A/N: Sillver again! Nixy was busy this week so I did her a favor and wrote this chapter. Like I said before, it's going to set the tone for the rest of the story. BIG THANKS to all who reviewed the last chapter! You guys seriously rock. Think we can continue the trend? crosses fingers Enjoy:)

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Zack was two hours late.

Mom was pacing the suite, running hands through her auburn hair and trying to take calm, deep breaths. God, it sounded like she was going into labor or something. You'd think we were being held under gunpoint.

As for me? I could honestly say that I didn't give a rat's ass where Zack was. He was probably getting wasted at some party, screwing some girl he didn't even know, or pushing around some other less-popular kid who deserved nothing of the bullying he was bound to be getting-

-Alright. So I was bitter. Exceedingly bitter, actually, and seriously pissed off.

"Why doesn't he call…Why doesn't he call…"

Mom was pacing, and from my long life experience of sixteen point five six years that spoke very clearly of anxiety. At least to me, anyway. She went from end to end in that little kitchen like she was practicing for the Kentucky Derby, or something. It was making me feel dizzy.

"Relax, mom," I said in a tone less than reassuring. I knew I should be just a little bit concerned for my brother, but after I'd caught him taking a swig of liquor after school and helping his friends beat up some poor unsuspecting Goth girl I wasn't feeling very charitable. "He probably just forgot."

The top five problems of being a twin are like this (results may vary):

Sharing. Being confused for one another. Sharing. Identity. Sharing.

I have a real problem with sharing. Maybe it started in Kindergarten when Zack took all the good dinosaurs during play and the rest of us kids were stuck with Barbie and Pooh Bear. Nothing against either toy, but playing Pooh-and-Barbie-decided-to-get-married-and-then-go-on-a-really-really-really-big-adventure got a little old. Catch my drift?

Anyway, Zack was late, mom was freaking out, and I was sitting at the coffee table working on my science homework. All three sentences of it. Whew.

Mom was in the middle of a panicked rant regarding Zack's lack of responsibility in leaving his cell phone attended in our room (in which I interjected quite a few colorful phrases) when the phone felt compelled to give us all heart attacks. Why does that always happen? Why can't it ever ring when you're expecting it to ring? Why does it wait for that one moment you're busy with something else?

Geez.

Mom answered it zero point two seconds after it began to ring, and I think she would have said hello earlier had she not been on the outward slope of her Derby-run through. I put down my pencil to listen.

"Oh my God," Mom went pale suddenly and my heart skipped a beat. "Is he-is he-," she seemed unable to finish the question. I half rose from my kneeling position, a faint frown forming on my face. "Yes. Yes of course. Right away. I'll be right there. Tell him I'm coming! Tell him-," she inhaled quickly and seemed almost to fight back a sob, which really put me on edge.

What the hell-

Mom hung up the phone after exchanging tearful goodbyes. Tearful. Tearful. I nervously made my way towards her, hands wringing each other subconsciously. She looked at me, eyes wide and glittering, face a shade of ash.

"What?" I asked her, impatience creeping into my voice. She made no answer, simply staring out at nothing as if in shock. "Mom!" I demanded.

She looked at me and swallowed thickly. "Zack's been in a-in an accident. That was the hospital."

I felt my heart drop to my feet, trepidation speeding through my veins. "What?" My hands dropped to my side.

My mom shook her head as if to clear it, grabbed her car keys from atop the kitchen counter, and led me out to her car. I didn't think she was fit to drive, and though my mind was somewhat numb at least I wasn't crying like she was. I offered to take us there, but she refused vehemently. I didn't argue.

We hardly spoke the whole way there.

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The hospital waiting room was nearly empty (it being eleven on a Thursday night-my school having no school the next day) and so I paid no attention to a crying figure curled up in a corner chair. I followed my mom back into the ER where we were ushered along by nurses and a doctor.

I caught little things like, "broken ribs," and "broken wrist," and "severe blood loss" but mainly I just tried to steel myself for whatever I was about to see. If my brother was dying I didn't know-I didn't want I was going to d-do…

And if he-if he died?

I blinked my eyes once, hard, and continued to walk at that abnormally brisk pace. Dad was devil-knows-where and if mom was already breaking down then I needed to be the strong one. And that was Zack's job. I was the sensitive one! The caring one! The gentle one for God's sake! This wasn't-this wasn't-

-This wasn't me.

The room we were led to was small and things were beeping everywhere. People were wheeled around like entrees at an Italian bistro and words and phrases spoken in languages so foreign to me they might as well have been Latin were shouted across the halls. Controlled chaos.

Zack was sitting up in the hospital bed, looking pale and haggard, but still very much alive. His wrist was bandaged heavily, and it lay atop several blankets as if supporting his chest. His eyes moved towards the door, and when he recognized us he managed a small, tired smile.

Mom rushed over, cupping his face in her hands and kissing his hair furiously as she hugged his head to her. I saw him wince slightly but said nothing. When at last mom pulled away I took a deep breath and walked slowly over, staring at my feet.

Awkward.

"Hey," he rasped, swallowing thickly. I forced a smile and nodded back and he, much to my confusion, looked guiltily away.

The doctor walked over to us and scanned the clipboard in his hands. "In addition to the broken wrist and cracked ribs there was a serious laceration across his stomach. If you will, Zachary-," Zack lifted up his shirt slowly, as though it caused his pain, and a long, jagged cut was made clear to both mom and I. It stretched from his upper chest (close to his throat) down to his abdomen and looked deep and blood red. Dozens of stitches held it closed.

Mom gasped softly beside me and began to fuss over Zack again. After more words that meant little the doctor left us alone.

"What happened, baby?" Mom asked my brother, and again he looked away, face reddening (a sharp contrast to his pale skin). I buried my hands in my pockets and watched him carefully, a seed of unease planted firmly in my stomach.

Zack began to speak, doing so slowly and languidly. "I was at a part with friends-," he stopped to catch his breath. "And a few of them got-got carried away. I didn't want to r-ride with them but I had no other way home-,"

Liar, a vicious voice in my head spat out. You could have called us.

"We were driving and-and this other car comes like, out of nowhere and we just-crashed…" He reached a shaking hand up to push his long hair out of his face and mom hugged him gently.

Stupid, stupid, stupid! I wanted to scream. I managed to refrain.

But he was okay. He wasn't dead. He was shaken up and hurt, but he was still alive and deep down I had never felt so grateful. It's funny; you think you don't care about someone, heck, you even maybe think you hate them, but then they almost die and everything about them just changes. You know? Like, before tonight I didn't think I even counted Zack as my brother anymore; Griffin and Ben were more brotherly to me than he was, and Carly was like my sister.

But Zack had scared me that night, scared me so bad just hearing him speak—however painful his words were to hear—made me want to fall to my knees and thank someone because it seemed to be some kind of miracle.

The room was starting to feel crowded, so when mom and Zack were in the middle of a serious heart-to-heart I slipped out ("Bathroom") and sank down in one of the empty chairs in the waiting room. I shuffled through the magazines.

Why do hospital magazines always have to suck so bad?

I'd settled on a prehistoric National Geographic when a small voice made me look up in a sort of surprised shock.

"Cody?"

Because I knew that voice. I knew it well. It was the voice that had helped to rescue me from my downward spiral into nothingness, and this was the last place on Earth I wanted to see that person.

"Carly?"

She was curled up in one of the seats, dark hair messy and unkempt around her face, eyes red-rimmed and puffy. She'd been doing some serious crying. She looked as though she'd merely slipped on an old sweatshirt and jeans and drove ten over to get here, and a jolt inside me told me that that was probably what had happened. My heart skipped a beat.

"What're you doing here?" I asked her, frowning deeply. She shook her head, overwhelmed with tears once again and turned away. After a few moments (me exercising my skill of patience) she looked back up at me in utter grief.

"It's Griffin-," she started, hiccupping back a sob and covering her face with her hands. "There was a car accident and he-,"

He stared at her numbly, trying to take everything in. What were the odds of there being two car accidents at the same time on the same night? And what were the odds of both of them involving someone I cared about?

And then it hit me.

It was the same car accident.

"Is he okay?" I asked, tone demanding. Carly shrugged, shoulders shaking with repressed cries. "Well, have you heard anything?"
She had opened her mouth to say something when a voice called out: "Carly North?" We both turned around to face a doctor who walked over briskly. "Your parents are back there waiting for you-," he started, but Carly cut him off.

"They're not my parents," she said softly, and I looked at her in surprise. Always before she had expressed nothing but love for her adopted mom and dad; why the change of heart now, of all times?

The doctor looked up briefly before lowering his eyes back down to the chart in his hands. "Your legal guardians, than," he said, a little bit of contempt in his voice.

"I don't-I can't-," Carly ran a hand through her long hair and swallowed thickly, tears still shimmering in her eyes. "I'm going to stay out here a little longer."

The doctor raised a brow and began to turn away with a brisk nod, but Carly stopped him almost desperately.

"Wait!" she cried out. "Is Griffin okay? Is my brother okay?"

I looked at her strangely; what was up with her? So, her mom and dad were no longer her parents, but Griffin still retained the title of her sibling? Girls.

The doctor sighed and both Carly and I waited on the sharpest of pins for his answer. "We're doing all we can," he said. "He suffered serious head trauma upon impact and we're trying to control the swelling. It's still unclear of how much damage was sustained and how serious the other injuries are. For now our main concern in his head and we're trying our hardest to find out the extent of the injury." He glanced back down at the chart quickly and I head Carly sob hoarsely. "We do know one thing for sure, though," said the doctor, looking at her sympathetically and shaking his head slowly. My heart thumped painfully in my chest and it hurt to breathe.

How could this have even happened? Zack, Griffin; in the same accident...a wave of anger spread through me as I realized that it had been the car my brother was in that had hit Griffin's. How or why Griffin had been driving I didn't know, but because Zack had let a drunk friend drive home he could have been dead, or dying for all I knew. I curled my fists in uncharacteristic anger and felt tears burn my eyes.

The doctor had begun to talk again and I forced myself to pay attention. Maybe he wasn't dead. Maybe he was alive…

"If he does wake up," said the doctor. "He'll never see again."