Author's Note: Everything in italics takes place when the twins are seven years old; it's a memory. Everything not in italics takes place when the twins are twelve years old.

Chapter 2: Sacrifice Road

Bill stroked Tom's forehead softly. "Shh. Shh, it's okay," he whispered. "I'm still here. It'll be okay."

"It won't," Tom moaned. "Nothing-will ever-be the same-again…" His shoulders shook with his voice.

A sob escaped his older brother. Older, but still younger in a way. Bill rubbed his hands over Tom's back, soothing and comforting him the way their mom always did. Truthfully, he felt his world falling apart just as much as Tom's world. Tom was breaking down now, though, and he would be there for him as much as needed. His own eyes were dry; his grieving had all been done earlier, in the privacy of the shower, tears mixing with running water.

"Shh, shh," Bill said again. The front of his pajama shirt was damp.

"It's because of me, isn't it?" Tom cried. "It's my fault!" A new fit of sobs racked his seven-year-old frame.

"What?" Bill stopped moving his hand across Tom's back. "How could you think that?"

"He hates me!" Tom wailed. "He hates what I am!"

"What are you talking about?" Bill protested. "Tomi, what do you mean?"

The only response was yet another sob. "What is it, Tom?" Bill asked again. He resumed rubbing his brother's back.

Tom didn't reply, only shook his head and continued crying.

Bill woke up with a start. There was a tapping noise coming from the door of his room. Groaning, he rolled out of bed and shuffled over to the door, wondering about the significance of his dream. He hadn't thought about that day more than eight times in the past five years.

He opened the door to find his older brother standing there.

"Why didn't you just come in?" he asked in surprise. Tom squirmed a little, then seemed to shrug. "Well, come on, then," Bill said, swinging the door open wide and stepping aside. Tom walked in, wringing his hands, and Bill shut the door and climbed back into bed. Tom hesitated, then settled down onto the bed as well, laying on top of the sheets instead. He slid away as Bill tried to nestle up to him, giving him a small smile to reassure him. The moonlight poured in the window and illuminated his troubled looking eyes.

Ever resilient, Bill reached out and took one of Tom's hands in his. "What's wrong?" he said softly.

Tom glanced away. "You have the same dreams as me…" he whispered. His eyes flickered back to his twin's face.

"Yeah," Bill replied. Tom's eyes closed and he seemed to be bracing himself for something. "I never told you…why," he began, struggling with the words.

"Why…you said-why you though it was…your fault?" Bill finished for him.

"Yeah." Tom's voice was small and strained, his eyes open again. He took a deep breath. "If you're going to-if you hate me, it's…I understand," he said.

"Tom, you know I could never-"

"Let me finish. Please," he added. And please, even if you do end up hating me, please don't tell anyone else." His gaze was steady, scrutinizing his younger brother's face. Promise me," he said.

"Of course," Bill agreed. "I promise." He gave Tom's hand a soft squeeze.

"Okay," Tom said. "Thank you. Good." He nodded to himself, then took another deep breath, his eyes closed. Opening them again, Bill noticed they were hard, set, and determined.

"I'm gay."

Bill's fingers twitched, but he didn't pull away. He was silent, gazing at his twin.

A minute passed, two, three. Finally breaking the deafening silence, Tom asked, "Do you hate me?"

"No."

Another minute passed as Tom waited.

"Well, say something, then," he pleaded.

"Why-how could you have thought that that would've caused…?" Bill appeared flummoxed.

"I don't know, I just…I hated myself, after-well, not after I 'realized' it, because I always knew, but after I realized it was a bad thing." He stared off into space, remembering.

"You know-I mean, it's not a bad thing. You know that, right?" Bill asked. "It's not a big deal. I'll still love you, no matter what. I'm here, always."

"Are you sure?" Tom whispered. His eyes looked watery, as though he were about to cry.

"Always."

Bill moved toward him again, and this time Tom didn't pull away. He snuggled in closer, resting his head on his brother's chest, and Bill felt a single tear land on his shirt. He began rubbing Tom's back, just as he had done five years ago.

"Always," he whispered again.