Rafe collapsed on his bed, panting heavily. He had spent the past twenty minutes taking his frustration out on his new punching bag, but even with the wraps and gloves on, he had to end his session early. His hands felt hot, the skin stinging while deeper down his bones ached, vibrating from the repeated impacts they had just endured. His arms and shoulders burned with exertion and would go limp if he tried to go on for any longer. They were just more reminders of how out-of-shape he had become over the past few months, and how badly he needed to re-train his body.

When his breathing calmed, he forced himself to sit up and slide the gloves off. He knew from experience that his hands would be bruising up, but he was a little surprised when he saw splotches of red on the bandages wrapped around his right hand. He had been so focused on his anger that he forgot he had injuries from punching the wall, and hadn't even registered the pain when his scabs split open. Lovely.

He could certainly feel it now, and knew it would only get worse once the bruises actually set and his body fully assessed the damage. Oh well, it wasn't anything he couldn't live with, and at least the pain would be a distraction from the constant taste of soap in his mouth.

More than enough time had passed that it should have gone away by now, but it hadn't. He didn't understand why soap, of all things, had such a long-lasting aftertaste. Not blueberries, not honey, not chocolate cordials- his one junk food weakness- but soap. And, for some reason, bar soap was worse than the liquid stuff he'd had before. He'd been joking with Sully earlier, but now he really did want some tea, if only to taste something else for a bit. It was bad enough that he was even willing to push back his shower to drink it first.

And the old man hadn't made an appearance yet.

Rafe sighed heavily and ripped the bandages off his hand. Sully had probably forgotten, as senile as he was, and that meant that he'd have to go and get it himself. He wasn't ready to see the others yet, but this was important, so he reluctantly got to his feet and opened his door.

He walked quietly down the hallway, hoping to get to the stove without having to interact with anyone. Thankfully, he was able to successfully get that far. There wasn't any sign of the other two, but he also didn't go out of his way to find them.

He had to stare at the stove for a minute before he could figure out how it turned on; it was an old gas stove, which was a serious health and safety hazard, in his opinion. Of course, no one actually asked his opinion before putting this place together, as he repeatedly found himself thinking.

The burner made a clicking sound before the fumes finally caught, and he adjusted the flames to something that looked manageable, then filled the teapot at the sink and put it on.

"Need help?"

Rafe felt his adrenaline spike from the sudden sound, but resisted the urge to whirl around. "You shouldn't do that. If I hit you on reflex because you decided to creep up on me, that's not my fault."

Sam smirked to himself. Right. With all the sneaking around the brat did it was a miracle he hadn't been punched yet, and he had no doubt Rafe wouldn't hesitate to use it against him if that ever did happen. Honestly, he hadn't meant to startle him. He just wasn't expecting Rafe to leave his room so soon, so when he heard the stove click on he had come to investigate. "I would've thought you'd be more than happy for a chance to punch me again."

Rafe turned his upper half around far enough to glare over at the other man. "I never said I wouldn't. I'm sure you'll be stupid enough to try it again, and I'll take full advantage next time. Where's Sully?"

"He's outside, enjoying a cigar," Sam answered, moving a little closer. "Said he needed to unwind a bit. He probably thought you'd still be sulking for a while."

"I wasn't," Rafe said pointedly, looking back down at the burner. "I don't sulk. I was exercising, something you should try out some time." He didn't like how close Sam was getting, so he took a step towards the cabinet where they kept the tea. That way he could get away from Drake without making it obvious that he wanted to.

There was suddenly a muffled slap and a sharp pain on his backside that sent him up on his toes. Rafe yelped and spun around to defend himself, only to see Sam standing right there in his personal space. A flush of embarrassment crept up his neck; he did not appreciate getting caught off guard again like that. He knew for a fact that he wouldn't have made a sound if he knew it was coming. Fucking Samuel.

He pressed back against the pantry door, but that didn't afford him a lot of room, and Sam just stepped closer to fill the gap. Rafe shot Sam a scathing glare and his fists clenched up, ready to hit the other man if he didn't get out of his face, but he forced himself to stay in check.

"You can go ahead and tell Victor about that if you want," Sam said nonchalantly, his arms crossed over his chest. "I personally think you got away easy with only getting your mouth washed out, so that was just a warning from me. If you pull this kind of shit again- and I mean any shit where you're sneaking around behind our backs, you and me are gonna have a problem."

They already had a problem, but Rafe bit back the comment. Instead, he kept his mouth shut and refused to break eye contact, putting as much heat into his look as he could. There was no way in fucking hell he'd let Sam have this one.

Sam had studied his face for a few seconds to make sure he got the message, then stepped away, giving him room to breathe.

Rafe paused for a moment, not wanting to make too hasty a retreat, then slipped past him and turned off the stove. He wasn't in the mood for tea any more, no matter how badly his mouth tasted. He would just wait in his room for Sully to check on him, if the old man didn't choke on throat cancer and die first.

Rafe sat stiffly on his bed, absent-mindedly rubbing his thumb across the tennis ball. He was agitated. Everything had been going as well as it could in this house, and it was becoming almost bearable to live there, but today all of his plans were going awry. As of right now, there was nothing he could do to release any of the frustration he felt. His hands were already too beat up to go another round on the bag; no matter how angry he was, it wasn't enough to risk permanent damage to them.

He needed to think, damnit. He had to shut down his emotions and come up with a plan, but his fucking brain wasn't cooperating. It wanted to relive today's events instead, which only made the anger worse. If he couldn't count on his mind to be rational when it really needed to be, what was it good for?

He could think clearly enough to decide that he wasn't going to bother telling Sully about Sam's 'warning'. Nothing productive would come out of it- it'd only succeed in making him look petty and whiney. Rafe Adler was not petty or whiney. It was better to keep quiet and deal with it in his own way, when the timing was right.

There was a knock at the door. Finally. "You can come in, Sullivan."

"Wrong one." Sam pushed the door open and stepped inside before Rafe could protest. He held up a glass filled with dark liquid and ice. "Here, try this. It'll help."

Rafe narrowed his eyes. He didn't want Sam in his room, ever, no matter what offerings he might be bringing. "No, thank you. I'm not interested. Go away and send Sully here."

Sam shook his head. Right. Rafe didn't sulk. "You do know that it takes more than five minutes to smoke a cigar, don't you? He buys the big ones; he'll be outside for an hour if he's in a rush, and he wasn't moving very fast when he left." He knew that Victor would have no problem setting it aside if Sam went out to get him, but he was letting him get some time to himself.

Sam had his doubts before coming in, knowing that he was the last person Rafe wanted to see, but decided that if Rafe couldn't control himself for the three seconds it'd take to drop the drink off, then there really wasn't much hope of them being able to live peacefully for a year. He might as well try to help.

When Rafe didn't reply, he continued. "You wanted some tea, right? This is tea." Sam walked over towards the bed but kept himself at arm's length away from Rafe. Now was not the time to crowd him. "Strong, bitter, cold tea, but it's tea. Trust me, this'll get cover up the taste better than what you were making. Ice gets your taste buds nice and numb, and it'll mask the flavor more than hot tea with cream; cream actually just makes it worse."

Rafe eyed Sam warily. There was only one way he could possibly know all that, unless he was just pulling it out of his ass.

"Benefits of growing up in a Catholic orphanage," Sam answered the unspoken question wryly. "Go on, take it. If it doesn't work, you don't have to drink it. But just try it."

"No. Thank. You," Rafe ground out. At this point, he wasn't going to give Sam the courtesy of pretending he could stand him. He just wanted him to leave.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Ok," he said placatingly, holding a hand up, "I know you don't like me, and therefore don't trust anything to do with me. I get that, I do. But, for once, can we please just cut the bullcrap? Let's pretend we already played the game, and vaguely made it understood that you're taking it under protest, that you don't owe me anything for this, and that it won't change the image you've got going on, whatever. Just take the drink for what it is. Please?"

Rafe scowled darkly, and Sam knew right away that he had said the wrong thing. "Alright, fine," he sighed before the brat could protest, "Well, Iam going to leave this glass here because I'm an asshole and I'm going to make you carry it all the way to the kitchen to put it in the sink." He set it on Rafe's nightstand. "If you bring it out later and it's empty, I'll just assume that you dumped the tea out the window while cursing my name. Okay?"

Rafe didn't respond verbally. He glared at the cup, sorely tempted to just push it off the nightstand, but this was his room and he didn't want it to be filled with broken glass, or deal with sticky floors if the liquid couldn't be cleaned properly. No, the best thing to do right now was just get Sam out of his room, even if the drink stayed. He gathered his annoyance inward and pushed it down, letting his face relax into a more neutral expression. "Thank you," he said politely. "You can go now."

Sam eyed Rafe, trying to gauge what he was thinking. He hated when the brat did that- going from angry to… Business Rafe in a matter of seconds. That was the face that could either be plotting his death, hiding dangerous emotions that were on their way to exploding, or really was just neutral. It was unnerving, and he couldn't trust him at all that way.

Then Sam noticed Rafe's right hand, gripping his tennis ball tightly, bright red drops sitting freely on the knuckles. "You're bleeding," he frowned, "I thought Victor patched that up?"

Rafe glanced down at his hand, then shrugged. "He did. I got rid of it. It's only a little blood; it'll dry soon." He didn't know why Sam felt the need to state the obvious. He knew the other man had seen more than his share of blood, enough that this shouldn't bother him.

Sam shook his head, incredulous. "All that bitching you do about healthy food and you're not worried about keeping that clean?" Maybe that was a little harsh, because Sam didn't mind making the food for him, and preferred the balance himself, but he didn't understand how Rafe could be a health nut and a germaphobe and not be concerned about this.

Rafe scoffed. Right, he was the bitchy one. "I'm fine. A little blood never hurt anyone." Wounds were temporary, therefore not a high priority for him. Things put into the body carried more weight than things the body lost, unless he was losing those things at an alarming rate. Then he'd be worried. But he wasn't about to bleed out from a few grazes on his hand.

Besides, blood was a lesson. Every time he had ever bled in his life, it was because he failed at defending himself properly, or failed at being prepared enough. He'd learned a lot of lessons that way, from a young age up until now, and he wasn't going to shy away from it.

Not that any of that was Sam's prerogative to know.

"Taking care of yourself never hurt anyone either," Sam said drily, but he sensed that he wasn't going to get through to Rafe at all with that argument, so it was back to the fun and games. "Well, I don't want to deal with cleaning the blood stains out of your laundry, because I know you don't know how to do it. Want me to patch it up again or do you want me to go get Victor?"

Rafe's eyes narrowed, but once again he suppressed it right away with the passive expression. "What makes you think I can't take care of it myself?"

"I never said you couldn't," Sam answered simply, "I just don't trust you with the first aid kit to yourself."

Rafe took a deep breath and pushed himself up on his feet. He dropped his tennis ball on the bed, then nodded towards the door. "Get the kit. You can watch me if you want, as long as you don't micromanage like you do with the dishes. Let the old man enjoy his break."

The tea did help, as much as Rafe didn't want to admit it. After Sam had finally left him alone, he let the glass sit on his nightstand tantalizing him for a full three minutes before he gave in. At that point, the bitter taste in his mouth drove him to try anything to get rid of it, even one of Sam's remedies.

And, somehow, the fucker was right.

He forced himself to take slow sips instead of gulping it down, letting the liquid sit in his mouth and cover up the taste before swallowing. As soon as he did that, the soap would come back in full force, completely unrelenting. He wanted the respite to last as long as possible.

When the tea was gone he resorted to sucking on the ice cubes. They helped a little bit because he couldn't taste much when his mouth was freezing, but those didn't last very long. After the glass was empty and his mouth warmed back up, the lingering taste of soap returned.

And, damn him, Sully hadn't returned at all to check on him and see if he wanted more. Rafe was miffed. It wasn't exactly that he wanted to see the old man; he was still angry over the whole soap thing, and was more than happy on his own. It was just… It wasn't protocol.

That had settled it for Rafe. Something had to be done.

When the old man finally did stop by to announce that it was dinner time, he somehow made it through the meal without incident, giving no indication that he was still fuming. He ignored most attempts at conversation, and all of Sullivan's probing questions about how he was doing. He didn't eat much, because not a lot of food paired well with soap, it turned out. He did have a lot more of the cold tea when Sam offered it, though. Drake had brewed a pitcher, and Rafe drank through two more glasses of it, hoping his relief wasn't as obvious as it felt.

He went back to his room almost immediately after, and only left it again to brush his teeth and use the bathroom before he was locked in his room for the night. Not even toothpaste could make the damn taste go away. If it wasn't gone when he woke up in the morning, he'd go insane.

Rafe woke up to darkness, and when he looked over at his clock it told him that it was only one in the morning. He groaned and flopped his arm across his eyes. Insomnia had been somewhat of a chronic issue for him since he was a teenager. It didn't happen every night; more like during periods of time when he was less active than usual. His parents had taken him to an expert, who said it was because he thought too much and his mind had trouble shutting down for the night. He had been prescribed sleeping pills, but even back then he refused to take them. He didn't need the risk of addiction and didn't like the idea of being dependent on anything.

Even if he wanted them, though, he wasn't entirely sure his father would have filled the prescription, for the exact same reasons.

He was pretty certain that he needed less sleep than normal people, anyway. He took good care of his body and ate well, so it made sense that he'd need less recovery time while he slept. Lying awake a few hours at night wasn't necessarily a bad thing, either. It turned into time of reflection, where he could go over things in his head and make plans when necessary; there were less distractions in the middle of the night than during the middle of the day. It only became a problem when he dwelled on things instead of coming up with ways to recover and keep them from happening again.

Unfortunately for him, right now dwelling was all his mind wanted to do. Too many events had gone sour that day, and he couldn't figure out exactly where it all went to shit.

And that fucking taste was still present. Not as intensely as before, but just enough that he was aware of it.

He could hear both Sully and Sam happily snoring in their own rooms; the walls practically shook with the sounds. No matter what happened, those two never seemed to have trouble sleeping. Probably too much alcohol and smoke damage to their organs. He imagined it would take their bodies a lot of effort to catch up on healing. Plus, it wasn't like either of them did nearly enough thinking to keep them awake; half the time he doubted if there was anything on their minds at all. Maybe if they were awake and had to be alone with their thoughts for a few seconds, they'd know how idiotic this whole scheme of keeping him there for a year really was.

The thought echoed in his mind. There was something there… Not the part where they'd finally see how stupid this all was, he wasn't that optimistic, but the image of having them awake right now had triggered an idea. It wasn't a smart plan, and it did nothing really to improve his situation, but it would be a start at getting back at them for the day, and it would be satisfying as fuck if he followed through.

He glanced at the alarm clock on his bedside. He'd wait a few more hours to execute it; it wasn't quite late enough to have the effect he wanted it to. Besides, he had to tweak a few details first. He didn't want to find himself in trouble again.

When his clock showed three, Rafe felt pretty good about his plan, and was ready to put it in action. He got himself out of bed and walked over to the door, then pressed his ear against it to listen. The two other men were still snoring away, without a care in the world. Perfect.

His hand found the light switch and he closed his eyes before flicking it on. When he adjusted to the little amount of light that his lids let through, he opened his eyes and let them re-adjust to the full intensity of his room's lights. Once he felt comfortable being able to see, he was ready.

He clenched his good hand into a fist and slammed it against his door. "Hey, old man!" he called loudly. "Get up and let me out!"

The snoring stopped abruptly, but he continued to knock anyway. He didn't stop until he heard the click of the lock, then his door was unceremoniously pushed open. A very grumpy looking Sully was standing on the other side.

"What the goddamn hell is the matter?" Victor growled, his eyes screwed up from the flood of light coming out of the room.

Rafe lowered his arm, which had been raised to knock again, and looked at him calmly. "I need to use the bathroom."

"You woke me up in the middle of the goddamned night because you have to pee?" Sully asked, voice muddled with disbelief.

"What were you expecting?" Rafe shrugged. "It's not my fault you keep me locked in here. Maybe you should have given me my own bathroom if you didn't want this to happen."

Sully pinched the bridge of his nose and stepped to the side. He was tired and his mind was sluggish, and he really hadn't known what to expect when he was jolted awake by Rafe's ruckus. Somehow, he had assumed it was an emergency. "Alright, go ahead. Be quick about it."

Rafe stepped past him into the hallway and smirked to himself once the bathroom door was safely closed behind him. Judging by how dazed and annoyed the old man had looked, he had interrupted a pretty good dream. Sully was irritated, but couldn't rightly do anything to him. He had a legitimate reason to wake him up.

Of course, he didn't really have to go, but he was able to muster up a convincing stream just for the sake of appearances.

While he was going, he heard two voices in the hallway. Good, that meant Drake had woken up too. Hopefully he was just as annoyed as Sully was, and just as frustrated that he couldn't do anything about it.

When his reserves were empty, he flushed, washed his hands, and went back to the hallway. Sully was still standing there, looking less aggravated than he had when he first saw him, and Sam was nowhere to be seen. It had been a short conversation, but whatever was said had calmed the old man down. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

"Thanks," Rafe said casually, pausing at his doorway. "I was serious earlier, you know. You really should have given me the master suite since you planned on locking me up every night."

Sully snorted and shook his head. "Sorry kid, no bathroom attached to my room either. That's the only one in the house."

Rafe rolled his eyes. Of course it was. Everywhere he looked in this house he saw poor planning; an eighteen-year-old with three kids had better foresight than these two did. "Right. Get back to your beauty sleep, old man. You need it." He walked back into his room, hearing Sully mutter something that sounded like 'smartass' as the door was shut and locked behind him.

If the old man was this irate now, Rafe couldn't wait to see how he got when he woke him up again tomorrow, and every other time that he had trouble sleeping after that.

He was able to keep it up for all of two nights.

On the third night, fifteen minutes before lockdown, Sam approached Rafe at the couch.

The brat had no problem sitting out in the living room with Sully to read so long as Sam wasn't there, and at this point Sam didn't mind it much. He'd prefer it if Rafe didn't hate his existence, but he had a year to work on it, and at least the kid was comfortable enough around Sully that the old man could keep an eye on him. The evening weather was pleasant enough for a walk and a smoke, and there were plenty of things Sam could do in his room by himself. Let Victor deal with Rafe's silent presence.

But now he had to interrupt, because there was something important that had to be addressed, and he was going to do it in front of Sully so Rafe couldn't use it against him later. He looked down at the younger man and crossed his arms. "Go and pee."

Rafe had been pretending that he didn't know Drake was there, but after that statement he couldn't just ignore him. He scowled and looked up from his book. "Excuse me?"

"We're not repeating last night," Sam said evenly. "Get up and pee before you have to go to bed." After a week of hearing nothing from the brat when he was locked in, two nights in a row was too much of a coincidence for it to be a fluke. He'd bet a lot of money that Rafe was trying out a new way to wear them down and get under their skin; it'd be easier to pull one over on them if they were half asleep all the time. If that was the case, he wanted to nip it in the bud right now. If it wasn't then Sam was going to start cutting him off from drinking so much tea.

Rafe scoffed derisively and looked back at his current page. "I don't have to right now, not that it's any of your business. You don't get to tell me when to take a bathroom break."

Sam straightened his back and squared his shoulders, taking full advantage of their height difference to remind Rafe he could drag him to the bathroom if he had to. "Try," he said firmly, "Because you're not getting another chance after this. If you wake us up again tonight because you have to pee, I'm going to introduce you to that spoon. If you at least try to go now and still have to go later, I'll be more sympathetic." He felt like he was arguing with his kid brother all over again. Rafe was far too old for him to have to say shit like that.

Rafe glanced up, taking in his stance, then looked over at Sully. He narrowed his eyes and waited to see what the old man thought about that. He couldn't be 'talked to' for having to go to the bathroom.

Sully had been listening carefully, ready to calm either one of them down if he had to, and now he was peering at them over the top of his newspaper. Neither of them were happy. That wasn't exactly unusual.

If Sam had spoken with him first, he could have told him that he'd been planning on speaking to Rafe quietly about his recent nighttime urgencies, but apparently Sam decided to take matters into his own hands instead. It should have been a private conversation, not public- or as public as it could be with three people there, anyway. And this whole thing was in the grey area between telling a lie and showing disrespect. It had to be handled delicately.

Sam's way was anything but delicate, but he couldn't disagree with the motivation. He was going to have to talk with Sam again about using tact, but now he was half-tempted to leave it to the two of them to work things out on their own. Let it explode once, and maybe they'd both learn from it.

But it wasn't the time for that. Rafe's trust would never recover.

He cleared his throat. "Neither of us can tell you what to do with your bladder, kid, but it won't hurt to try going. If my sleep gets interrupted for another night then I won't be the nicest guy to live with," he said gently. Of course, he knew chances were that Rafe didn't have to go, but he was giving him an out. "You could probably use a full night, too."

Rafe shook his head and looked back at his book. "I am not having this conversation with either of you," he said decisively.

"Alright, your choice," Sam conceded, then glanced at the clock. "You have ten minutes to change your mind."

Rafe didn't respond, choosing to ignore him. He knew that they would figure it out eventually, but it had been fun while it lasted. That didn't excuse the way Sam spoke to him, or how Sully sat back and let it happen. He still didn't believe that a spoon could be so bad, but he didn't want to give Sam the chance to do anything to him.

He would come up with a different plan to get back at Sully later. For now, he had Sam in his immediate sights, and he knew exactly what to do to get back at him for this.

It was even less cunning than his last plan, and exactly as useless, but it was going to drive Sam crazy, and right now that was enough for him.

Sam had just finished making his breakfast the next morning when Rafe ambled out of his room. Somehow, even without taking the chance to pee before going to bed, the brat had managed to get through the night without waking anyone. It was a goddamned miracle.

Sam paused at that thought, then grimaced. Great. Now he was starting to think like Victor. He hoped that wasn't going to be a lasting side effect of living with him; he'd managed to survive it when he was younger, but he also had spent as much time avoiding Victor as he could back then. After all, it was only common sense to avoid middle-aged men with mustaches and a strange interest in kids- something that his little brother had, apparently, never learned, but fortunately it didn't turn out the way Sam was afraid it would.

He put a cup of coffee and a bowl of fruit in front of Rafe. Sully was already at the table with scrambled eggs and bacon. "Good morn-"

"Morning," Rafe interrupted without looking up from the table, then he picked up the cup of coffee to take a sip without further acknowledgement.

Sam only hesitated for a second before shrugging it off. Rafe wasn't ever really up to carrying on a conversation anyway. "You want yogurt or someth-"

"No," Rafe answered around the mug. "Fruit is fine. I'm not that hungry."

Sam took a deep breath and tried not to let it bother him. "Mhm." He carried his own breakfast to the table and sat down.

Sully was munching contentedly on a rasher. "Morning, kid," he nodded, looking over at Rafe with some amusement. "Looks like you slept pretty well last night."

Rafe graced Sully with a small smile as he set his coffee back down. "Good morning, Sully," he nodded. "I did, thank you."

Sam scoffed. Yeah, no kidding- they all slept better last night. "I wonder-"

"How about you?" Rafe kept his eyes focused on Sully. He didn't even glance Sam's way.

Sam closed his mouth. Now he was peeved, but telling Rafe to knock it off wasn't worth the headache.

Sully smirked. "You keep that up and I'm not going to stop whatever he decides to do," he warned Rafe lightly while gesturing at Sam. "No ignoring, remember? But I slept well enough, thank you."

"I'm ignoring him?" Rafe sat back in his chair and looked between the two. "I answered all your questions, didn't I?"

"You did," Sam agreed. He glanced at Sully, taking the other man's previous statement as permission to put an end to it if he wanted to. "Not politely, but y-"

"And that's all I have to do," Rafe continued speaking. "So, as far as the rules you laid out for me, I'm not doing anything wrong."

Sully couldn't stop from chuckling a little. The kid was bold, at the very least. Acting like a six-year-old, yes, but bold nonetheless. "I know you don't really believe that, but it's your choice. I've said my piece."

This was harmless enough, so he felt safe letting it play out. Sully knew Sam pretty well, and he knew that if Sam retaliated, he wasn't going to overreact. Besides, if Rafe was mad at Sam, then at least he had found a way to express it other than using his fists. If he wasn't mad and was just bored then maybe this would help the two of them learn how to interact better.

Either way, it was something entertaining to go with breakfast.

By the end of the meal, Sam was about to go insane. Even when he was trying to talk to Victor, Rafe would cut him off before he got to finish his thought. The brat never attempted to speak at any other time, only when he was trying to say something. He knew Rafe was doing it to annoy him, and the worst part was that it worked like a charm.

Well, no, the worst part was that Victor was watching this whole thing and not even trying to help. The old bastard just took everything in with a smirk on his face, like he found it all to be endearing. No wonder Rafe was still so spoiled.

If Sully wasn't going to do something, he was. Two could play at this game. Rafe had figured out one of his pet peeves, one that not even Nate was foolish enough to exploit, but Sam already knew plenty of things that Rafe didn't like, too.

When breakfast was over and Rafe was waiting for them to leave the kitchen so he could do his one chore, Sam stood up and stretched. "Hey, Rafe, come-"

"I was already going to wash the dishes," Rafe said defensively.

"That's not what-"

"I have plenty of time and I don't need you to watch me." He flashed Sam a warning look as he carried his plate to the sink. He would not appreciate a back-seat dish washer today.

Sam bit back what he was going to say and nodded. Fine, he could work with that. He walked over and quietly stood behind Rafe, waiting for him to turn back around from the sink. He heard Sully shift in his seat, probably getting ready in case he had to step in.

Rafe jumped slightly when he saw him, then scowled. His hands were too full of dishes to be able to pull off a 'surprised' punch, so he slowly set them down in the sink and turned to face him, not even trying to step away.

Apparently, he learned not to turn his back last time. Sam stayed quiet long enough for Rafe to sweat a little, then, suddenly, he reached out.

Rafe braced himself for a hit, but there was never an impact. What happened was worse.

Sam had quickly grabbed the back of his head with one hand and the other snaked around his waist to pull him in a tight hug. For a moment, Rafe was completely frozen with shock. Then the outrage kicked in.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he protested loudly, turning his head so his face wasn't smashed against Sam's chest. He brought his hands up and pushed as hard as he could to get free.

Sam didn't budge. "Calm down, it's only a hug," he said soothingly, resting his chin on top of Rafe's head to help keep it in place. "Whenever Nate started annoying me on purpose like that, he usually just wanted some attention. Is that what you want, Rafe?"

"I will murder you," Rafe hissed vehemently, thrashing around as much as he could in the grip. "I'm not your fucking brother! Let me go right fucking now!" He planted his feet on the floor and leaned back, testing how far he could go.

He was able to gain a little distance between them, but then Sam dropped his hand down from the back of his head to wrap it around his shoulders and squeezed tighter, lifting him to his toes in the process.

"I know," Sam grunted, "He wouldn't mind this nearly as much as you do. I'll ask again, is this what you wanted?"

Rafe growled with indignance. Now he was pressed up against Sam even more, completely engulfed in the hug. He squirmed, trying every angle for a chance to get free.

When his efforts proved futile and Rafe began to still, Sam dropped his head down so he could speak directly in Rafe's ear. He felt him tense up even further, if such a thing was possible. "I take that as a no," he said. "Does that mean you're going to stop interrupting me?"

Rafe began to struggle with renewed energy, pushing at, kicking, or grabbing what he could to use as an advantage, but Sam just tightened his grip and waited it out. Finally, Rafe went limp, realizing there was no other way out of this.

"I can keep this up all day, you know," Sam said pointedly.

Rafe stayed quiet, seething.

"You gonna stop interrupting me now? Yes or no?"

"…Yes," Rafe answered weakly.

"Good. 'Cause I'll just do this again next time, but I'll hold onto you for much longer." Sam dropped him back on his feet and took a step away to give him some space.

Rafe didn't bother to look at him, or at Sully. He ran his fingers through his hair to smooth it back in place and stalked over to the sink, his back to them. He crossed his arms, signaling that he wanted them to leave. Now.

Sam glanced at Victor and was a bit relieved when he saw him making a valiant effort not to laugh.

Sully knew that Rafe would never forgive him if he so much as snorted. The kid was going to be mad about the hug for a while, and he'd have to go and unruffle his feathers later, but he had to admit that Sam did put an end to it without sacrificing anything more than a little of both their dignity. That would be easily mended over a cup of tea in the kid's room. Maybe leaving them to their own devices wasn't as disastrous as he thought it would be.

He pushed himself to his feet and grabbed his coffee to take it to the living room so Rafe could recover in peace, and Sam followed him out.

They had just settled down in the living room when the back door slammed open. Heavy footsteps crossed the kitchen floor, paused, and marched right back to the door. There was the loud clatter of metal slamming into wood, then a sickening crunch.

"I'm going to my room," Rafe called from the kitchen. "I'm going to leave the door open, and I'm going to sit on my bed and wait."