He could only watch as Scott finally cracked; he'd been holding it in for so long. Too long.
Scott never had been one for letting his emotions out.
Their father had never been one to believe that men, even boys, showed emotion. They didn't cry.
He buried his head in his hands, crumpling forward against the bed. Crushed by whatever it was as his shoulders hitched, breath catching painfully as he struggled to breathe. Instinct was to reach out, to pull him close and hold him.
But he couldn't. He was broken.
They were broken.
Scott was talking, saying something. He could tell by the movements, the odd catch of his lips. He suspected, though, that even if he could see them, he wouldn't be able to work out what was being said. His brother tended to speak quickly when agitated, the words blurring or lost to each other, and this was mostly certainly one of those moments.
After a few minutes, it became clear that he wasn't going to calm down by himself. 'Scott. Scooter, look at me,' he pleaded softly. He wanted to reach out, he almost tried to before the pang of realisation hit his heart. He was willing his brother to look up at him, to edge away from this pit he seemed to be at risk of falling into. Scott frowned taking a deep, unsteady breath, letting it out slowly before looking at him. 'Breathe, Scott.' He offered a small smile.
His brother nodded, but it took too many minutes before he could look at him properly. It was painful having to sit and watch his brother trying to pull himself back together, collect the shattered parts of himself.
'Scott?'
'Yeah…' He sniffed, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his horrid hospital top.
It didn't seem like Scott was going to finish whatever it was he had started to say, was trying to get across, and as much as he wanted to know, he couldn't and wouldn't push the subject.
He simply had to wait.