A/N Reorganized the chapters

Another hour or so went by after getting home. Virgil laid there, unmoving, face down on his mattress. Downstairs, he heard the door slam and then the stairs fighting under the pressure of stomping feet. His door swung open, slamming against the wall with a loud bang. He could feel his heartbeat throbbing inside his head, begging for quiet once more.

"Virgil! You're supposed to pick your brother up. What are you still doing here?" Jennifer yelled as she marched through the door.

Virgil's eyes parted, but it certainly wasn't a wonderful sight to see. "Isn't Scott supposed to pick him up." He said, a statement rather than a question.

"No, and don't worry about what your brother is doing. We are talking about you, no one else, so hurry up and get going. He expected you 5 minutes ago."

The door slammed once more, and again, Virgil closed his eyes. 'It was definitely Scott's turn to pick up the younger one,' his head protested, even as he forced his arms to push him up.

He didn't bother with his music this time, he knew his head couldn't handle the noise. Instead he grabbed his jacket and headed down the wooden stairs, meeting the self-centered 'mother' at the bottom.

"I expect you to go straight there and straight back. No extra stops or any distractions. Get back here before any of your bothers do. Understood?"

He nodded, not wanting to speak.

"Understood." She said again, with more force.

He glared at her, but managed to push a strained "Yes," past his lips. "where is he even at?" He asked in a low tone.

"You should know that already, from when you were asked to pick him up."

Virgil just looked at her, 'yeah that's so helpful, thank you,' he thought sarcastically.

"The Knight's." She replied angrily, apparently losing her patience.

"You mean Evan? Do you realize how far that is? How am I supposed to get home before the rest of the

guys?"

"Guess you'll have to figure it out." She smiled to herself.

He walked to the front door. During the conversation, his headache was forgotten, but now it returned with the force of a football tackle.

The autumn air nipped at his face, in the little light that was left, he could just barely see his breath. He sighed, knowing the only way he would make it to his brother in time was to run there and walk back. In reality, it wasn't far, but to get back before the rest of his brothers, he'd have to move fast.

—•—•—•—

He made it in record time, but only because he didn't want to face the wrath of his father for not listening to Jennifer. Catching his breath, he walked up to the door, but before he could even bring his hand up to knock, it swung open.

Gordon stood there, locking eyes with Virgil. "What are you doing here?"

"What does it look like? Picking you up. Although I'm pretty sure it was supposed to be Scott." He said, the last sentence more to himself than to his brother.

"Okay," Gordon said, deflecting any more chances for future conversation.

Virgil continued home, walking slightly behind Gordon, occasionally bringing his hand up to rub his temple. He just wanted to go home so he could sleep off his headache, but he knew with Jennifer around he wouldn't be able to.

And he was right.

—•—•—•—

Virgil had just closed the front door behind him when his father's car had rolled up with the rest of his brothers. He was so lucky he ran there otherwise who knew what would've happened.

He made his way to the staircase, feeling like that was where he spent quite a bit of time, not including school. Home sweet stairs. There was always something to do with them. One step from the top, he heard the door swing open and his brothers' lively chatter enter the house. A bitter breeze swept up towards him and sent violent shivers down his spine.

He had just made it to his bed when he was called back down the stairs. He just wanted sleep. Was that too much to ask every once in a while? With his family, it certainly seemed so. His father sat in the living room, but he didn't look angry for once. He told Virgil to help with dinner, claiming he doesn't help that much and saying that he needs to help out more. He must have seen an argument brewing on Virgil's lips, as he proceeded to say his brothers help all the time, doing way more than him. That's what he says every time. What Virgil was really going to say ceased to form, as he didn't want his father to interpret him having a headache as an excuse to try to get out of work.

—•—•—•—

After cooking dinner, emptying the dishwasher, filling the dishwasher and clearing the table, just like every night, it was just past 9 pm. He could finally enjoy the rest of the night and sleep. His father walked past his door, talking to Jennifer, he guessed. "Why'd it have to be him?" That sentence again. 'Why him?' Those words echoed around his head as he drifted off to sleep. What does his father have against him? He sounds so sad whenever he says it.

Normally, Virgil doesn't dream, yet tonight, not only did he dream, but it also felt so real. He was back at the lacrosse field, lights glaring down at him as he laid on his back. Even in his dream, his head pounded. He tried looking around and caught a glimpse of his helmet a few yards away, 'how'd it get there?'. Someone yelled his name and were suddenly standing above him. They took off one of his gloves, then upon release, his arm fell limply back to his side. He couldn't move his arms. He must have made some sort of noise as the figure said it would be alright. He was starting to panic, he felt as though he couldn't breathe, which only succeeded in making him panic more.

He woke with a start, sat up straight, and tried to get enough oxygen cycling into his lungs. His clock read 2:47am. His headache was mostly gone. He was still tired, but he didn't want to go back to sleep in fear of another dream.