These next few chapters are the one's I'm most excited about doing, now the introduction is out of the way. I've been planning them for a long time, and I think I've turned RJ into a way more complex character than he was ever intended to be!

!TRIGGER WARNING! Mentions of parental abuse, illness and death.

The Truth I Won't Speak

In the weeks after the incident at the vets, RJ did everything he could to shove the memory into a dark corner of his mind. The stitches dissolved, the bruises faded, and on the surface, life returned to normal. But it was all a façade. Beneath his cocky grin and swaggering confidence, those words lingered like a toxin in his bloodstream: He'd probably only have lived for another few months.

Determined to prove that he was fine, RJ threw himself into action. With a manic zeal, he poured his energy into planning more daring heists than ever before. Each one was bigger, bolder, more absurdly complicated than the last. The Hedgies were swept up in the whirlwind of activity as RJ's escapades became a near daily occurrence. If he felt his legs trembling beneath him or his bones throbbing with a dull, unshakable ache, well – it was just the price of his newfound pace. The exhaustion was nothing more than a side effect of living too much, right?

The Hedgies, for their part, were thrilled by RJ's electrified energy. Easter brought a spectacular egg hunt that would have put the most determined treasure seekers to shame. The forest became a maze of elaborate booby traps, most of which seemed designed to hilariously (and repeatedly) target Verne. The Hedgies roared with laughter – RJ loudest of all.

Then there was the shopping mall raid, a chaotic, triumphant affair that left them laden with spoils. And, as if to cap his whirlwind of creativity, RJ found an antique projector and canvas screen, transforming quiet nights into raucous movie marathons under the stars. He even dusted off the old video camera to document their exploits again – a move that didn't impress Verne at all, who had never gotten over the infamous boomerang incident. But RJ didn't care. The old camera's whirring felt like a declaration: Look! All fine here!

Still, the cracks weren't invisible to everyone. Occasionally, RJ would catch Verne eyeing him with an odd, puzzled expression, like he was trying to solve a riddle only he could see, or Stella giving him a sideways look, muttering about how that fall must've rattled his brain more than they thought.

They didn't ask, though. They didn't press. And RJ clung to their silence like a lifeline. He couldn't admit why he was pushing so hard, why he refused to slow down. Because slowing down meant thinking. And thinking meant remembering. And remembering meant hearing that voice again – cold and clinical.

No. He wouldn't give those words power. If he just kept moving, kept laughing, and kept living louder than ever, then they couldn't possibly catch up to him.

Or so he told himself.

Denial can be a comforting illusion, a shield that keeps us from facing the harsh truths lurking beyond our consciousness. But when reality finally crashes down, its brutal – especially when we've spent to long ignoring it.

For RJ, reality hit like a freight train.

It started off subtly, almost imperceptible – the faint, nagging tickle in his throat, the slight headache that refused to let go. He brushed it off, thinking it was just another mild cold, like so many others he'd shrugged through over the years. But this time was different. This time, his body was sending a warning, and RJ, trapped in his own denial, couldn't hear it.

This flu – if that's even what it was – didn't just nibble at him. It consumed him. His throat felt as though it was on fire, raw and searing with each painful swallow. His head pounded relentlessly, a heavy, crushing weight that refused to be ignored.

What RJ hadn't seen coming was the intensity, the sheer force of it. What started as something minor swiftly morphed into a battle he couldn't escape. His body screamed in protest as it struggled to throw off the infection, but his mind – stubborn, as always – fought to carry on, convinced it could power through.

But this time, there would be no 'powering through'. This time, RJ would have to face the truth – and it was going to knock him off his feet.

The sun rose over the horizon, spilling golden light over the suburb, casting a glow over the familiar streets and homes. Like déjà vu – another heist had been planned and RJ was, once again, still asleep.

Verne's patience was wearing thin as he trudged through the forest, his mood darkening with every step. He was done. Done. This time, RJ was going to hear it – no more excuses. The whole family had been stuck waiting for him to wake up and get his act together, all because RJ was too busy sleeping in after his late-night gaming binge – or whatever else he did when he should've been getting some rest.

It wasn't fair. Verne was the one who had to keep it together. And for what? So RJ could lie there like a lump, snoring away while everyone else picked up the slack? This was it. No more sugar-coating it. RJ was getting the talk of a lifetime.

Verne stormed into the family area, his eyes immediately landing on RJ, still curled up in his booster seat, blanket pulled right around him like some kind of cocoon. The raccoon was out cold, completely unaware of the storm about to hit.

"RJ!" Verne barked; his voice filled with frustration. "Your seriously still sleep when we've got things to do, again!" He waited for the usual response: a stretch, a groan, maybe an annoyed grunt. But there was nothing.

Verne's irritation grew. He crossed his arms and tapped his foot, glaring at the still form of the raccoon. "It's not even funny anymore. Come on!" It was like talking to a brick wall.

Fuming, Verne snatched up a Twinkie. Knowing from experience it was probably he futile, he thrust the sweet treat under RJs nose, waving it in front of his face, watching for the tell-tale twitch of the raccoon's nose.

But instead, RJ just scrunched up his face and turned away, still fast asleep. Seriously? Verne's patience snapped. He tossed the Twinkie aside, grabbing a bottle of cold water.

"Alright, you asked for it," he muttered, and without warning, he dumped the entire bottle over RJ's face.

Nothing. Not a flinch. Not even a blink.

Verne froze for a second, staring in disbelief. This wasn't right. He crouched down, shaking RJs should. "RJ, wake up!" he demanded, more urgently now.

The raccoon's head flopped from side to side like a ragdoll, completely limp. Verne's heart dropped. He reached out to touch RJ's forehead – and recoiled in shock. The raccoon was burning up. Feverish. Hot to the touch, like he'd been left out in the sun all day.

His stomach twisted with a deep sense of dread. Verne yanked the blanket off, his paws shaking slightly. What he saw made his breath catch in his throat. RJ was curled up tightly, shivering.

"RJ!" Verne whispered, his voice cracking with panic. He shook him again, harder. "Come on, buddy, wake up!"

But the raccoon just lay there, completely out of it, head lolling. Verne's chest tightened, fear crawling up his spine. This wasn't just a regular sleep, and it sure as heck wasn't a simple fever.

This was bad. Really bad.

Not knowing what else to do, Verne tore back through the forest, his shell rattling with each frantic step. Moments later, he returned with Penny and Stella close behind, their faces full of alarm.

"What's that fool raccoon gone and done now?" Stella grumbled, but her voice faltered when her eyes fell on RK. He was slumped in the booster seat, trembling violently, his breaths shallow and ragged.

"RJ?" Penny's voice was soft but urgent as she knelt beside him, pressing a paw to his forehead. Her face tightened at the heat radiating from his fur. "He's burning up! Verne, grab the first aid kit. Stella, see if there's anything to bring this fever down. Quickly!"

Stella didn't need to be told twice. She tore into the kit, paws fumbling as she unearthed the supplies and thrust them into Penny's waiting paws. Penny remained calm and collected as she slipped a thermometer between RJ's lips, her other paw smoothing his fur like a mother calming a restless child.

When the thermometer beeped, Penny glanced at the numbers, and her eyes widened. "Oh no. He's spiking – badly."

"How bad?" Verne asked, hovering anxiously.

"Bad enough to scare me," Penny muttered under her breath. Then, louder: "We've got to act fast. Stella, darling, can you take care of the others? Make sure they stay away from here. RJ needs quiet, and I don't want anyone gawking at him."

"On it," Stella said, her voice unusually tight as she spared a final glance at RJ before hurrying off.

Penny turned to Verne, her voice dropping to a whisper. "We need to cool him down. Fast. The lake's close, if we can get him in the water, it might stabilise his fever until the pill can kick in."

Together, they hoisted RJ up, his weight a staggering reminder of how weak he'd become. Verne slipped an arm around his middle, while Penny took his shoulders. They moved as quickly as they could, RJ's head lolling as he let out faint, pained groans.

"Hang on, RJ," Verne muttered, his voice thick with worry.

The lake was still and quiet, the surface shimmering in the pale light. They eased RJ into the shallows, the lukewarm water lapping against his fur. Penny supported his head, propping him against a rock to keep him upright.

The shock of the change must've hit immediately, because RJ's eyes cracked open, glassy and unfocused. He let out a groggy groan, followed by a deep, rasping cough that seemed to shake his entire body.

"There he is," Verne said softly, patting his shoulder. "Good to have you back, buddy."

"What… what's going on?" RJ rasped, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"You're sick, darling," Penny said, brushing his matted fur from his face. Her voice was gently but firm. "You've been running a fever. We're trying to bring it down."

RJ blinked sluggishly, her words sinking in. then his brows knitted together, and he tried to push himself up, his strength failing instantly. "The heist… I can't… I've gotta…"

"Oh no, you don't" Penny said sharply, pushing him back with surprising force. Her tone softened as she knelt closer, her voice resolute. "RJ, listen to me. You are not fine, there is no heist important enough to risk you healthy for. Do you hear me? No more of this nonsense."

"But-"

"No 'buts'", she snapped, her eyes flashing with a mix of anger and concern. Then her voice softened. "Please, RJ. You've got nothing to prove. Not to me, not to Verne, not to anyone. Just… let us take care of you for once."

RJ's head tipped back against the rock; his energy too drained to argue further. His eyes flickered shut, and after a moment, they realised he'd passed out again.

Penny adjusted her position slightly, ensuring the water cooled his neck and chest. Verne crouched beside her, his expression tense. "Is this enough? Cooling him down, I mean?"

"It's a start," Penny replies, brushing a paw gently over RJ's forehead. "Once he's back with us, we'll need to start getting fluids into him, keep trying to bring the fever down further. I just… how could he have let it get this bad… how could any of us?"

Verne's face fell, guilt clouding his features. "He just kept it to himself."

"That's RJ," Penny said soft. "Always too stubborn to let anyone help."

"And here I thought his stubbornness was what made him invincible," Verne muttered, his voice tight. He looked down at RJ, his friend who usually radiated cocky energy, but now looked so small and vulnerable.

"Invincible or not, he's still just one raccoon," Penny said, her voice barely above a whisper. She dipped her paw into the water, brushing it gently over RJ's burning cheek. "And he's our to look after."

RJ stirred faintly, mumbling something incoherent. Verne leaned closer, trying to make out the words.

"Did he seriously just say… 'don't tell the others I'm like this?" Verne asked, blinking in disbelief.

Penny let out a soft chuckle, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Even on the edge of collapse, he's thinking about his pride. Classic RJ."

For a long moment, the two of them sat in silence, the only sound the gentle lapping of water against the shore.

As the day dragged on, Penny and Verne remained by RJ's side, the cool water lapping around him, trying to coax his raging fever back down.

Penny shifted on her knees, carefully dipping her paw into the water to wet a scrap of cloth she'd brought from the first aid kit. She pressed it gently to RJ's forehead, then to the back of his neck, the repeated motion steady and deliberate. Verne crouched beside her, his hand resting lightly on RJ's arm, both to offer comfort and to ensure he didn't slip further into the water.

RJ stirred now and again, his body wracked with occasional shudders, as he muttered disjointed words Penny and Verne couldn't quite make out.

"You think he's starting to come around?" Verne asked, breaking the silence. His voice was low, as if afraid to wake RJ prematurely.

Penny leaned closer, brushing RJ's fur back to check his temperature again. "It's coming down. Not fast, but it's happening. He just needs time."

Verne exhaled in relief, though his fingers fidgeted against his shell. "You think we should've caught this earlier? I mean… I thought he looked a bit run down over the last few days, but he kept brushing it off. I should've pushed harder."

Penny glanced at Verne, her voice soft. "He wouldn't have let you. You know how he is – always pretending everything's fine, even when it isn't."

"Yeah, well," Verne muttered, stubbornly.

At that moment, RJ let out a hoarse sound somewhere between a groan and a sigh. His eyes flickered open, unfocused but blinking sluggishly as he tried to take in his surroundings.

"RJ?" Penny said softly, leaning closer.

"Penny?" he croaked, his voice rough and thin. "Verne?"

"We're here, buddy," Verne said immediately, gripping RJ's arm gently. "Right here. You had us worried there for a bit."

RJ's brow furrowed, as if trying to remember. "The… fever?"

"It's still hanging on," Penny said softly, dabbing at his forehead again. "But it's breaking. You're doing better, RJ. You just need to keep resting."

He blinked, his gaze drifting between them. "You… stayed?"

"Of course we stayed," Penny said, her tone softening further. "What did you think we'd do, leave you to fend for yourself?"

RJ gave a faint, dry chuckle that turned into a weak cough. "Wouldn't… blame you. I'm a handful."

"You're more than a handful," Verne said, his voice teasing. "But you're our handful, and you're stuck with us."

RJ tried to smirk, but his exhaustion outweighed his usual bravado. "Lucky me."

Penny shook her head, a ghost of a smile on her lips. "Lucky us, RJ. Now stop trying to talk and save your energy."

RJ stuck out his tongue, but his eyes were already drifting closed again, but this time, there was a sense of peace in his posture. His breathing evened out, and Penny placed a paw against his forehead, relieved to feel the heat beginning to recede.

"He's cooling down," she said quietly. The tension in her shoulders eased, though the worry in her eyes hadn't entirely faded. "He'll need fluids and rest, but he's on the mend."

Verne let out a long breath, his shoulders sagging. "Thank goodness. I wasn't sure how much longer I could take the whole 'quiet bedside support' thing. Its not exactly my strong suit."

"You did fine," Penny said with a small smile. She stood, stretching her legs, then glanced towards the trees, "I should check on the kids. They've been on their own long enough, and I need to make sure they're not worrying themselves sick over RJ."

Verne gave her a quick nod. "Go. I'll stay with him. He's not going anywhere, and… I don't mind keeping watch."

Penny hesitated, looking down at RJ, whose breathing remained even and steady. Then she nodded. "If anything changes – anything – you come find me."

"I will," Verne promised.

With one last glance at RJ, Penny turned and made her way back into the forest, her steps light but purposeful.

As her silhouette disappeared into the trees, Verne turned to see RJ watching her leave through bleary eyes, his head leaning heavily against the rock.

Despite the coolness of the water, RJ was sweating, the damp fur on his forehead sticking out in odd patched. He looked vulnerable in a way Verne rarely saw, a side of him that was too raw to ignore. The turtle adjusted his position, making sure RJ remained steady in the water. Though the water wasn't deep, RJ looked far from steady, and Verne wasn't about to let him slide under and drown.

"Alright, buddy," Verne said softly. "Its just you and me now. Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on you."

RJ blinked slowly, his eyes flicking to Verne for a moment before turning back to watch the distant trees.

"She's such a good mom," RJ muttered, his voice rough, the words coming out in a strained whisper. "Those kids are so lucky."

Verne nodded quietly. "The best. Even before the triplets came along, she was always looking out for everyone. She's done so much for Heather too. I don't think Ozzie would have been able to handle things after Gloria passed without Penny… without her being there."

The words hit Verne harder than he expected, memories of lost loved ones stirring in his chest. RJ's breathing was still shallow, his eyes closing for a moment, as if even speaking took all his strength.

Verne wanted to say something to fill the silence, but then RJ spoke again, quieter this time. "What was your mom like?"

Verne blinked, caught off guard. RJ didn't ask these kinds of questions. Ever. He avoided them like the plague. The turtle didn't realise how long he'd been staring until RJ shifted uncomfortably beside him.

"You don't… have to tell me." RJ said, his voice slow and unsteady. "Just… curious."

"No, no, it's fine," Verne said quickly, offering a reassuring smile. "I just wasn't expecting it is all." He cleared his throat, organising his thoughts. "Mom was… great. It was just the two of us after my Dad passed when I was young. I don't really remember him. She had me later in life, and when I was your age, she got sick and…" Verne trailed off, his words heavy with a past he didn't often visit.

RJ's face softened, a flicker of sympathy passing through his tired eyes. "I'm really sorry, Verne."

"Don't be. It was a long time ago," Verne replied, though his eyes lingered on RJ, studying him. There was something about the raccoon's posture, the way his shoulders sagged like they were bearing a weight too heavy to carry, that made Verne wonder. RJ had never volunteered much about his past, and Verne had learned not to ask. But tonight felt… different.

"What was your mom like?" Verne asked, his voice cautious but kind.

RJ froze. Verne braced himself for the usual scathing deflection, the walls that always came up. But it didn't. Instead, RJ's face softened, his defences crumbling as if the question had reached some hidden, tender place inside him. Or maybe he was just too exhausted to keep the barriers in place.

"She was… incredible," RJ began, his voice raspy and trembling at first, then steadying as he went on. "She had this way of turning the worst situations into adventures. We were always running around, getting into trouble. She'd come up with these wild, crazy schemes to find food. It was like a game to her." His lips curbed into a small, wistful smile. "She made it fun. Even when nothing else was."

Verne offered a tentative smile. "Guess I can see where you get it from."

RJ huffed a laugh, though it was short-lived and broke off into a rasping cough. "Maybe. But it wasn't just for fun. We were… small. Both of us. Runts, really. Couldn't compete with the others for food, so we had to… improvise." His smile faltered, his expression twisting into something more conflicted. "My brother, though – James – he didn't have that problem. He was big, like Dad. Strong."

"You had siblings?" Verne asked, stunned. He wasn't sure why, but he'd always imagined RJ as an only child.

"Yeah. I was the youngest of three." RJ hesitated, his gaze dropping to the water. "Julie was the oldest. She… died before I was born. And then there was Justin. He was five years older than me."

"Julie, Justin, and…" Verne frowned, trying to inject some humour into the conversation. "Wait, weren't you supposed to be a J, to?"

RJ let out a sheepish chuckle. "Yeah. I was. I changed it."

"From what?"

"Jace." RJ's voice cracked slightly. "My mom named me after my dad. Jason. I think she thought… maybe if I had his name, he'd see me differently. You know, warm up to me." He looked away, his jaw tightening. "It didn't work. He never liked me."

Verne's chest tightened. "But… you were his son."

"Not to him." RJ voice was bitter, edged with a pain that had clearly been buried for years.

"Why?" Verne blurted, though he immediately regretted it. "I mean… you don't have to- "

"It's fine," RJ interrupted. His tone was flat now, but the rawness was still there. "He thought Mom was trying to replace Julie. I guess, in his eyes, I was just a reminder of what he'd lost. And maybe she was trying to replace her. I don't know. I never got the chance to ask."

The weight of his words hung in the air, suffocating and thick.

"You never got the chance to ask? Was that because…. Well, was that because they were killed by the weed hacker?" Verne's voice trembled. He hesitated, watching RJ as if even speaking the question might tip him over an unseen edge.

RJ didn't answer right away. He just sat there, his breathing slow and uneven, as if weighed down by something too heavy to move. When he finally stirred, his eyes flicked to Verne, distant and glassy. Then he let out a laugh – a bitter, jagged sound, spilling from his lips like it didn't quite belong to him.

"That's the joke," RJ rasped. His lips curved into a lifeless smile, but his eyes were dead. "I mean, it's not funny. Not really."

Verne's brows knitted together, confusion rippling through him like a sudden chill. "I don't understand," he said softly, carefully, afraid to break the fragile moment between them.

RJ's fingers twitched, and he stared past Verne, his voice suddenly distant, like he wasn't speaking to the turtle at all. "My mother," he began, each syllable clipped and flat, "was killed by the weed hacker. No one else."

"But you said…" Verne stammered, his voice faltering.

"That my family went away with the weed hacker," RJ interrupted, his tone laced with a bitter detachment. "I didn't say they died. Only my mom did." He paused, his gaze sliding down to his trembling hands. "I was there."

Verne's heart clenched at the weight of RJ's words. "Oh, RJ…" he whispered. "I… I'm so sorry."

RJ's lips twitched, the faintest shadow of a twisted smile ghosting across his face. "My dad wasn't," he said quietly. The air seemed to grow heavier, darker, as he spoke. "He blamed me."

Verne froze, the words hanging in the air like shards of ice. "Blamed you?" he echoed, his voice shaking. "How… how could he blame you?"

RJ met Verne's eyes then, and what Verne saw there made his stomach twist – a vast, unrelenting emptiness, as if RJ were nothing more than a hollow shell. "She told me to run," RJ said, his voice cracking. "And I did." His next breath was ragged, each word weighted with anguish. "I didn't try to save her."

Verne could only stare, horror clawing at his chest.

RJ swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper. "I was five… at the time."

Verne shook his head, his heart breaking. "No… no, RJ. You can't blame- "

"But he did," RJ cut off, his tone sharper now, jagged like broken glass. "He blamed me. Said it was my fault she died. And after that… well." He let out another short, bitter laugh. "That was the end of my family. For me, at least."

"But your brother…" Verne began, desperate to find some shred of hope in RJ's story. "Didn't he-?"

"James?" RJ's voice cracked as he said the name, his face crumpling for just a moment before he smoother it over again. "James was kind. He was always kind. But he didn't know." RJ's voice dropped lower, the words spilling from him like a confession. "He didn't know how bad it got."

Verne swallowed hard, his throat tight. "RJ…"

RJ didn't seem to hear him. His voice was flat, mechanical, as he continued. "And then… one day we got into an argument," he said, his tone unnervingly calm. "We were out looking for food. And I don't even remember what it was about. But the dog…" His breath hitched, his paws clenching into fists. "The dog woke up. He chased us."

Verne could see it in his mind, every word painting the scene in horrifying detail.

"I got away," RJ said, the words empty and cold. "But James didn't. The dog got him. And I… I pulled them apart, there was…" He choked at the memory, his breath quickening. "So much blood. Too much."

"RJ…" Verne's voice was trembling, but RJ pressed on, as if the dam had finally broken and he couldn't stop the flood. And Verne couldn't ask him to stop.

"I ran to get Dad; I didn't know what else to do. He told me to stay home. That I'd only make it worse. But he died." RJ said, his voice a broken whisper. "James died. And that was my fault too."

"No," Verne said, his voice thick with desperation. "RJ, no. you can't think that. It wasn't your fault."

RJ let out a laugh that sounded more like a strangled sob. "Dad didn't agree," he said, his voice raw. "He was furious. Beyond furious. I'd never seen him like that before. Not even after Mom."

Verne's chest ached, the weight of RJ's pain crushing him. "What did he do?" he asked softly, though he wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer.

RJ's voice dropped, his next words barely audible. "He tried to kill me."

The world seemed to stop. Verne's breath hitched, his mind reeling. "RJ…" he said, his voice breaking.

"He left me," RJ continued. "Left me in the rain. Told me I didn't deserve to live." His shoulders sagged, as if the weight of those words had finally crushed him.

The air between them was heavy, like the world had stopped moving altogether. The silence was thick with raw emotion that neither of them knew how to untangle. Verne wanted to reach out, wanted to offer something – anything – to ease the pain that hung so heavily around RJ. But he couldn't fix this. He couldn't undo what had been done to him. All he could do was let RJ know that he wasn't alone anymore.

"RJ…" Verne's voice was barely a whisper, soft but firm. "I… I don't know what to say. I can't even imagine what you've been through. But I want you to know – no matter what, I'm here for you. Always. If ever you just… want to talk."

RJ didn't react right away, his face still as stone. Verne wasn't even sure he'd heard him, until finally, RJ let out a snort which made Verne's chest tighten. "Talk," RJ muttered, shaking his head. "What good would that do? Talking doesn't change anything. It doesn't undo the things I've done." He turned away slightly, his eyes fixed on the distant shore of the lake, his shoulders hunched as if he was trying to make himself smaller. "People like me… we don't get to be happy, Verne. Not after everything."

Verne's breath caught in his throat. "What do you mean, people like you?"

RJ didn't answer immediately. His paws curled into fists, his knuckles straining as he struggled to find the words. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and strained, heavy with guilt. "I'm not like you, Verne. You're… good. You haven't hurt anyone. But me? Everything I touch… I ruin it. My mom, my brother… anyone who's ever cared about me…" his let out a shaky breath. "I've made too many mistakes. I've caused too much damage. People like me we don't deserve second chances."

Verne felt his chest tighten as RJ's words sank in. "That's not true," he said quietly, his voice trembling with emotion. "You were just a kid, RJ. You were scared. None of what happened was your fault."

RJ shook his head. "You don't get it," he said, his voice sharper now, tinged with frustration. "It doesn't matter if it wasn't my fault. It doesn't matter if I didn't mean for any of it to happen. The fact is it did happen. And I was there. And I could've done more. Should've done more. But I didn't. and now… now it's too late." He turned away again, his body trembling as he spoke. "I've lived with that for so long… it's just who I am now. A screw-up. A coward. Someone who's just better off… not getting too close to anyone."

Verne stared at him, the pieces clicking together in his mind. The carefree attitude, the sharp humour, the constant deflection – it wasn't just RJ's personality. It was armour. A mask he wore to hide the pain and self-loathing that had been eating away at him for years.

"You're wrong," Verne said, his voice firmer, more resolute. "You're not a screw-up, RJ. You're not a coward. You're someone whose been through hell and survived. And yeah, you've made mistakes. But everyone has. That doesn't mean you don't deserve to be happy. It doesn't mean you don't deserve another chance."

RJ's jaw tightened, his gaze still distant. "You don't know me, Verne," he said, his voice low and guarded. "Not really. You think you do, but you don't. You only see what I let you see. And the rest…" he shook his head. "The rest would just disappoint you."

Verne felt the weight of those words like a punch to his chest. He could see it now – there was more to RJ's story. More things he was keeping locked away. And no matter how much Verne wanted to break through, he knew he couldn't force RJ to reveal it. Not yet.

"I don't care what you think I'd see," Verne said softly but firmly. "I see you, RJ. The real you. The you that's hurting, the you that's scared. And I'm not going anywhere. No matter how much you try to push me away."

RJ let out a shaky breath, his paws trembling as he ran them through his fur. For a moment, Verne thought he might let his guard down again, might let him in. His shoulders sagged under the weight of everything he'd revealed, but instead of crumbling further, he seemed to gather himself, locking his grief and guilt back inside. Verne could see it happening – brick by brick, the walls went back up, and RJ's expression hardened.

"I don't need your pity Verne," RJ said, his voice sharper now, more defensive. "I've made it this far. I don't need you or anyone else trying to fix me."

"I'm not trying to fix you," Verne said, his voice gentle but steady. "I just want you to know you're not alone. You don't have to carry this by yourself. You don't have to hide behind that mask anymore."

RJ's lips twitched, like he wanted to laugh but couldn't quite manage it. "What mask? This one?" he asked, pointing to the markings on his face, tone dripping with sarcasm. "This is just who I am, Verne. Like it or not."

Verne shook his head, his eye's locking onto RJ's. "No, it's not," he said firmly. "The real you – the one I'm talking to now, or who I was just talking to – that's who you really are. Not the guy who cracks jokes and pretends like nothing gets to him. That's who you pretend to be because you're scared. Scared of letting people in, scared of being hurt again. But you don't have to do that anymore, RJ. Not with me."

RJ stared at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he let out a soft, bitter laugh, shaking his head. "You're wasting your time, Verne," he said quietly. "I'm not worth it."

"Yes, you are," Verne said, his voice firm with conviction. "You are, RJ. You just don't see it yet. But I do. And I'm not going anywhere."

RJ's lips pressed into a thin line, and he looked away. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, almost detached. "Thanks for saying that," he muttered. "But I'm fine… well not right now, I feel like crap."

Verne frowned, the sudden shift in RJ's tone making his stomach sink. "RJ- "

"I'm fine, Verne," RJ interrupted, his voice sharp and final, the walls now firmly back in place. He forced a tight smile, his eyes hard and unreadable again. "I've been fine for years. I don't need a pep talk."

Verne felt the sting of those words but didn't push further. RJ had shut him out again, retreating behand the mask that Verne now knew wasn't real. But he also knew that this wasn't the end. RJ had let him see the cracks, even if only for a moment.

And Verne wasn't giving up.

"I'll be here," he said quietly, even as RJ turned away. "Whenever you're ready."

RJ didn't respond, his shoulders tense, his barriers firmly rebuilt. But there was something in his posture now, something that made Verne think there were even deeper secrets RJ was keeping from him – things too painful to even think of, let alone say aloud.

Verne stayed silent, because even if RJ couldn't see it yet, Verne would be there – waiting for the day he finally let those walls come down for good.

A few weeks had passed since RJ's fever had broken, and though the worst of his illness had faded, the heavy weight of it still lingered in his chest. His body felt drained, weaker than it ever had before. The coughs had subsided for the most part, but there were times when he felt a tightness in his lungs, a burning sensation that wouldn't go away, no matter how deeply he tried to breathe.

He had tried to slip back into his usual routine, to put on the mask he was so familiar with – joking with the others, pretending to be his usual self. But something had changed in him. Something that he couldn't ignore, no matter how much he tried to push it down.

The others were busy with their day-to-day activities. He hadn't spent much time with Verne in the past few days, but he knew the turtle was watching him closely, waiting for him to crack. But RJ wasn't about to let that happen. He couldn't let it happen.

He couldn't let anyone in. Not this time.

A tightness in his chest sent a sharp pain through his ribs as he walked through the shadows, deep in his woodland home, where no one would notice him. He'd been avoiding the others, avoiding the questions they might ask. He had grown accustomed to this loneliness, this sense of isolation. It was easier this way.

He coughed, a dry, ragged sound that scraped against his throat. His chest reeled with the force of it.

But when he spat, his heart sank.

Crimson bloomed on the ground in front of him, a stark contrast against the dirt, and he knew. He knew exactly what it meant. It was happening. Slowly, but it was happening.

He wiped his mouth quickly, his paws shaking.

He couldn't deny it any longer.

The vet had been clear about what was going on inside his body – the cancer, the way it had spread, the way his body was betraying him. But he'd ignored it. He hadn't wanted to hear it. He hadn't wanted to admit it. Not to himself, not to anyone. But now, with the blood staining the ground beneath him, the truth felt more real than ever.

It was too late. He didn't have much time left.

And he couldn't tell them. He couldn't tell anyone.

The thoughts from that night – his conversation with Verne, the pain and the vulnerability he had allowed himself to show – came flooding back to him. He remembered the way Verne had spoken, his voice soft, so full of concern. "You don't have to do this alone," Verne had said.

But RJ had closed himself off. He had to.

No one could know.

They didn't deserve the burden. Not his family, not Verne. No one. He couldn't bear to see the looks on their faces, the worry in their eyes. No one deserved that, least of all them.

Not Penny or Ozzie. Not Heather, Hammy, or the triplets. He would never let them see him like this – broken, slipping away. He would hold onto his pride until the end, even if it meant carrying the weight alone.

He thought about all the mistakes he'd made. All the times he had messed up, let people down. The mess he had become. This illness – it wasn't a punishment, not exactly, but it felt like it. Like all his choices, all the ways he'd failed, had finally caught up with him.

He didn't deserve to be happy. Not after all he'd done. Not after everything he had ruined. If he'd been a better person, maybe he wouldn't be like this.

He wiped the blood from his hands on the leaves of a nearby bush. His body felt like it was made from lead, heavy and worn out, but he kept moving.

He couldn't afford to be weak. He didn't need pity. He didn't need anyone's sympathy. He would die on his own terms.

He thought about Verne again, the way the turtle had spoken to him, so earnest, so full of hope. It made RJ sick. Verne deserved better than him. Everyone did. He was the one who always dragged them down. It didn't matter how hard he tried to make things right – he always ended up messing it up.

He had to forget it. He had to push the memory of Verne's kindness out of his head before it broke him. Before he allowed himself to feel something – anything – that might make him falter.

His heart felt like it was cracking under the weight of his decision, but it was the only choice he had left. As he walked further into the woods, his cough flaring up again, he clenched his fists.

When the time came, when the pain was too much to bear, he would face it alone.

Just like he always had.

No one else could carry this burden for him.

No one else should.

Wow... Okay... So that was emotionally draining.

I probably won't update this again till after Christmas, so until then! :)