"hey," molly sits down carefully on her brother's bed, trying to be as quiet as possible. her own head was buzzing about, trying to block out her family's thoughts and the other patients and staff to focus solely on her brother's face, swollen and ashen.

mark's one unharmed eye focuses on her in a way that she hasn't seen in years. she regrets it; all this time bouncing messages to and from each other and she hadn't ever taken up his offer to come see her. and he still smiles at her, wide and lopsided. "hey, moll. y'okay?"

guilt surges, settles down in her bones at the look on his face. she can feel it spread, folding in the years of missed text messages, voicemails volleyed between them, awkward meetings and years of silence. the last time that she remembers having a conversation with him was when he and matthew graduated, heads together, pulling her in for an awkward photo op.

it's nothing compared to the view of him here now, in this bed, shrunken in places, swollen in others, and a pale version of the brother she knew.

"i'm okay," she strokes his hair, ignoring the loud, obnoxious thoughts of their(his) father, the static silence of her mother, and matthew's panicked ones. "wish you could have called me in a better situation."

"would you really have come?" his brow furrows. he doesn't mean that to be cruel, but it's still a knife between her ribs. "you only show up for the big stuff, y'know." he grins again, but his focus fades a little, fingers reaching out for hers.

she obliges him, fingers tightening around his, his thoughts, she slips into easier than everyone elses: fuck i hope i walk again -- glad to see her it's not fair mom and dad are assholes -- matthew is still gonna be so pissed -- i'm so tired---

molly takes a breath, and lets it out. she's gotten used to lying in relationships; lying to her boss about her motives, lying to people to make her seem a better peerson than she was simply to keep up her obsessive desire to discover the picture perfect family she'd been denied, lying to keep some semblance of control. but this is different. "i promise i'll keep showing up. i'll be here the next time you wake up."

his eyes flutter, and he nods. "pinky promise?" it's a half joke; she can see the vague memory of them as kids, spitting into her palm and he and matthew following. shaking hands, messy but sincere.

she doesn't do that now, but hopes he can feel the same sincerity as he had as a child. "pinky promise."

his thoughts are less words than emotion: hopeful, and happy. "m'kay. good night."

she stays holding his hand until his thoughts slow into dreams.

she stays, and stays and considers praying for him. instead, she makes sure that she gets up as easily as she can, and to talk to her parents, and to matthew.

even if they aren't really her family, matthew and mark are her brothers by choice. and she should do for them, at least, even if the rest of her family didn't do for her.

when she exits the room, she finds her father standing there, arguing softly under his breath with her mother, her face set in stone. matthew hangs out furthest away, glancing at her once. (when did he get so tall? and when did he start resembling their mother so sharply?) molly resists the urge to dive into his head as she walks over to him, tugging at his arm.

he lets himself be lead away to the snack machine, his steps measured equally with hers. the silence there is welcoming, the simple punch of buttons breaking it. once the bag of chips hits the bottom of the machine, she finally says, "i think he'll be okay."

matthew opens the bag, and doesn't look at her. god i don't want to hear this. the resentment in that follows his mouth when he speaks. "i know."

he deserves to feel resentful and distrustful. it doesn't stop her from saying, "i'll be here for you both. i promise."

he smiles at her. and she's lying, right on time. the thought is sharper than anything else, and she wonders when she became this person in front of their eyes.

"i'm not lying," she snaps before she thinks better of it.

"i didn't--," confusion blooms on his face. before he can voice the thought of how did she know? her cellphone rings. it gives him the perfect moment to turn away from her, and retreat down the hall.

what else is there to do but to look at the caller: her boss. fuck.