." Mum lifted George's head off of Fred's chest and started unwrapping the drenched bandages. George was biting on his lip to the point of drawing blood, as if he needed any more blood loss.

As Mum peeled the last of the bandages, George's leg kicked out involuntarily. The searing pain on the side of his head was reawakened even more as it was exposed to the air.

Any efforts that George's body had taken to stop the bleeding seemed to have totally disappeared. Blood poured out of the wound, all down George's neck and head. George's head spun.

Mum pressed her hands against George's wound, praying that pressure would be enough to slow the blood loss. George grabbed for something to hold onto. Fred offered his hand to him, which George squeezed tighter than Fred thought possible. When a couple minutes of desperately trying to quell George's bleeding, Mum looked Fred in the eyes, a look of pure terror crossing her face.

"I think...I think we have to cauterize it."

"No!" Fred yelled, sure that his little siblings could hear him from upstairs. "That'll hurt him!"

"It's that or he dies! He's already in so much pain, baby."

George was lost. He couldn't understand anything that was being said, he just wanted the pain to stop. He wanted his head back on Fred's chest, where Fred would whisper to him, which would calm his mind. His body would relax just a little bit. He wanted Fred's protection more than anything in the world.

And then his head was back there. He whimpered a little bit as he was set back down, and he squeezed Fred's hand even tighter.

Fred felt a pop in one of his fingers before a wave of pain hit him. He grimaced and ground his teeth, but he didn't say a word. He didn't want to take attention away from George. Besides, it was nothing compared to what he was sure that George was feeling.

Mum came back with her wand. She muttered a spell under her breath, and a flame flickered up from the tip of her wand. Her hands were trembling. "Just hold him."

Fred closed his eyes and tried to calm his nerves. He desperately tried to keep his breathing soft and slow for George's sake, but he could feel his heart pounding. He took the hand that wasn't locked in George's death grip and rubbed circles on his back. When he stopped for a moment to adjust George's position so Mum would have easier access to George's wound, George groaned. Fred got back to rubbing his back as soon as he settled back down.

"Georgie? Can you hear me?" Fred said, a but louder than a whisper. He wanted to warn George about what was going to happen.

George didn't respond. His vision behind his closed eyes was a spinning mess the colour of blood.

Mum took a deep breath, held George's head down, and hovered her wand right over George's wound. Immediately, the bleeding slowed as George's blood seemed to boil. A couple seconds later, George started convulsing.

Fred felt at least three more bones in his hand break as George squeezed it. Tears sprung to his eyes as the smell of burning flesh hit him. George's legs kicked out involuntarily, almost as if they had a mind of their own, and Fred could tell that he would wake up with dozens of bruises on his shins.

George let out a single loud, strangled cry. He couldn't think. He shook violently, which only made the pain worse. His breathing came in irregular gasps. His vision was a blinding white. Every muscle in his body tensed, which only added to the pain. Without really knowing what he was doing, the contents of his stomach ended up all over him and Fred.

Dad came running when he heard George's scream. He kneeled next to his sons and wiped away a tear that was running down George's cheek. "Shh," he whispered, not sure if George would hear him.

Fred rested his head on Dad's shoulder. Usually George was the stronger of the two, the one that held everything inside for Fred's, and the rest of his loved ones', sake. Seeing George in pain like this wasn't something he had ever expected to see, nor was it something he wanted to see again. He held George tighter than he knew had to be comfortable, but he couldn't keep himself from doing it. With his head on Dad's shoulder, he broke down into a mess of sobs.

Finally, Mum put out the fire from her wand. There were tears streaming down her face. "There you go, baby. You did it."

George couldn't move. Had he not already been laying down, he would have collapsed. He shook, his mind blank. He focused on his breathing once again. This time, there were no counts. He just wanted to breath in and out, that was all. He managed to breathe almost normally, if a bit quick, when a single groan escaped him without him noticing. He just wanted to sleep.

Somebody picked George up, leaving all of the blankets he was wrapped in. He grunted in protest. He rested his head on the shoulder of the person who was carrying him. He was carried up the stairs, each step sending a jolt of pain through his body.

When they stopped walking, he could feel somebody removing his clothes, leaving just his boxers. Everything hurt like hell, and he shivered as the cold air hit his body, which had previously been covered with several layers of various shirts and blankets.

Had he not been so injured, he would have been impressed with the way his parents were able to peel his sweaty, bloodstained clothes off of him while keeping him in a somewhat comfortable position in Fred's arms. He would have suspected that it came from having seven children.

Fred set George down in the bathtub, which was full of cool water, making sure that his now cauterized wound was under the water. Almost instantly, the water turned reddish from all of the blood washing off of George's body.

The water somehow relaxed George a little bit. The pain didn't lessen, but the rest of his body went a little bit limp. He lost track of all time, falling into a trance-like state.

Mum cast spells to make sure that the water stayed clear and sterile and left George to rest, though neither she nor Fred ever left the bathroom. She healed Fred's broken hand, and he muttered something about not telling George. Dad came back with three glasses of Firewhiskey, two of which he offered to his wife and son. Mum drank it eagerly, happy to have something to take the edge off of the situation.

Fred took the Firewhiskey in small sips, the way a person would drink water after throwing up. He sat squeezed between the bathtub and the toilet, never taking his eyes off of George. His arms were wrapped around his knees. Occasionally, he would reach over and brush a hand through George's hair, careful to avoid the raw skin in and around George's wound. He muttered to himself a few times.

After about an hour, George's pain had faded significantly. He was breathing almost normally, and he felt ready to open his eyes. He let his eyes flutter open and made a small sound in the back of his throat.

"Georgie?" Fred said, his eyes lighting up.

George made the noise again.

Mum looked up. "Georgie! Hey, baby! Are you feeling better?"

"Mmhmm," George said, glad that he could form something near to a word.

"Oh, good. I'm going to wash your hair, is that okay? It'll feel nice."

"Mmhmm."

Mum shook Dad, who had fallen asleep slumped against the wall, awake. "Do you mind grabbing George a glass of water?"

Mum washed George's hair thoroughly, rubbing soothing circles around his scalp. George closed his eyes and, for the first time that night, thought he might actually fall asleep. The pain, where at first it had been more than he had ever experienced, was comparable to when he had fallen out of a tree and broken his leg. He remembered his mum healing it, wrapping his foot up for good measure, and him falling asleep on Fred's chest. He wanted to do that again.

When Mum drained the tub, she helped George sit up. She wrapped him in a towel and rubbed circles on his back. George leaned his head on Mum's shoulder, because the right side of his head felt so heavy compared to his left.

Mum rubbed some kind of cream on George's burn. George knew exactly what it was: a thick potion the colour of lavender that treated burns. It had to dry on the burn and then be peeled off, which was often a highly painful process. It dried extremely quickly, but it had to be left on for at least twelve hours. George inhaled sharply as she layered the paste in the hole in his head and shut his eyes tightly.

When Mum was satisfied with the coating of the purple potion, she let Fred carry him downstairs into their bedroom. The twins were left alone so Fred could help George into pajamas.

George was essentially a rag doll that kept leaning to the right, and it took Fred a long time to get a fresh set of clothes on him. Fred helped George into George's favourite t-shirt and pair of pajama pants before laying him down on his bed.

Dad came in with a glass of water and a mug of chamomile tea. "Didn't know which one he'd want." He left quickly after a short conversation with Fred, seeing that his son was in good hands.

Fred propped George up against his headboard and tipped the water into George's mouth. George drank eagerly, and he drained the cup faster than he would have liked. He wanted more to drink. It felt so good to do something normal. When a steaming mug of tea was brought carefully to his lips, George let out a sigh of contentment. The bath had taken the edge off of the pain, and the paste spread a cooling sensation in his wound that felt quite nice.

When George finished the tea, Fred helped him lay back down. In an attempt to make George as comfortable as possible, Fred turned up the ceiling fan as high as it could go and wrapped George in an extra blanket. He knew that was how George preferred to sleep, though he hated it and would talk George into a compromise most nights. George's eyes were closed, but gently, not squeezed shut. Fred rolled George onto his right side so his wound was facing upwards. Fred planted a soft kiss on George's forehead, the way their mum used to do, and then got up to get himself ready for bed.

"No," George groaned. "Stay."

Fred, abandoning his endeavor to go take a long, hot shower, changed out of his bloodstained clothes as quickly as he could and settled in next to George. Fred rubbed his back and wrapped his arms around him. George curled into a ball in Fred's arms, his own arms pulling Fred closer to him. It wasn't long before George's breathing became heavy and slow, and he started to drool a little bit. Fred let out a sigh of relief. George's pain was gone, at least for now.