He was pleased to be home, to get away from the eyes and hands and false smiles.

He fled to his room and climbed under the bed, crawling to the far corner, safe and sound and surrounded by darkness. The small, tight space that hid him from the world. No one had ever found him here, and that was what he wanted, needed: sanctuary. Escape.

He could hear them enter every now and then, they'd look and call out, but they never found him.

Time passed, the shadows along the floor shifted and faded; he fell asleep and awake again, stiff and sore. A plate of food sat in the middle of the room but he didn't move to collect it. He wasn't hungry.

Kayo entered, calling out. They were going to pick up their grandmother. She was asking if he wanted to go. He cringed, biting into his hand and shutting his eyes against the new information, but that didn't help. He was back at the explosion, the sickening thuds as his brothers fell.

Grandma coming home meant she would want to help, she would need to smother him, to get him to explain what had happened and how and why. It was bad enough to know what had happened, to constantly be reliving it, but to put it into words? To admit what had happened? That it had been his fault? Alan didn't think he could cope with that. So now he lay here in his dark little burrow, crushed by guilt and memories and the fear of what was to come.