Author's Note: Boo! Sorry for the recent delay. If anyone's still out there reading, here's a Hank chapter.

Hank

I pull the car to a stop in the gravel driveway at Shadow Pond, and promptly jump out of the driver's seat. I bolt over to the passenger side right as the door swings open. "I told you to wait for me!" I yelp, my hands on my hips.

My brother looks up at me, even as he is poised to exit the vehicle, and I see his irritation with me rising. "My ability to get out of a car is not related to my adrenal gland, Henry. I didn't lose it in the hospital."

"OK, ok, fine" I placate him quickly, but can't resist adding a cautionary "Just… watch your step," as I help him out of the car. He grimaces a little as he straightens up, and I quickly brace him with my arm around his waist, guiding his arm around my shoulders and forcing him to lean on me. He groans as I do this, but it's not from pain, though I'm sure he's experiencing a certain level of discomfort at the activity. More like from annoyance. At me.

Admittedly, I'm hovering. I'm well aware of that, and perhaps treating him like porcelain isn't entirely necessary, but I can't help myself. Evan has had a remarkable recovery time – discharged today after only a week in the hospital, and only two of those days spent in the ICU. He's still going to need to take it easy before the radiation treatments begin, however, so I can hardly be blamed for wanting to get him here and safely settled in.

But, true to form, despite being on the road to recovery from the surgery, he's also easily frustrated that it's taken so much out of him. Frankly, even though it was deemed safe enough to leave the hospital, he still has a fair amount of post-operative discomfort, not to mention he's as weak as a fluffy little kitten. We both know it, and it pisses him off. If he's this irked at his lack of strength now, I shudder to think where we'll be a few weeks into the radiation.

"Dude, you don't need to do this," he insists as I force him to allow me to bear his weight. "I can walk to the door."

"Nope."

"It's like ten feet."

"Nope."

"Nothing bad is going to happen to me in ten feet!"

"Nope."

"Is that all you're capable of saying?"

"Nope." I have to fight a smirk, inwardly wondering how long I can keep up the one-word reply before he hauls off and hits me.

"If you even think about carrying me over the threshold, I'm going to give you such a pinch."

"Well, we're already here, so no use complaining now," I grunt as I try to find the right key on the keychain. I am doing this one-handed, not allowing my grasp on my brother to slacken.

Hearing me grumble as I fumble, Evan snickers. "You know, you could just prop me up against the doorframe until you're ready."

"Hilarious. And I AM ready," I say triumphantly showing him the correct key. I put it to work in the door, and soon we're in.

"Home sweet guesthouse," I announce, guiding Evan through the doorway. "Watch your step here…" I gently remind him about the small step down from the foyer. I can hear him mutter a quietly incredulous Oh my God, but he doesn't say much else. I guess that's good for me.

"Ok, where to, bro? The couch, or upstairs?" I'm assuming he's going to want the couch, since the big screen is down here. My top priority is establishing his location somewhere so he can get comfortable and rest after the flurry this morning that checking out of the hospital involved; Dad, who agreed to make a grocery run for us since we have nothing edible in the house at present, will be here a little later, and then we can have lunch before Evan goes down for a nap. Wow, I'd better not let Evan know that I'm planning our day as if he were an infant.

"Well that depends," Evan looks at me warily. "If I said I wanted to take a shower first and wash off all that hospital grime, would that involve you standing in there with me? Because the bonds of brotherhood only stretch so far, Hank."

He has a point there. I mean, I don't really care – as a doctor, it's all the human body to me, but as a sibling… yeah, I don't particularly want to do that, either. "I'll make a deal with you, ok? You can take a shower, and I will just wait out in the hall until you're finished. But if you start feeling funky, for God's sake, call me. The last thing either of us needs is for you to wind up back in the hospital because you fell in the bathroom."

Evan crinkles his nose, but nods in agreement. "Ok, fair enough." Together we head to the stairs, pausing a moment to study the narrow passageway. In terms of mere logistics, I'm not entirely sure how to get Evan up the stairs while still providing support. Short of carrying him, that is, and not only would he kill me, I truly don't think I could physically manage it up an incline that steep. I see him glancing my way, and once again rolling his eyes at me (I swear, he's going to do that once too often and they'll get stuck in the back of his head). "Here's a thought: how about you let me go first?"

We begin the climb, Evan setting the pace. I am right on his heels, my hand hovering near his back, spotting him in case he should fall backwards. I'm barely aware that I'm muttering things like, "Slow down" and "Take your time" and "Watch your step" until my brother stops in his slow ascent. Breathing heavily, with small beads of sweat on his forehead, he turns around and gives me a look. "Henry? Helmet," he growls.

I raise my eyebrows. "Really?" He nods emphatically. "Ok, sorry, I'll try to stop."

I'll admit it: in years past, especially right after Mom passed away, I became very… aware of my responsibility to keep Evan safe. There were times I would actually call him at school and have them page him to the office, just so I could hear his voice and be sure he was alright. It was only after several months that I was made aware that not only was this causing Evan embarrassment in front of his classmates, it was also creating severe anxiety in him as well. Every time I called, he would start worrying something was wrong, and en route to the phone in the school office, he could get pretty worked up, fearing that this time, something would be wrong… that it wouldn't just be me checking up on him. We subsequently developed a signal, something discreet that alerted me as to when I was going overboard and told me to back off with the worry, for both our sakes. The signal was the word "helmet." Yes, as in protective (and somewhat motion-restrictive) headgear. We hadn't used the code in years, the last time being around Evan's mono ordeal his senior year, and in truth I had almost forgotten about it. But it was somehow resurrected in the past week, as Evan recovered in the hospital. I guess I finally hovered a little too close one day, the day the catheter came out and Evan was allowed to stand and go to the bathroom since he adamantly refused to use a bedpan. I was supporting him on his way to the toilet and despite some meaningful looks I lingered once we got there. I think when I started instructing him on how to relieve himself, he got fed up and in frustration he had snapped, "God, helmet, helmet! For Pete's sake, helmet!" I think he was as surprised as I was to hear that word in our own private context once again, but he made his point.

He's only used the signal one other time aside from now, which I think shows remarkable restraint on his part, given how often he used it as a kid. The timbre of his voice indicates that I should probably back off now – I suppose my quiet albeit persistent cautioning is wearing out his patience. But truly… can you blame me? I very nearly lost my brother a week ago. And then I discovered why I almost lost him. Is it any wonder that with this trauma is still so fresh and Evan still feeling its bite, I would cling to him a bit?

Taking it slowly, we finally manage to reach the top of the stairs. Evan has to pause to catch his breath once we're there; his body has lost some of the energy he's always taken for granted. It will return, of course, but it's rather adding insult to injury knowing that almost the moment he has his full strength back, the radiation will begin to strip it away once again. We don't talk about that though. Instead, we continue on to the bathroom.

Evan begins to carefully peel off his T-shirt, and I go out to the linen closet to get him some fresh towels. When I return, I see that Evan has removed his bandages covering his stitches. "Hey, Ev, you might want to keep that covered while you shower, and then clean around the stitches carefully afterwards. It's still pretty raw, the soap might sting…" I stop when I realize he's not listening to me. He's looking at himself in the mirror, frowning, as if he's seeing a stranger in place of his own reflection. "Hell…" I hear him whisper.

"You ok, bro?" I ask, trying not to let the edge of concern color the question too much.

"Man… I didn't realize…" Evan shakes his head in dismay. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"What?"

"That I look so… sick."

Uh-oh. Better put a stop to this quick. "Evan, you've been through a lot. You only just got out of the hospital, like, a minute ago-"

"Hank, look at me!" He turns to face me. I see his fair skin still about three shades paler than normal… a sickly hue, interrupted only by the colors of the incision, red and black, with some mottled greenish-gray bruising still visible around it. Without the post-operative puffiness he sported for several days, I can see how much weight he's lost in a week with the help of a predominantly Jello diet. The weight loss is most visible in his face, with his eyes looking enormous and Bambi-like, dark circles of fatigue set beneath. He seems so desperate, as if silently pleading for me to dispel his fear that he looks sick, like someone with cancer. Like someone who nearly died and who could possibly still be quietly, secretly dying. That's the real issue, I think – why this new visual reality of his reflection is causing the beginnings of a panic. Before this event happened, he was in perfect health outwardly, never imagining what chaos was occurring within. Now that he knows what was inside him all this time, it's all he can see. He views himself as a good apple with a worm inside of it, and wormy apples aren't salvageable. Even if you pull the worm out, it's still not an apple that you want to eat.

How do I reassure him that he is salvageable? How do I tell him that as far as I'm concerned, the fact that he is standing here in front of me right now – a little worse for the wear, but alive – makes him the most beautiful sight I've ever seen? I'm not sure I can say such a thing to my little brother without sounding maudlin. Instead, holding his gaze, I say gently, "I'm looking at you. And I see nothing but strength. All I see is my brother, the survivor. You're still you, Evan. This hasn't broken you and it's not going to. Remember, you've already beaten it. You've already won. Ok?" I put my hand on his shoulder.

Evan takes a deep breath, closes his eyes for a moment and then nods his head. "Yeah… yeah. Ok." Taking the towel from me, he murmurs, "Thanks."

"Yeah." Evan has been coping so well since getting his diagnosis. Aside from the tears that first day, there has been no breaking down, no wailing or gnashing of teeth, no petulant brooding, no denial, no anger or blaming anything for what has happened to him. Truly, we haven't really discussed it much since then, only occasionally referring to the cancer, and in the vaguest of terms. Words like "this" or "it" or "the thing" – benign little nonspecifics, applicable to anything before now, that have suddenly become fraught with heavy meaning. This is the first time since the day we heard the word "cancer" that his resolve has crumbled just a little… that he has been less than confident about his determination to beat it.

At least… it's the first time that I've actually seen.

I allow Evan to take his shower in private, grabbing some fresh clothes for him from his room and discretely setting them in the bathroom once he is safely behind the curtain. I wait patiently in the hallway until he's finished, about twenty minutes. When he finally gives me the all-clear, I open the door and the steam from the bathroom is visibly flowing into the hall like some supernatural fog out of a scary movie. "Feel a little better?" I ask.

"Much," Evan replies with a lopsided smile. His face is now slightly flushed pink from the hot water, but it makes him look healthier to have some color in his cheeks.

After letting me redress his incision, Evan decides he'd like to be on the couch for now, so we head back downstairs, again with him setting the pace and me at his elbow (though I try to keep the verbal cautioning to a minimum). Within minutes, I've gotten pillows and blankets and made him a nice little nest in front of the big screen. My brother is looking like a reclining maharajah when our dad comes through the door with several bags of groceries.

"There's my boys! I come bearing foodstuffs," Eddie grins as he lumbers in. "And don't worry, Evan – not a Jello cup in sight!"

I stand up to help him with the grocery bags, and out of the corner of my eye I think I see Evan making to stand up too. He can't seriously think I'm going to let him carry anything, can he? "Ahhh-ahh!" I grunt like a game show buzzer, effectively stopping him in his tracks. "Don't even think about it," I say as he seems about to form a protestation.

"Just enjoy being waited on, son," Dad helpfully supplies as he allows me to take some of the bags from his arms. "While it lasts, that is," he adds with a wink.

Evan mutters something under his breath which sounds suspiciously like "Great, a helmet AND water wings." But I could be wrong. I don't pursue it because I don't want to pick a fight. Dad and I carry the groceries to the kitchen, leaving Evan pouting on the couch in front of a talk show.

"So glad he's finally out of that place," Dad murmurs as he sets his bags down.

"I know," I nod in understanding.

"Now that he's home… what do we do?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know… what do we do? He's got several weeks before the treatments start. Does he need to do anything in particular, like sleep more, or eat a certain way, or avoid certain activities? I mean, right now he'll probably need a lot of rest, but as he recovers he's going to want to go out and do things. Should we let him?"

"Dad, he's not a prisoner – of course we let him! I mean, we should make sure he doesn't overtire – he's still healing. But he can go out to dinner and go to the beach, and meet HankMed clients…" I trail off as I think about that a little harder. "Although, once the treatments start, I don't think coming on housecalls with me would be a good idea. His immune system will be screwed up, and I don't want to expose him to whatever any patients might be suffering from." I frown. Evan won't like that very much. If there's one thing he loves, it's marketing HankMed, often to my chagrin.

"Well, if he's going to be as worn out as you say, he probably won't feel like it anyways," Dad reminds me.

"That's true." I sigh. "To be honest, Dad, I think we're just going to have to deal with each day as it comes. At this point, we don't know how severely the radiation will affect him. There may be times when he feels okay, and times when he won't be able to get out of bed. But listen, I think it's important that we don't treat him like a sick person, you know?" My mind flashes to the scene in the bathroom earlier.

"That's surprising, coming from you…" Dad arches his eyebrow at me, smirking as he sets the milk in the fridge. "Isn't your new nickname 'Helmet Hank,' or have I not heard that correctly?"

"It's just 'Helmet,' and it's not a nickname, it's... it's a… whatever, it's not important. And I'm not treating him like he's sick – I'm trying to help him as he recovers. He's still a bit weak and sore from the surgery and I… I'm just… being a brother!" I am getting a little defensive here. Sure, I've been hovering over Evan, but not any more than I usually do when he's down with something. Dad knows exactly what I mean – that we shouldn't act all funny around Evan because of the cancer. And I am NOT acting funny – I'm acting exactly how Evan would expect me to act. If I wasn't assuming my role as the overprotective big brother, I wouldn't be acting like myself, and THAT would make Evan uncomfortable.

All this I mutter as I defensively start to make a sandwich for Evan, who is in the living room completely unaware that this conversation is even happening. Thank God for that!

Dad attempts to mollify me. "Hey, son. You know I'm not disagreeing with you, right? If you think we should treat Evan as normally as possible, then that's what we'll do. Just… keep me accountable, ok? Let me know if I need to do something different." He gives an embarrassed shrug. "I'm… not as good with these sorts of things as you are. You know more about it, so you need to help me if I do the wrong thing." He awkwardly reaches for Evan's sandwich, offering to take it to him. "Here, let me-"

"No! I've got it." I answer a little more abruptly than I intended, while simultaneously pulling the plate closer to myself, as if it were "The Precious" and I was an animated Andy Serkis. Eddie looks disappointed and a little taken aback, so I add in a softer tone, "Can you get Evan some water?" His eyes brighten slightly and he nods at me.

I don't know why I jumped so quickly when I saw Dad trying to take control of something as innocuous as a sandwich. Like it really matters who brings Evan his lunch! And yet…

Dad and I have been getting along so well since the day Evan got his diagnosis and Dad vowed to stay by his side. It's been such a relief to be able to believe that he really will step up, stick around, and not add trauma upon trauma. And I personally felt good that Eddie would be around to shoulder some of the burden this time.

And yet…

God help me, I actually felt momentarily irked by Dad's offer to take the sandwich just now. If it had happened ten years ago… hell, even ten days ago, I would have physically slapped the man's hand away. As good as our rapport has been, I felt a flash of indignation at him… like, "How dare you try to interfere! He's MY brother. If anyone is going to bring him a sandwich, it's me!" Which is… just crazy! As if he was somehow infringing on my territory… as if the years of being just the two of us means that Evan belongs solely to me, and Eddie doesn't have the right to take any portion of my little brother away from me.

All of this is insanely irrational, which I realized as soon as I had rejected Eddie. He isn't out to 'take Evan away from me,' neither physically nor emotionally. Shaking my head, I'm wondering if all the stress of the past week and my little brother's brush with death has made me not just overly cautious, but also a little possessive of him. Or maybe it was the last twenty years or so without Eddie's presence that has done that. Sheesh, what's wrong with me? I need to shape up, because Dad is going to be around. He will need to have time with and access to Evan, too. It's just… a new, unfamiliar situation.

I bring the sandwich into the den, only to find Evan sound asleep on the couch. "Ev?" I whisper, just to ascertain whether he's truly asleep or just dozing. There's no response. I smile and pull the blankets a little higher, covering him comfortably. I head back to the kitchen to let Dad know Evan is sleeping. We'll have our lunch, and Evan can have his whenever he awakens.

Later that night...

Evan... I wake up in a cold sweat. It's dark and I'm not completely sure where I am. The glowing numbers next to me say 2:17. In the morning? Where's Evan? I'm still half lingering in my dream – was it a dream? Where something is wrong with Evan and I have to fix him before it's too late, but I can't find him...

It takes me a few minutes to remember that I'm in my room. And Evan is… down the hall in his room. For the past week I've spent every night with him in his hospital room, even when he was out of danger. I guess I panicked when I woke up and realized he wasn't in here with me. He's fine… he's down the hall, sleeping… it was just a dream. Right? Maybe I should go check on him… just to be sure…

Before I can make a move to get up, my door opens. I see a shadowy outline and hear a soft, "Hank, are you ok?" Relief inexplicably courses through me when I hear Evan's voice. I actually feel myself shaking, I'm so relieved.

"Evan? What're you doing up?" I ask, trying to hurriedly reassert myself back into my Big Brother disguise, but my voice seems oddly quivery.

"I heard you calling me," Evan answers, walking forward now. I guess he was waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness in my room. "You want to talk about it?" he asks as he eases himself onto the edge of my bed. I can make out the glimmer of his eyes, and I feel them trained on me.

"Talk about what?" I shrug, feigning ignorance.

"The bad dreams."

"I don't know what you mean," I huff.

"So you weren't having nightmares about me?"

"No! Of course not. Whatever made you think that?"

"I've told you for years that you talk in your sleep, bro. That is, when you're not snoring." Evan chuckles a bit. I can't respond to that because my jaw drops open. "We've spent the past week sleeping in the same room, Hank. The first couple of nights, I was too doped up to know anything. But as the meds tapered off, it was easier to wake up when I heard you. Especially since you were saying my name – I thought you were talking to me. So come on, spill."

I hem and haw a moment before coming clean. "It's not really a nightmare, just an anxiety dream… I don't know where you are, and I have to find you quickly, because you're… hurt or… or sick… and I have to save you. But I can't find you, and I'm calling you, but you don't answer. And I just start to panic that I won't find you in time… or at all…"

"Turn on the light, Hank."

"What?"

"Just turn it on." I lean over and switch on the lamp on the bedside table. The sudden light makes both of us wince, squeezing our eyes shut. "What do you see?" I hear Evan ask me.

"I can't see anything right this second!" I mutter, allowing a few more seconds to pass as I hesitantly blink my eyes. Finally I can actually look around in the comfortingly-lit room. And there's my little brother, sitting on my bed, also squinting a little, but searching my face. He looks so concerned about me and I feel completely ridiculous. How dare I make him worry about me when his life is being turned upside down? How dare I make him come running to my room to calm my nightmares when he needs to be resting? I'm the rational older brother – I'm supposed to be taking care of him. Man, I have really been slouching in my role lately.

"Look at me. What do you see, Hank?" Evan repeats. "Do you see me here, in your room?"

"Of course."

"You can see that I'm alright? That I'm… not in need of immediate medical attention?" He smiles softly at me, and I wonder if he was about to say he was "perfectly healthy" before he paused and remembered that… he's not. That's what he would've said any other time.

I swallow and reply, "Yes, I see you." It occurs to me, in a wisp of a fleeting thought, that this is the second time today that Evan has demanded that I look at him, and how different those situations were. Earlier, Evan begged me to look at him, with dismay filling his eyes, in order to assuage his fears. Now, he's quietly asking me to do the same thing, but in order to calm mine.

I attempt to brush off his concern. "I know you're ok, and I know you're just down the hall. I just… didn't see you when I woke up and… I forgot we weren't in the hospital anymore and I got confused. It's been a stressful time, you know? I didn't mean to wake you up, this time or any of the times before. I think I have some earplugs somewhere, if you'd like to use them…"

"Well, actually, I was going to offer to stay in here with you – just in case you 'get confused' again."

I stare at my bedspread, embarrassed. "Ev, geez, we're adults." It was one thing to let Evan climb into bed with me after a nightmare when we were children. Doing it now would just be… lame. Especially since he wasn't the one who had the nightmare this time.

"Duh." Evan rolls his eyes. "We've also just had a pretty rotten week, filled with more angst than anyone needs in a lifetime, and we're both tense and exhausted. And hey, maybe I need the comforting presence of my brother in the same room with me, just for one night. You wouldn't deny me that on my first night home, would you?"

I stare at him silently, thinking hard about my response. Then I sigh, and scoot over to make room for him. He grins impishly at me and crawls forward to settle himself on a pillow. Wondering how this became a favor for him, I switch off the light as we both settle in. "Now listen," I say, in a serious tone. "This isn't one of our twin beds – this is a king-sized mattress. Which means there will be no excuses if you start kicking me."

"Well, as long as you don't snore, we shouldn't have a problem," Evan responds, without missing a beat.

"God, ok! I'll give you the talking in my sleep – fine. But for the millionth time, I do NOT snore."

"Look I'm not blaming you – you kind of can't help it with that schnoz of yours."

"I don't snore, Evan."

"Dude, you totally do."

"Do not."

"Do too."

"Do not!"

"I recorded you doing it!"

"That was not proof – that was a sound on a static-y cassette tape that could have been anyone or anything! And it sounded like a camel with dry heaves. No human being could have made that sound."

"Well, since it was you, I guess you're not human then."

"God, I swear…."

And oddly enough, with my brother close by and arguing with me like it's the most normal thing in the world, I know I'll be able to sleep now. I'm finally comforted.

To be continued...