"The nation is left in shock and horror in the aftermath of the massive earthquake that struck Los Angeles yesterday afternoon, killing dozens of people and injuring thousands, some of them well known celebrities of our time."

Carlos closed his eyes and tried to tune out the TV as the words blared—softly—through the speakers. He sat slumped in the chair next to Logan's bed. He'd been alone for the last hour, requesting some time to think to everyone else. They were crowding him, and after the elevator incident he couldn't stand being crowded again.

Logan hadn't changed, which didn't surprise Carlos. But it did make him feel even worse. He'd seen Logan asleep, of course, but this was so different. A machine was breathing for him. If it somehow malfunctioned or broke, Logan would die, just like that.

Thinking about it scared the hell out of Carlos. He swallowed hard.

"…Carlos Garcia, Kendall Knight, James Diamond, and Logan Mitchell—all members of the up-and-coming boy band that seem to be capturing the hearts of American's youth."

Carlos looked up at his name, seeing his picture flash on the screen with Kendall, Logan, and James. They were "among the famous injured" list, and the pictures only stayed on for another second until it moved on. Carlos sighed and shook his head.

How had it all gone so wrong, so fast? Kendall was in surgery. Logan was comatose. James was bedridden and Carlos had a dislocated shoulder and a newly developed fear of small spaces. Now what? Where in the world was he supposed to go from here?

The door burst open. "Carlos!"

Carlos jumped a foot in the air. Something slammed into him, arms wrapping around his midsection before he could recover.

"Maya," someone scolded lightly.

The seven-year-old looked up at Carlos with shining eyes. "Are you okay?"

"Fine, Maya," he said, hugging his sister tight with one hand. Looking up he saw his mother and father standing in the doorway, and he smiled. "Mom, Papi…"

Both rushed into the hospital room, hugging Carlos as he stood. "I'm fine," he told them over and over. "It's just dislocated. I'm fine." He looked behind them and felt a pang of disappointment. "Where's Marco?"

"He's on a plane here right now," his Papi told him. "He had to finish some things at Ohio State, but he'll be here in an hour or so."

Carlos nodded and hugged his family tighter. "I'm so glad you guys are here," he said, voice breaking slightly.

Sylvia couldn't stop kissing her son's forehead. She pressed her forehead to his, closing her eyes as she sighed. "How's Logan?" she asked finally, looking over at the bed.

"The same," Carlos said glumly. "They don't know when he's going to wake up."

"I'm so sorry, mijo," his Papi sighed, pulling him into another hug.

"S'okay," Carlos mumbled. He pulled out of his embrace and looked at his parents. "Um, do you have any clothes for me? These sweatpants are too loose, and my clothes are back at the Palm Woods."

"How about we go get some?" Sylvia suggested. "You can pick out the clothes you want."

Carlos hesitated. He didn't really want to leave. Actually, he didn't want to leave at all.

"Come on, mijo," Sylvia said, touching his arm briefly. "It'll be good for you. You've been here for almost twenty-four hours."

"We'll come right back?" Carlos asked uncertainly.

"We'll come right back," his mother confirmed.

Carlos looked at Logan. He wanted to be there when he woke up, but his mother was right. He would go crazy if he had to stay in this stupid hospital any longer. So he sighed, and allowed his family to lead him outside.

The next hour flew by in a blur. Every store they tried was closed or destroyed, and people had lined up the streets for giveaways. It was unbelievable. Carlos remembered seeing things like this on the news after Hurricane Katrina and the earthquakes in Chile, Japan, Haiti… but he never expected it to be happening in his own backyard. Carlos looked away from the window before he could be sick.

"Let's just go back," he suggested quietly.

"One more place," his Papi said, pulling into the packed parking lot. He turned the car off and turned around in his seat to look at Carlos. Noting how tired he looked—he'd been in and out of the car a million times before this—he said, "Do you want to stay here in the car?"

Carlos didn't know how to answer. He wanted to, yes, but he also didn't want to look pathetic. So he bit his lip and let his father decide for him.

His Papi nodded, understanding. "Maya, stay here with your brother."

Maya sighed loudly like seven-year-olds do when they're not allowed to be included in adult affairs. Carlos chuckled for the first time in twenty-four hours and kissed his sister on the forehead. They watched as their parents slipped out of the car, leaving the keys in the engine. This was the third stop they made on the street where volunteers set up shop to help get supplies to the earthquake victims. Looking around, Carlos felt his heart break for the people who would never get their homes back, never get their belongings back. He didn't belong here. At least back in Minnesota he still had a home.

Knock, knock.

Carlos looked up as a man—dressed in grimy rags and beanies, any clothing article imaginable piled up on him, despite it being almost eighty outside—peered through the window at him, reaching for the door handle. He opened it and poked his head inside.

"A car," he breathed. "With keys."

"Um, this is our car," Carlos said politely.

The man didn't seem to hear him. He started to climb inside. Carlos sat up, alarmed. "This is our car," he said firmly. "You're not supposed to be in here."

"Shuddap kid," the man mumbled, reaching for the steering wheel.

"Carlos?" Maya whimpered, clutching at Carlos' arm.

Anger swelled in Carlos' chest. He lunged forward and shoved the man out. He landed hard on his butt, staring at Carlos with a stricken, betrayed expression. Carlos barely noticed. He grabbed the handle of the door and slammed it shut, taking out the keys and locking them both inside.

Outside, the man was speaking, drawing a crowd of other dressed like him. It finally clicked in Carlos' brain—the man was homeless. Of course. A car with keys still in the ignition would be perfect for a desperate man needing a home. Which meant that the others crowding around the car were homeless too. They clutched at the windows, scratching long nails against the glass like zombies trying to get in. A woman even broke down in tears right next to Carlos' face, the thin glass window the only thing separating them.

"Carlos," Maya said. "Why are they doing that?"

Carlos couldn't answer. What was he supposed to say to that? He grabbed his sister and pulled her into his lap, putting on hand on the back of her head so he could press her to his chest. He drew his knees up, both to support her and to make more room for himself as the car started to rock to and fro as the people clutched at it from outside.

Maya started to cry. Carlos squeezed his eyes shut, feeling his heart pound. There was no way out. No way out. The car seemed to shrink in on him and Maya, leaving him breathless, terrified. It was just like the elevator—except, it was worse. It was smaller. And there were people outside trying to get in, people who wouldn't hesitate to leave them without a car if they had to.

Carlos shakily whispered a Spanish song in his sister's ear as he stroked her hair, rocking her back and forth. He didn't open his eyes once, pretending that he was back home in Maya's room when she couldn't sleep at night, rocking her and singing to her just like he used to.

"..los? Carlos? Carlos—open the door!"

The words drifted to his ears. Carlos pried his eyes open, pausing in his song, to see his mother and father pounding on the window. The people had dissipated, probably scared off when his parents came back to the car. With trembling fingers Carlos leaned over the front seat to unlock the car.

Sylvia opened the back door and pulled him outside where she could hug him properly. Carlos shook from head to toe in her embrace, barely listening as she murmured comforting words in Spanish in his ear.

"I am so sorry," she whispered. "Are you alright? We won't leave you alone like that again. I am so sorry, mijo."

Carlos looked over his shoulder at Maya, who looked about a freaked out as he felt. He turned back to his mother and said, "I guess I don't really need new clothes."

"But Carlos—"

"Can we just go back to the hospital?" he asked quietly, averting his gaze. "Please?"

Sylvia paused and sent an agonized look at her husband. He shrugged helplessly. Carlos' sudden quietness was scaring him witless, too.

"Alright, Carlos," she murmured. "Let's go."

Carlos looked around the parking lot, now devoid of people save for the volunteers as they went to pack their stuff. How long had he been in the car with his sister? How long had it taken for his parents to fight through the crowd of homeless to get to him?

He threw a glance over his shoulder at the car. It looked so tiny now, and he wasn't in any hurry to get back into that small space. "Can we just… stand out here for a second?"

"Of course."

Carlos pulled away from his mother and went to stand by himself in the parking lot, rubbing his hands on his arms even though it was pleasantly warm outside. The destruction had reached even here—the road had split precariously in different places, trees had snapped and toppled over, and buildings had collapsed. He had no idea what he thought was so strong was actually so fragile. That something as small as excessive shaking could destroy his home in so little time.

When he finally got back in the car, he didn't speak. His parents didn't offer any words, either—whether they even knew what to say to him, he didn't know. Carlos stared out the window all the way to the hospital, but he barely saw any of it. His mind was a million miles away.

Carlos shoved his hands in his pockets as he walked through the front doors of the hospital. He wanted to check on Logan and then go visit James first, because he knew James was probably going out of his mind with boredom. So, his family following close behind, he headed back to Logan's room.

He never got there. Ms. Knight held a shaking Katie, who had tears streaming down her face. Carlos stopped and stared, because Katie never cried. It just didn't happen.

"What's wrong?" he asked falteringly. "Is Logan…?"

"It's Kendall," Ms. Knight said, looking up at him. "His wounds were infected—the surgery took a bad turn." She caught her breath, like she didn't want to say the next words. "They're not sure he'll make it."