Title: Elsewhere

Summary: It's an emotional rollercoaster, taking care of three little boys. Especially when they're not yours and you don't know how long they're staying.

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Chapter Three

It had been ages since Kevin had slept. He hadn't thought that he would be able to fall asleep in a strange place, but the minute his head hit the pillow the night before, he hadn't been aware of anything but a strong sense of exhaustion. Once he closed his eyes, he couldn't open them again. He didn't want to open them again. This bed was more comfortable then the bed he had at home, especially because he didn't have to share it with anybody. No two little brothers, pulling the covers away in the middle of the night or kicking you with their icy feet or waking him up to ask to be taken to the bathroom. Kevin had already spent more nights than he could count sitting on the edge of the bathtub while he waited for one of his brothers to pee. In fact, that's what he'd been doing last night. Last night. It seemed like an eternity ago.

He'd been dreaming. He'd been dreaming that his mother came home and brought money with her, that she'd promised that she would never have another boyfriend and intended to keep it that way. He dreamed that they managed to move out of the welfare apartments and into a nice house in a nice quiet neighborhood with neighbors that looked like Ward and June Cleaver. Like all dreams, it ended.

"Kevin? Kevin?" One hot little hand on his arm and Kevin's dream world dissipated into the cold, dark bedroom with the streetlight that shone through the window. "Kevin, can you come with me down the hall? I'm scared." Andy coughed. He was hot and tired and he didn't feel good and he had to pee. "Kevin, wake up!"

"I'm up!" Kevin murmured. "I'm awake!"

"Come with me to the bathroom," Andy wiggled down to the end of the bed and hopped onto the floor. "I can't go all by myself."

"Okay, okay, I'm coming." Kevin yawned and slid his legs over the edge of the mattress. The air in the room was freezing. He shivered. "Hurry up, okay."

"I can't go down the hall alone, there's monsters down there." Andy's voice was matter-of-fact. "Come on, Kevin."

"Yeah." Kevin followed his brother down the hall and into the bathroom. He closed his eyes and propped his chin on his hand. Maybe he could sleep for a few seconds. . .

"Kevin?" Andy balanced himself with one hand against the wall, feeling dizzy. "Kevin, are you awake?"

"Okay." Kevin opened his eyes again. "I'm awake. Pee, already."

"I can't pee unless you watch out for the monsters," Andy said. His cheeks were deeply flushed and his eyes bright with fever. "Watch," he instructed.

"Pee," Kevin instructed. "I don't see any monsters," he said. "Pee, now." "It isn't good to rush people while they are trying to go to the bathroom," Andy preached. "My teacher said it isn't healthy."

Kevin sighed. "It isn't healthy to freeze in the bathroom when you could be nice and warm in bed," he told his little brother. "You're sick, Andy. Go back to bed."

"Wait." Andy flushed the toilet a few seconds early, liking the whirlpool effect. "Okay. Now I'm done."

"Thank God," Kevin muttered, sighing as his brother headed for the bathroom sink and began washing his hands for what seemed like an eternity. "Hurry up, Andy!"

"If you don't wash your hands for five minutes after you go to the bathroom," Andy told him, "you will get germs."

"You already have germs!" Kevin exclaimed. "You're sick!"

"I know." Andy coughed a few times, and Kevin was worried. Even he knew that the deep, lung dredging spasms that racked his brother's body would not go away on their own. Andy sank to the floor, fighting for breath.

"Are you okay?" Kevin knelt next to him, feeling the bony outline of his brother's spine through Andy's thin pajama shirt. Andy nodded. "Uh huh."

"Okay." Kevin was worried. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure." Andy struggled to his feet. "I'm okay."

"Okay." Kevin bit his lip. "If you say so." The next time Andy woke him up, however, he was close to tears.

"I can't breathe at all, and it really hurts, Kevin." Andy sat up, leaning forward to relieve some of the pressure on his chest. "Where's Mom?" Kevin blinked.

"What do you mean, 'where's Mom?' You know I don't know."

"I wish she were here," Andy whimpered.

"What good would she be?" Kevin knew he sounded mean, but he felt like his brother was betraying him. Andy knew full well that you lived your own life and left your mother out of it.

"I just wish she was here." Andy struggled not to cry.

"Is it morning?" Zac lifted his head off the pillow and glanced around the room. "It's dark in here."

"Go back to sleep, Zac," Kevin told him.

"Can't sleep." Zac smiled cheerily. "Want to stay up."

"You can't stay up," Kevin told him. "You're bothering Andy." Zac looked solemn.

"Andy's sick," he observed. "You feel all right?"

"No," Andy squeezed his eyes shut. "I feel really bad."

"Does your ear hurt?" Zac rubbed his own in sympathy.

"No," Andy told him. "My ears are fine."

"Sometimes my ears hurt." Zac sat back on his heels, remembering. "Sometimes that happens."

"Your ear doesn't hurt now, does it?" Kevin asked. That was the last thing he needed. Two sick little brothers. And with his luck, they would both throw up. Zac shook his head.

"No."

"That's good," Kevin sighed. At least something was all right.

"Do I have to go to school?" Andy asked.

Kevin shook his head. "No. You better stay home."

"Good," said Zac. "I'm glad."

"I'm not." Andy liked school. When he didn't go, he missed it. "It was my day for show and tell tomorrow!" he wailed, remembering.

Kevin rolled his eyes. He hated school. "Well, what were you going to show? Hi, I'm Andy, and for show and tell I'm going to show. . . my germs?"

Zac giggled. "Show my germs," he repeated.

"It isn't funny." Andy crossed his arms defiantly, but he was falling back to sleep. "It isn't!"

"Okay." Kevin was worried that Andy would start that awful coughing again. "Okay, calm down. It isn't funny. Zac, stop laughing." All day long, Andy got worse, until he wasn't even talking anymore. He just lay still on the couch, his eyes half-open and his breathing quick and painful sounding. Kevin paced through the apartment, knowing that his brother needed a doctor; terrified that if they went for help, someone would find out about their mother. Finally, though, he decided that his brother's life was worth more than preserving the family. It took every ounce of will power in his body, but Kevin didn't back down once he made his decision. "Andy," he said, kneeling next to the couch, "we're going to go find a doctor, okay?"

He bundled his brothers into their coats and they headed for the emergency room a few blocks away. It took them an hour and a half to reach it, they had to stop so often for Andy to catch his breath. Finally, though, they made it to the sliding glass doors and stepped inside.

No one paid much attention to three small boys by themselves in the corner, and so Kevin finally decided to go looking for someone himself.

Kevin would never quite understand, in retrospect, exactly how he'd gotten from the filthy bathroom floor of his apartment one night to a soft, warm bed in a quiet suburban house the next. He would think about it a lot in the years to come, wondering exactly why he'd chosen, off all the doctors in the emergency room that day, to approach Sharpay Bolton. The only thing he would be able to say for certain was, with that single "excuse me" he had changed the course of his life. . . and his brother's lives. . . forever. Waking up that morning in one of the guest beds in Troy and Sharpay's spare bedroom, however, Kevin just felt confused. He didn't know where he was, and he didn't remember how he'd gotten there. For an instant, he wondered if maybe his whole life had been a dream. . . his mother, Andy, Zac, all of it, and it occured to him that he was probably some different person, with a different life, a better one. It was a relief, actually.

The memories came rushing back as soon as he sat up. The hospital. Troy. Sharpay. McDonalds. He bit his lip. The bed across from his was rumpled and empty. Zac had already gotten up.

Kevin jumped to his feet and bolted toward the door. He was terrified, suddenly. Maybe something terrible had happened. Maybe they'd all gone away and left him here. He reached for the doorknob and was hit with a spine-tingling thought. Maybe he was safe as long as he kept the door shut. Maybe if he opened the door, something awful would happen.

"It's just my imagination," Kevin murmured to himself. "It's just my imagination."

Still, he opened the door with great care. "Just my imagination," he whispered again, peering into the hallway.

For an instant he felt dizzy. The hallway was like those he'd only seen on TV. Everything was neat and in it's place, shining in the bright November sun. Pictures hung on the wall in ornate wooden frames, and even the bathroom smelled like flowers. (Later on he would find out that that was Sharpay's perfume.) Kevin paused, glancing at his grimy hands as he washed them in the bathroom sink. He didn't belong in a place like this. He would mess it up.

Carefully, Kevin picked his way down the stairs, scared of even making noise. One of the steps creaked, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. This house was so quiet! Where was everybody?

From the end of the hall came the sound of soft singing. It sounded like someone trying to sing opera and failing miserably. Kevin also caught an unmistakable giggle. . . Zac's. At least he was in the right house!

"Fee-gah-roo, feegarofeegarofeegaro!" Troy was standing at the kitchen sink, scrubbing at a frying pan. Zac stood on a chair next to him, playing with the bubbles. "FEEGAHRO!" Troy sang. "What do you mean, I can't sing opera?"

"You can't sing opera!" Zac giggled.

"No." Troy shook his head. "Of course I can!"

"You can't!" Zac insisted.

"I can!" Troy exclaimed.

"No. You. Can't." Zac grinned hugely, pronouncing every syllable as carefully as he could.

"Yes. I. Can." Troy glanced up to see Kevin standing in the doorway. "Hey, Kevin. Good morning!"

Shyly, Kevin smiled. "Hi. Did you hear anything about Andy?"

Troy nodded. "Yeah, he's doing a lot better. They might even let him out today."

Kevin sighed, relieved. "That's good."

Troy smiled. "You hungry?"

Kevin thought. "Maybe a little," he admitted.

"A little?" Troy rolled his eyes at the ceiling. "He says a little," he told Zac.

"You say a little," Zac told Kevin.

"A little what?" Troy asked Zac. "A little kid, maybe? Who says I can't sing opera?"

"You can't!" Zac exclaimed.

Troy turned to Kevin. "No, seriously, Kevin," he said. "What do you want to eat?"

Kevin thought for a moment. He'd eat anything. He'd never really had a choice before. "Um. . . I don't really know. . ."

"We have lots of stuff," Troy told him. "Cereal, potato chips, zucchini."

Zac and Kevin both looked blank. "What's a zucchini?"

"Sounds gross," Zac piped.

"It is very delicious." Troy reached into the sink and drew out a soap bubble. It popped. "I eat zucchini quite often."

"Maybe I'll just have cereal," Kevin said. "If it's not a problem."

"Not a problem at all," said Troy. "Want cinnamon toast with that?"

"What's cinnamon toast?" Kevin asked.

"You, my boy," said Troy, "have quite an experience ahead of you."

"Do you lKevin it?" Seven and a half minutes later, Troy handed Kevin a piece of toast and watched the kid eye it suspiciously. "It's very delicious and has no nutritional value whatsoever."

"It's good," Kevin agreed. "I never had it before. Thanks."

Troy smiled at the ceiling. He liked these two. They were so much different than his "well-privileged" nieces and nephews, nicer to each other, happier about smaller things. It was funny how these kids who'd never had anything had such a tendency to share what they did have with each other. He just sat there for a moment and watched them, not saying anything.

Suddenly, Kevin had a thought. "Is cinna. . . cima. . . synom. . ."

"Cinnamon," Troy supplied.

"Is cinnamon really expensive?" Kevin looked worried. Troy could almost have laughed, but he was worried about the answer. He didn't feel like he was rich anymore, not since he left the NBA, but he could buy caseloads of cinnamon, if he wanted. To Kevin's family, on the other hand, anything that wasn't a necessity probably was expensive.

"It's not too expensive," Troy finally told him.

"Because. . . how do you make this?" Kevin asked.

Troy grinned. "You can make toast, right?" The kid was eight years old. It was a reasonable expectation.

Kevin nodded. "Yeah."

"Kevin can make lots of stuff," Zac told Troy. "Lots of."

Troy raised an eyebrow, pretending he didn't believe it. "Like what?" he asked.

Zac chuckled. "Macaronis," he said, "and peanut butter sandwiches. And sometimes he puts jelly on them." He thought. "And cereal. And hot dogs," he said.

"Anything else?" Troy asked. "That's pretty impressive."

Zac looked confused. "And cereal," he repeated, pronouncing the word like 'surreal-real.'

"Cereal."

"Anyone can make cereal," Kevin pointed out.

"I can't make surreal-real." Zac pointed out.

"Neither can most people." Troy thought of surreal-real and grinned.

"Why not?" Kevin asked. "All you do is add milk."

Troy raised an eyebrow. "Is that how you do it?"

Kevin looked at Troy as if he were crazy. "Yeah," he said. "How else would you make cereal?"

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Thanks for the reviews, everyone! I have a tone of this written already, just working on typing it up. I hope to have a lot of it finished before I start my psych rotation in January. I really should be studying though, cause I'm probably going to get owned on the first day of rounds. Leave a review!

margaret