The kitchen was quieter now. The dinner plates had been cleared, and the usual chaos of family chatter had slowed to a hum of comfortable silence. Brian sat at the table, his fork idly pushing the last bits of food around his plate. The rich aroma of the meal lingered in the air, mingling with the faint scent of detergent from the recently washed dishes. His eyes seemed distant, lost in his own world, the earlier conversation about mental health stirring up memories he usually kept buried.

Jesse, sitting across from him, noticed the way Brian's jaw tensed as he stared blankly at his plate. The atmosphere had shifted, and Jesse could feel the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air. Something was brewing in Brian's mind, and it wasn't just the leftover thoughts from his earlier confession.

"Brian," Jesse spoke softly, his voice cutting through the quiet. "You said earlier that you've got other things going on... like what?" His tone was careful, not wanting to push but genuinely curious. He had seen hints of Brian's internal battles before, but there was a sense that something deeper was left unsaid.

Brian looked up slowly, his blue eyes locking onto Jesse's. For a moment, it seemed like he might brush the question off, but then he let out a long, slow breath. "Yeah," he said, his voice rougher than before. "I've got... more than just the BPD."

The rest of the family, scattered around the kitchen, began to focus on Brian's words. Dom leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, his usual calm exterior now mixed with concern. Letty, always quick to pick up on shifts in the atmosphere, set her glass down and exchanged a worried glance with Mia, who had been standing by the sink, still holding a dish towel.

Brian looked around the room, seeing their eyes on him, and for the first time in a while, he didn't feel the need to hide. "I got diagnosed with C-PTSD when I was younger," he started, his voice steady but carrying a heaviness. "That's complex post-traumatic stress disorder, in case you didn't know. It's not just from one event, like regular PTSD. It's... from years of shit. Stuff that builds up, you know?"

Jesse nodded, encouraging him to keep going. The rest of the family listened intently, their faces a mixture of confusion and concern.

Brian sighed and continued. "Growing up, I went through some stuff. Bad stuff. And when you experience trauma over a long period, your brain just... rewires itself. C-PTSD isn't just flashbacks and nightmares—it's like your whole body's on edge, all the time. I can't always trust my own thoughts because everything feels like a threat."

He paused, watching as Dom and the others processed his words. A thick silence hung in the air, broken only by the soft ticking of the clock on the wall. "It's like... sometimes I just snap. My mind goes back to those times when I had no control, and I freeze or I fight, even when there's nothing to fight."

Dom, his brow furrowed, took a deep breath. "I never knew, Brian," he admitted, his voice gruff but laced with empathy. "How can we help with that? Is there anything we can do?"

Brian offered a small, appreciative smile but shook his head slightly. "There's not much you can do when it happens. It's all internal. Just... understanding it helps. Knowing that if I'm zoned out or distant, it's not because I'm pissed off or ignoring you. My brain just... goes into overdrive sometimes."

Letty shifted in her chair, speaking up for the first time since Brian had started explaining. "That must be exhausting, always being on edge like that. Is there anything that helps?"

"Yeah, sometimes," Brian admitted. "I've been through a lot of therapy. Grounding exercises help, stuff that brings me back to the present. Reminds me I'm not in danger anymore."

Jesse glanced down at the sketchbook in his lap, his fingers running over the edges. "So, drawing helps with that too?" he asked.

Brian nodded, his expression softening. "Yeah, it does. When I draw, it's like I'm taking control of the chaos in my head. Putting it on paper makes it feel less... overwhelming."

There was a brief silence before Jesse, still visibly deep in thought, asked, "What else, Brian? You said there's more."

Brian hesitated for a moment before continuing. "OCD. Obsessive-compulsive disorder. That's the other big one. My mind gets stuck on loops—thoughts I can't shake, patterns I can't break. Sometimes I'll repeat things over and over in my head, and it's exhausting. But it's not just the thoughts; it's the rituals too. Like, if I don't do certain things a specific way, I feel like something bad's gonna happen."

Dom frowned, his arms still crossed. "Like what?"

Brian glanced down at his hands, flexing his fingers. The dim light reflected off the kitchen table, and he took a moment to collect his thoughts. "It can be anything. Checking the door ten times before I leave. Tapping a certain number of times on things. It's like... my brain tells me that if I don't do these things, something terrible is gonna happen to someone I love. I know it's irrational, but that's how OCD works. It doesn't let you reason with it."

Mia's eyes widened. "That sounds... exhausting, Brian."

Brian chuckled humorlessly. "It is. But you learn to manage it. The therapy helps with that too. Cognitive-behavioral stuff, trying to rewire the thoughts. It's a work in progress."

Jesse's curiosity hadn't waned, but his heart was heavy with empathy for his friend. "And the others? You mentioned a few more things."

Brian shifted in his seat, his demeanor becoming more guarded. "Yeah... there's the schizophrenia. I don't talk about it much because it freaks people out."

Dom's eyes narrowed in concern. "What do you mean? Are you hearing things?"

Brian nodded slowly. "Sometimes, yeah. It's not like the movies, though. It's more like... whispers. Shadows in the corners of my vision. I know they're not real, but when I'm stressed, it gets worse."

The family exchanged uneasy glances, trying to process the weight of what Brian had been carrying. The light in the kitchen felt dimmer, as if the room itself was absorbing the gravity of his words.

"Schizophrenia is complicated," Brian explained, running a hand through his short-cropped hair. "It's like my brain doesn't always interpret reality the same way everyone else's does. I can have these moments where I'm not sure what's real and what's not. But I've learned to manage it, mostly. The meds help keep things in check, but it's still a battle."

Dom, always the protective figure, stepped forward. "Brian, why didn't you say anything about this before? You've been dealing with all of this, and we didn't even know."

Brian shrugged, his expression tired. "It's hard to talk about. Especially the schizophrenia. People hear that word and think I'm dangerous or crazy. But I'm not. I'm still me. Just... with a few extra hurdles to jump over."

Letty, ever the pragmatist, asked, "Is there anything specific we can do to help with all of that?"

Brian gave her a grateful look. "Just... be patient with me. Sometimes I might need space. Other times, I might need someone to remind me what's real and what's not. And if I ever start acting weird, just know it's not because I'm mad or upset. It's just... my brain doing its thing."

Jesse leaned forward, his voice soft. "And the rage disorder? You mentioned that too."

Brian sighed heavily. "That one's tough. Intermittent explosive disorder, they call it. It's like... I don't always have control over my anger. I can go from zero to a hundred in seconds, and when I do, it feels like I'm out of my body, watching myself explode."

Dom, looking as if a puzzle piece had clicked into place, nodded. "That's why you've always been so quick to walk away when things get heated. You've been managing it on your own."

Brian nodded. "Exactly. I've learned to walk away, take a breath. But sometimes, when I'm too overwhelmed... I don't always catch it in time."

Letty crossed her arms, her expression serious. "We'll keep an eye out. If you start to lose control, we'll help you get grounded."

Brian's eyes softened, grateful for the support. "Thanks. It means a lot to know I don't have to do this all on my own."

As the room fell into a contemplative silence, Brian felt the weight of the conversation hang in the air like a heavy blanket. For years, he had been carrying the burden of these mental health struggles, silently managing them while trying to keep the family together. But now, with everything out in the open, it felt like a new chapter was beginning—one where he wouldn't have to carry it all alone.

Jesse reached across the table, placing a hand on Brian's arm. "You've got us, Brian. We're in this together."

Brian smiled, a genuine, grateful smile that