Returning to the cabin, knowing that he would never see his father again was the hardest thing that Hazel had ever done. Gretchen went with him because she was in the same place as he.

That, and it wasn't as though either of them had anywhere else to go. All that they had left was each other, and yet they didn't exactly speak to each other until after their father had been buried properly.

Even then, Hazel hadn't known what there was to say or do anymore. He felt too broken and hurt and sad to truly comprehend everything that was happening around him.

But at the same time there was this other thing that was beginning to build in his mind as his father's words began to play in his head on repeat. It was as though a thousand cautions and warnings were coming to relevance all at once.

Responsibility, power, compassion, caretaking.

All things that he had seen his father act on, all things that he had hoped he wouldn't have to be fully saddled with until much, much later in his life.

He was too young. So was Gretchen.

But as things stood, he was the one that had to be the man of the house. He was the one who needed to figure out the best ways to provide for the two of them, and to find ways to keep them safe, and everything else that came with it.

Hazel started small, by making dinners out of what was left in their family's fridge which he knew never managed to quite hit the mark, no matter how much Gretchen would grin and bear it with a smile that never met her eyes.

He began to read cookbooks that had been written in with their mother's— and it had to be their mother's— even scrawl. All little notes for how to make the meals more palatable, all ideas on how to cut down on the cooking time.

In truth, the notes were rather hit and miss as far as how successful of ideas they were.

If Gretchen noticed any improvement after Hazel started reading their mother's old cookbooks, she never mentioned it. In the same way, Hazel never mentioned their mother's little notes because the truth was that he and Gretchen both had complicated feelings on the matter, ones which neither of them were likely to ever be able to ignore or work through.

Losing a parent that neither of them had known was one thing. Their mother had died before the two of them could have ever even began to remember her. She'd died barely hours after Gretchen had drawn her first breaths and Hazel had done the same.

It was another thing to lose their father, the man that had raised them since their infancy. There had been help at various points in their upbringing, but at the end it was always their father.

Their father that was now gone.

Their father that was never to return.

Their father that had left too-large shoes for Hazel to fill.

And perhaps it wasn't out of the question that he'd started acting differently since their father had died. Most of the time he didn't want to do much of anything anymore, he only wanted to rest and lay in bed or sleep. Gretchen would do what she could to make him spend time with her, but in the end all that Hazel felt really capable of was the things that he had to do.

It was close to noon on a Thursday, a whole month after their father's death when Hazel was surprised by the feeling of his sister's arms wrapping around his shoulders.

"Tell me what's going on." She urged him quietly, not leaving any sort of room for argument. It wasn't a question.

"Nothing is going on." Hazel offered as a weak protest, shrugging his way out of his sister's arms. He didn't want her draping herself over him like she usually would. "Why?"

"I miss you." Gretchen said as she took a seat beside him, the same way that she always would when he was despondent in one way or another. "I'm sorry."

"I know."

"I didn't mean to—"

"I know." Hazel echoed, feeling more hollow than he had before. "It's not your fault."

Whether he actually believed that or not, Hazel didn't know.

Gretchen's expression hardened though, her brow settling into a look of pure determination. "I'm never going to let something like this happen again, you know that right?"

And maybe he did. If he did, how was he meant to be able to tell her that? How was he supposed to carry on as though nothing was wrong? As though he wasn't so badly hurt by the fact that their father was gone and would never be returning?

How was he meant to say that he'd been having nightmares, just about every night since? How was he supposed to explain that he was so exhausted because he could barely sleep, or because he could barely shake the feeling that it was only a matter of time before something else came knocking down the door to what was now his house?

How was Hazel meant to say any of that to Gretchen, when he knew that she would only start beating herself up worse over it if he did?

"I know." Hazel said, though the words were so damned empty.

Empty.

That was how he felt.

Empty, and hurt, and sad, and scared, and overwhelmed.

"I'll be okay." He gave Gretchen a false reassurance, one that he'd never be able to truly fulfill himself for at least some time. He just needed time. That had to be it— he just didn't have the time that he needed to be able to grieve for their father properly.

"It doesn't seem like it." Gretchen said, catching his head and making him tilt his head to rest against her shoulder. She was trying to force him to relax and get comfortable, perhaps even sleep. "Why don't you let me take things over for a bit?" She offered, and god Hazel wanted to say yes, but—

But he couldn't.

He didn't know why, he just couldn't.

Gretchen stroked her fingers through his hair. "I know that you need it." She offered him quietly. "And you know that I can handle things, Hazel."

"I'd rather you don't." He said. "Please."

An expression crossed her face that made it seem like he'd just slapped her.

"Hazel?"

"I just need this right now— the working." Hazel grit out, as much as it hurt him to do so, hurt him to know that he was hurting his sister in the process. "Please just let me have it."

Gretchen gave him the saddest look that he'd ever seen on her face.

"Alright." She whispered to him before she slinked away and left Hazel to his work, to filling shoes that were far too big for him to ever fill. "If you say so."

When she left the room, Hazel couldn't help the feeling that something was gone that he was never going to be able to get back. Something precious had just slid through his fingers and he had absolutely no idea how he was meant to handle it.

But then again, Hazel knew, it wasn't a matter of how.

It was a matter of whether it got done or not.

So for a little while, he found a way to pull himself together.

If only for a little while.