Here we are, another short little story! This one's pretty sad, but Jeff returning made me think a lot about Jeff leaving in the first place, so here's that night.
~Lou

Inspired by lenle-g's lovely artwork of Jeff carrying a young Alan over on tumblr. Sorry I can't do a link- if you're interested and can't find it, message me and I'll see if I can't point you in the right direction.

Genre: Family/Hurt/Comfort

Rating: K+

Summary: Most days, John finds numbers to be a safe, reliable thing. But when the world breaks, John finds all they do is tell him all the things he doesn't want to know.

Numbers

John had been up too many hours. He knew that. He didn't want to count them, but he couldn't stop himself.

Sixteen hours and twenty-three minutes.

Twenty-four.

Twenty-five.

The clock said his day hadn't been too long, but he knew better than to trust seconds and minutes when his world was being pulled from underneath him. Pain had a way of warping time.

He wanted to sleep. Forget for a while that the things that were never supposed to happen had happened, twice now to him and his family.

Two.

Two times.

It kept adding up. It kept adding up and John needed it to stop because if it didn't stop next time it would be Grandma or Kayo or his brothers-

Brothers. Four of them.

He needed them all.

His bedroom door creaked open and, as if summoned by the thought, a little blond boy with race car pajamas tip-toed in. A boy who was supposed to be asleep, like John wanted to be, because sleeping children didn't know about the numbers- adding and subtracting in all the wrong directions.

"John, I had a nightmare."

Oh Allie, you've woken into a far worse one believe me-

"And I guess Dad's still out 'cause I couldn't find him."

We couldn't either…

"Can I count the stars with you?"

I'm sick of counting, Allie.

But John didn't say any of that. Didn't tell him about time shifting. About sleep that didn't come. Didn't tell him that the numbers had decreased again.

Zero.

Zero parents now.

Didn't tell him because he couldn't.

Couldn't take away from Alan what John wanted so badly for himself.

Just one more night. One more night believing the world was all in place. That the sky wasn't about to shatter.

So John said yes, and he counted the stars and told their stories until Alan fell asleep again. And if Alan had thought it was strange that John held him tight the entire time, he didn't show it, just accepted the attention contentedly.

Because Alan was only nine.

He didn't think of an extra hug as a warning sign. That the arms around him wished they were shields, wished they could keep out all the things that were going to hurt him.

But Alan wouldn't be nine forever. And John wished he could stop those numbers too, because his brother would grow without any parents watching him.

He would have instead a grandma, and a sister, and many brothers. People that loved him, true, but none who had thought they'd have to raise him.

John had a longing for them, his brothers. All of them at once. He loved them too, after all.

So John, with sleeping Alan in his arms, tip-toed down the hall to Scott's room.

That's where they would be of course. When you were having a nightmare, you went to your big brother.

There were three inside Scott's room, just as John knew there would be.

Gordon, asleep in Scott's bed, face flushed from tears none of them wanted to admit to. Virgil, sleeping as well, sitting on the floor with his back against the bed, shivering despite the blanket on his shoulders. And Scott, the only one awake among them, Virgil's head on his shoulder, ever awake and watchful.

When Scott saw John standing there with Alan in his arms, he smiled. And it was such a painfully sad thing John almost wished he hadn't smiled at all, because Scott was trying so hard. Just like he had before.

Scott was twenty. That was supposed to be a good number. Why did the world always shatter on Scott's good numbers?

Fourteen had been Mom. Now twenty was Dad.

And Scott was left playing the roles of both parents when he should just be flying fast planes and teasing little brothers, not raising them.

But when Scott invited him in with a look, how could John say no? You didn't say no to anyone on a night like this. He didn't want to be alone.

John laid Alan gently down next to Gordon, covering them both with blankets that would surely be kicked off, then he sat down on Scott's other side, relaxing into his brother's hold when he put his arm around him.

In his head, John counted each of Scott's breaths. They were even in a way that meant Scott was trying hard to keep them that way, but John could hear the threat of tears at the end of each. But he counted them anyway, there were far worse things he could have chosen.

Each time he reached five he started over again, because five was another good number. He could count five on one hand. A finger for each brother, and one more for him.

Five of them.

It was a good number to be.

He hoped it wouldn't change.