#coltseavers

I CAST FURRY BEAM!!! :D

Word count: 3.5k Warnings: Abusive father, alcoholism, violence, death

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★　　　.   　　˚　　W A Y P O I N T S *　　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　

"Ry! We're gonna be late again!" Colt shouted from the door, hanging onto the knob and turning it back and forth. "I'm coming! I'm coming!" Ryland replied, carefully placing the bug he'd found on their backyard, being extremely careful not to touch it.

He grabbed his jacket from the hanger and ran downstairs, finding his two brothers in the kitchen waiting for him. "Sorry," he said awkwardly, sitting beside Colt. "It's okay," Court said, placing the paper bag with his lunch in front of him. "How are you guys feeling?" He asked, packing his own backpack. "Good." Colt said simply, loudly chewing on his breakfast. "I'm okay," Ryland gave a nod.

Their older brother gave them a smile and finished getting ready. "Dad's gonna be here late so we won't wait up for him okay?" He said, sitting on the kitchen table with them. "Aren't you gonna eat Court?" Colt asked with his mouth full. The eldest turned to the empty egg carton and smiled, "I'm fine," he said with a dismissive hand gesture.

The three brothers went out the door and walked along the cold pavement, the wind caressing their hair as Court held both of his little siblings' hands. "No fighting, okay Colt?" He spoke to the oldest of the twins. "Fine," Colt rolled his eyes and snuck his hand out of Court's grip. "Ry, did you practice for show and tell like I told you to?" He inquired their youngest, who looked up at him and nodded. "Good," he said with a prideful smile as they arrived at the entrance of the school. "I'll be here to pick you guys at 2:30." "Bye Court!" Colt waved as he walked backwards and into the school. "Goodbye," Ryland said, hugging his brother's waist before walking after Colt.

Soon they both arrived at their respective classes and the school day began. Ryland waited for his turn to greet the professor while he held the transparent sealed box with the orange caterpillar in it, jumping on his heels with excitement. "Good morning Mrs. Peters," he said politely. "Good morning superstar," the woman returned smiling, lifting her hand to give him a high-five. "What do you have there?" She asked, bending down to look at the curious object he was holding. "I found this Atala caterpillar in my backyard! Isn't it pretty?" He exclaimed, lifting the box to show her. "It's gorgeous Ry!" The woman said with awe, "is this— what you're gonna show?" She inquired. "Mhm!" He responded proudly. "Alright well," she turned to face the class, "morning class, today we're having show and tell and—" She looke down at her excited student and smiled even more, "Ryland's gonna show us what he brought today."

Ryland took a step forward and showed his 'pet' with pride. "This is an Atala caterpillar, she will become an Atala butterfly soon— an Eumaeus atala, actually. She's extremely toxic and eats exclusively cycads!" He exclaimed, pointing at some colored spots on the bug, "oh and  droppings help fertilize the soil around their host plants." The kid said.

Some kids in the class were impressed and curious about the insect, while others (like Sebastian Williams), simply wanted to be mean. "Why are you weird?" Sebastian asked, pointing at Ryland. "I—" Ryland's cheeks heated up and his gaze dropped to the ground. "Sebastian that is not very kind of you." The teacher stood beside Ryland, putting a hand on his shoulder.  "But he is!" He exclaimed as his friends laughed. "I'm gonna talk to your parents about this." The woman declared, crossing her arms. "You did great Ry, go sit down." She murmured, ruffling the little boy's blonde hair.

But the boy's eyes had filled with tears and he left the box with the small insect on his desk, crossing his arms and hiding his face between them. "Okay kids, open your study books in page 46." Mrs. Peterson instructed.

The rest of the class was miserable for Ryland, although he loved Miss Peters' class, he knew what awaited him at recess. "You're gonna get me in trouble!" Sebastian said, walking up to Ryland, who was sitting alone in the corner of the playground, waiting for Colt. "I— I didn't do anything Sebastian," Ryland defended himself, taking a step back. "It's your fault!" He pushed him to the ground.

But at that moment, Colt was already leaving his classroom with one of his friends and saw what was happening. He immediately dropped his lunchbox and ran to his brother.

"What do you think you're doing?" He asked Sebastian, helping his brother to his feet. "Your brother got me in trouble!" Sebastian shouted, pointing at Ryland. "All because he's such a weirdo!" He insulted. "That's it—" Colt clenched his fists and jumped on Sebastian, starting to hit him with all his force. "Colt, stop it!" Ryland said, leaping in to pull him back.

Soon all the students gathered around the commotion. "What's this about?" The principal said, stepping into the circle.

Colt came out with a black eye and a couple more scratches on top of the ones he already had, but honestly, Sebastian came out worse. Even so, while the nurse was treating Colt, she noticed the other multiple injuries he had. "Mr. Gentry... is Colt a... restless, child?" The principal asked their father the moment he sat down. "Restless? Hell yeah," the man scoffed, fingers laced together and a somewhat careless smile on his face. "Never met a more energetic kid." "Well, our... nurse, was treating his wounds and found some..." The man tilted his head as he spoke, "somewhat, alarming, wounds."

Then James' face shifted. His gaze turned away and his right hand clenched on a fist as a few knuckles cracked. "Really?" He asked, turning back to the principal, who only nodded in response. He shook his head and sighed heavily, "I'll talk to his brother." He said. The principal frowned, "Courtland?" He inquired. "Yeah," James sighed again, scratching the back of his head. "He's been... getting into a lot of trouble lately, I've been trying to talk him out of it but I..." He shrugged, "I don't know, he's just been a lot more violent ever since his mother died." "Oh my goodness..." the man looked down again, "

"Show me your leg." James commanded, looking at Colt through the corner of his eye, his hands tightly holding the wheel. Colt gulped and lifted the hem of his pants, showing the bruises on it. "Fucking hell— fuck!" He hit the steering wheel angrily, "didn't I tell you to cover up well?! Didn't I?!" He shouted again, slapping the back of his head. "I'm— I'm sorry dad—" Colt muttered, his fingers holding onto his jacket. "Sorry doesn't cut it! Colt!" The man screamed again.

But Court wasn't told anything about it, and when he got out of class to walk his brothers home, they never came out.

Millions of fears surfaced in her mind, but as soon as they explained the altercation, she realized they had been alone with her father for over five hours. Only God knew what he could do to them...

He sprinted home with his heart hammering on his chest, finding an eerie stillness on the living room. "Ry? Colt?" He called loudly, dropping his backpack and running upstairs to their room.

He found the door closed with the sign they'd done together, 'Do not enter!!!' written in Colt's handwritting with skulls and lightning bolts around the words, and a small '(without knocking)' written in Ryland's words.

He knocked and opened the door, finding Ryland hugging his brother as he quietly sniffled and rubbed his arm. "Oh my God—" His voice broke as he kneeled in front of them, examining their injuries. "What— what happened?" He asked, his eyes filling with tears. "I got in trouble at school," Colt said, wiping his nose with his sleeve, already soaked in tears and blood from his nose.  "Dad got mad— it's my fault Court!" Ryland said, sobbing as well with guilt overwhelming him.

Not wanting them to feel any more pain, Court took the usual first aid kit and began cleaning their wounds while apologizing repeatedly, his hands trembling as he looked at the bruises, cuts, and scrapes on his brothers; he was helpless. "I'm sorry I wasn't here guys— I'm so sorry—" He whispered, wrapping Colt's arm. "I just want mom back..." The little kid whispered.

Court's heart shattered at the broken whisper of his brother but he nodded. "I know kiddo..." he said, "I know..." "I'm sorry Colt, it's my fault—" Ryland said, wiping his tears with his hand. "No— no, Ry— it wasn't your fault, it was dad's." Court said, putting a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Don't blame yourself." He said.

The house had long gone quiet.

The only sounds left were the slow ticking of the kitchen clock and the occasional groan of old pipes settling inside the walls.

Ryland couldn't sleep.

He lay on his side, staring into the darkness, his blanket pulled up beneath his chin. Beside him, Colt slept with his back was turned to them, knees drawn toward his chest, every breath shallow enough that Ryland wondered if it hurt.

It did.

He knew it did.

Ryland had seen the blood and he'd also seen the way his brother smiled anyway. "It's not that bad." Colt said, trying to play tough like they thought their brother did.

It was the same lie they always told each other.

Ryland hated that lie.

A tear slipped down his cheek, another followed, then another and another.

He wiped them away with the sleeve of his pajamas, only for more to replace them. He couldn't stop crying. He was so angry.

Angry that Colt had gotten hurt because of him. Angry that Court felt guilty. Angry that their dad always found another reason.

Angry that no matter how good they could be...

...it was never enough.

His gaze drifted toward the doorway. Beyond it, the hallway stretched into darkness, and at the end of it was his father's bedroom.

Ryland swallowed.

He remembered another bedroom. White walls. Machines that beeped. His mother lying in a hospital bed that looked much too big for her.

Court was holding Colt. Ryland was holding her hand, and she'd smiled. Somehow. Even then. She smiled at them. "I love you, my boys..."

Her voice had barely been louder than a whisper. "And so does your father."

Ryland believed her. He wanted to, even now.

But he couldn't understand. If Dad loved them... why did he always hurt them?

His chest tightened until it hurt. He slipped carefully out of bed, the floorboards creaked beneath his bare feet.

He froze.

Colt shifted slightly on the mattress but didn't wake.

Ryland waited in silence for a split second.

He tiptoed toward the bedroom door, wiping at his face again and again, only making it wetter.

His father's door stood half open, inside, the room smelled of alcohol. His dad lay sprawled across the bed, one arm hanging over the edge, an empty bottle resting on the carpet beneath his fingertips.

Ryland looked away at the closet and the top shelf. He'd seen Dad put it there before, an old metal box with rust on the edges.

His hands trembled so badly he almost dropped it climbing down.

He opened it and found what he was looking for. It was heavy, much heavier than he'd imagined. His fingers barely fit around it.He held it against his chest. His breathing grew quicker. He couldn't stop crying.

Then another memory came.

She'd seen his school project one sunny afternoon, he'd written about space and aliens, she smiled proudly and brushed his hair back. "So smart..." she'd whispered. "I'm so proud of you."

Ryland bit his lip so hard it hurt as he looked at his father.

The man who'd taught Court to throw a baseball and Colt how to make pancakes, the man who used to lift them onto his shoulders.

The man who he knew loved them once. Before everything changed.

Ryland's whole body shook. "I hate you..." he whispered through tears. "I hate you..."

The words came out broken, but then, he pulled the trigger.

A deafening crack shattered the silence and everything stopped.

The gun slipped from his fingers and clattered across the hardwood floor. He fell backwards as he pushed himself away from the gun, dogs began barking loudly, lights from across the street lit the room through the window, turning the black liquid into a vivid maroon. 

Porch lights flickered on one after another along the street. "Call 911!" Someone shouted. "What happened?" Another voice said.

He stared but couldn't breathe. There was blood, too much blood that stained the white sheets.

Footsteps thundered down the hallway. Court burst into the room wearing sweapants and a black shirt.

He looked from the gun... to Ryland... and then to the bed. His face drained of all color. "No..." he breathed. "No, no, no..." "I..." His voice disappeared. "I didn't..."

He rushed forward, kicking the gun away so hard it skidded into the wall.

Ryland didn't resist when Court grabbed his father's shoulder. "What did you do?" Court's voice cracked as he looked back at his brother. "What did you do, Ry?"

Ryland opened his mouth but no words came out, he could only sob. "I'm— I'm sorry Court—" Ryland whispered.

Colt stood frozen in the doorway. His eyes moved between his brothers. He didn't understand. "Ry?" His voice was so small.

Court stood up and pulled them both into a crushing hug for the briefest moment before letting go. "It's okay." He assured them, as he always did. "It's okay..."

Court grabbed a corner of the sheet and tried to insert it into the wound to stop the bleeding, his heart pounding each time the blood splashed onto his face and soaked his clothes "I can fix this—" He said in a broken whisper, "I can fix it—"

His hands pressed down. Blood soaked through the fabric almost immediately. "No..." Court whispered. "No..."

He pushed harder. The blanket turned darker. His hands disappeared beneath crimson. "No..." His breathing became ragged. "Dad?"

Court swallowed loudly as he saw the red liquid flow down onto the white sheets, the iron-like smell intoxicating the air. "Dad!"Court pressed harder, as if enough pressure could force time backwards. "Please..." His voice broke completely. "Please..."

His hands slipped. Blood covered his fingers. His wrists. His forearms. He stared at them in horror. "No..."

Behind him, Ryland had wrapped both arms around himself. He rocked back and forth on the floor as he repeated the same 2 words. "I'm sorry..." he cried. "I'm sorry— I'm sorry..."

Footsteps hurried across front lawns. Court could already hear people gathering outside. He looked at Ryland, then at Colt. At the blood covering his hands.

And then, a police siren was heard and blue and red lights could be seen from afar. "Stay here," he said, ushering them into the closet and and closing the doors. "Court, wait!" Ryland called.

The oldest stopped his movements and turned to his little brother.  "What will happen now?" He asked quietly, knees pressed to his chest. Court's lips pursed into a line as he looked away, "I don't know..." he admitted, "but I'll make sure— nothing, happens to you. Alright?" He said, looking at both of them. "You'll be okay." He swore. "I promise."

With that, Ryland nodded and Colt put an arm around his brother's shoulder.

Court closed the closet doors and turned on the bedside lamp. He looked for the gun, spotting it in the corner of the room. He took it and wiped it with the blanket, pressing his fingers on the handle and imprinting his fingerprints on it.

He heard knocking at their door but tossed the gun out the window, he sprinted down the hall and closed the door to the twins' bedroom, finally opening the door. "Yes?" He asked, out of breath and doing his best to seem calm. "Where are your parents kid?" The female cop asked. "He's—" he looked down, "he's alseep, long day—" He said with a nervous chuckle. "Could you call him?" Another cop said, looking over the teen's shoulder at the empty house. "He's a heavy sleeper," Court kept lying, already too wrapped up in the lie to back down. "Did something happen?" He inquired.

The cops exchanged a glance and the man sighed. "We got a distress call from one of your neighbors, they say a gunshot was heard from your house." He explained.

The officers exchanged another glance and the woman stepped forward. "I'm sorry, son."

Before Court could answer, she rested a hand on the door and gently but firmly, and pushed it open. Court stumbled back. "Wait—" he pleaded.

The two officers entered the house, flashlights sweeping over the dark living room. "There are children in here," the man called over his shoulder as he saw the sign on the twins' room. "Please stop—" Court said, following them.

The metallic smell reached them before the bedroom. The woman stopped. The beam of her flashlight settled on the open doorway. "Oh my God..."

The man rushed past her as his flashlight found the bed. He found James and the blanket soaked through. "Dispatch," he spoke into the radio clipped to his shoulder, his voice suddenly all business. "Confirmed casualty. Adult male. Send EMS immediately."

Court stood frozen. His mouth opened but no sound came out. The officer slowly turned toward him. "Son..."

Court instinctively took a step backward. "I didn't..."

His voice trembled but he regained his resolve. "He did this to me..." He said, lifting his sleeve and showing the bruises and scars from years of pain

The officer approached carefully. "Turn around for me."

Court looked at him without understanding. "What?" "Turn around." She repeated, a bitter taste on her tongue. "No..." His breathing quickened. "Please don't do this! I have brothers." "Turn around." She insisted. "I have to be with them—"

The cold metal clicked around his wrists. Court flinched but didn't resist. "No..."

Another click. The handcuffs locked. "I'm sorry," the officer said quietly.

Court stared down at the steel around his wrists, not understanding how could she not understand.

Then—"No!" The closet door burst open.

Ryland threw himself across the room. "No!" he screamed, tears streaming down his face.

He wrapped both arms around Court's waist as best he could. "You can't take him!"

The woman immediately knelt in front of him. "Sweetheart—" "No!" Ryland pulled harder. "You can't!"

Behind him, Colt stumbled out of the closet too, rubbing tears from his swollen eyes. "He's innocent!" He shouted. "No!"

He ran forward. One of the officers instinctively stepped between them. Colt shoved him with all the strength a ten-year-old could manage. "Move!" The shove barely made the man shift his footing. Colt hit him again. "Leave him alone!"

His tiny fists landed against the officer's legs. "I said leave him alone!" Court's heart broke at their pleading. "Please! You don't understand!" Ryland sobbed. "Guys—" Court dropped onto his knees despite the handcuffs. "It's okay."

Ryland looked at him in disbelief and Colt frowned even more. "No, it isn't!" Ryland reached out. "Court, you can't go!" Colt said, stepping forward and holding onto his brother's shirt.

Court forced a smile that refused to stay on his face. "I'll be fine." "No!" "It'll be okay." "Please—" "Listen to me."

Court leaned in and smiled. "You have to be brave." Ryland sobbed harder. "I can't." "You can—" "I can't!"

Court looked at Colt. "Take care of each other for me." Colt shook his head so hard it hurt. "I don't want to!" "You have to, Colt." The oldest said. "You can't go—" Ryland shook his head.

Court smiled through tears. "You'll be okay boys..." "No!" Colt cried. "I want you to stay!"

The room fell silent. Ryland slowly stepped away from Court. His breathing came in broken gasps. Colt crossed his arms and huffed out as he cried in silence. The woman watched him carefully. "It's okay," she whispered. "You don't understand..." Ryland muttered and wiped at his face. "I shot him! I shot our dad!" He shouted, "please take me! Leave him alone please!"

The words barely rose above a whisper and everyone's eyes snapped toward him. "Ry—" Court tried to intervene. "I did it!" Ryland cried. 

The room fell completely still. Court stared at his little brother as the chief watched from a distance. Ryland stepped toward the police officer. "It wasn't Court—" he held his trembling hands out in front of himself. "Please..."

The woman looked at the small hands held out.  "Come with me kid," she whispered.

The child was crying so hard he could barely remain standing. The officer looked back at Court, whose face had gone completely white. He stood up and turned to the chief. "Don't listen to him—" he begged, "he's just a kid! He doesn't know what he's talking about—"

The officer caught him before he reached Ryland. "He didn't know what he was doing!" "I did!" Ryland cried back. "I knew!" "He was scared!" "I wanted him to stop hurting us!"

Outside, the distant wail of approaching sirens grew louder. Court looked at both of them, even though every part of him wanted to pull both of his brothers into his arms and never let go. "It'll be okay," he whispered.

But neither Colt nor Ryland believed him. For the first time in years... "Come with me guys," she whispered, her eyes burning with tears as she held their hands.

They only watched as their brother was taken out of their home and put into a police car. "I'll be okay!" He promised through tears and forcing a smile. "I'll see you guys soon," he said with a nod.

Minutes passed after the teen was taken away, the three of them sat at the porch, the female cop waited for further orders. "Do you guys like burgers?" She asked, but neither of them answered. "C'mon you must be hungry," she said, pushing off the pillar and holding out her hands to them. "I'll take you to eat something."

And so she did, she took them to a nearby diner and ordered some burgers and fries for them. The kids quietly ate as tears still streamed down their faces. "Don't get attached García, y'know the rules," the man in charge said. "I know but Dick— they're just kids," the woman said with an aching voice. "Stick to protocol, García." "Fine..." she looked at them with her arms crossed. "I know of a foster couple, can I at least talk to them?"

Word count: 1.4k Warnings: Abusive father, alcoholism, violence, death, terminal illness

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★　　　.   　　˚　　W A Y P O I N T S *　　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　

The Gentry home wasn't always violent. Mary had always wanted to be a mother, and James found purpose in being a father the moment his eldest son, Courtland, was born. The moment he held him, his eyes filled with tears, a strange occurrence for a man as impassive as he was.

There were good days as much as there were bad days in the Gentry family home, but Mary somehow always found a way to make the best of the situation. She'd sing and dance with her son as she made breakfast, she'd stay up late to help him with mathematics when he couldn't understand something, and she'd always make sure to kiss him goodnight and whisper:

"See you tomorrow my boy," as her lips pressed against his forehead.

And when Court was six, he found out he was going to be a big brother. He took the responsibility very seriously, helping with the groceries as his mother's belly grew, helping her sit up, put on her shoes, make her bed, paint the nursery, and even choosing the books she would read to his siblings when they were born.

But unbeknownst to him, his father's life had changed.

He had always been busy with his SWAT school, but lately he wasn't telling them as much about what his students were learning, he wasn't taking Court to training grounds as often, and he and his mother weren't speaking. Court didn't understand why or what had happened, all he knew is that for the next couple of months, every week, he'd wear a black suit and sit in something called a 'wake' for a couple of hours, surrounded by people who he didn't know and who cried a lot.

It still didn't make much sense to him sometimes.

That was, until one day, just a few weeks before she was due to give birth, his mother sat him down and explained. "Son," she spoke gently. "You know how dad's been missing more often lately?" Court nodded. "Well... He was called by some friends of him for a mission, like the one he trains students for?" The boy toyed with his mother's fingers as he nodded again. He'd heard whispers about those missions, late at night and past his bedtime, he'd quietly sit on the stairs and overhear his dad talk about 'the strike', which he soon understood were missions. "It didn't go as planned..." She said, clearly struggling to speak, "and he lost a lot of people he loved very much."

Court frowned and looked out at the corridor of his home, seeing the fleeting shadow of his father stumble by. "And that— has been hurting him a lot," his mother sighed. "So we gotta stay strong for him and help him get through this, right?" The woman pinched her son's nose and smiled. The little boy smiled back and nodded, "okay..." He whispered. "Attaboy," she leaned in and kissed his forehead.

But supporting a father who hurts you and seems to feel no remorse about it is complicated. Especially when your mother had become so weak after the birth of the twins.

There were nights of incessant crying and screaming when James yelled at Mary telling her to sush the babies, early mornings when Mary sobbed quietly begging her sons to sleep, praying that morning would come soon with blood dripping from her lip.

And so the next 5 years passed. Court took on more than he should have out of the desperate need to aid his mother, he picked up on cleaning, bathing his brothers, helping them with their clothes and even making breakfast for them.

Yet it never seemed to be enough for their dad.

And not even when he stood in front of his mother on the nights he exploded. Not even then, could he prevent the chronic injuries, contractures, and eventual osteomyelitis. Her bones couldn't take the beating anymore. "She won't make it." A teenage Court heard from outside the hospital room.

And a year later, he found himself again in a black suit, now knowing the meaning of a wake, lifting his brothers to say goodbye to their mother for the last time. "Why does mommy look like that, Court?" A 10 year old Ryland asked, his finger hanging from his mouth as he looked into the casket. "Because—" The boy tried to speak through his crying, "she was— very sick, Ry." "Why did she get sick?" Was his next question. "Did dad make her sick?" Colt inquired, tugging on Court's sleeve. "No..." Court said, a sour feeling on his throat as he spoke. "I don't know..."

But although his mother's death should have been a reason for his father to come to his senses, that did not happen and in fact he had found more reasons to subject them to the beatings that used to befall her.

Court remained strong, following his mother's example. He would turn on the radio as soon as his father left for work; "Sooner or Later" by The Grass Roots quickly became one of the twins' favorite songs. And slowly, thanks to the older brother's efforts, the house regained the colors of a home. "How's your head Colt?" He asked, looking down at the crooked band-aid he'd insisted on putting on himself. "Good," the little kid replied, munching on his cereal. "You're gross." Ryland said, looking at his twin from across the table. "Bleeh—" Colt stuck out his tongue to him, cereal bits and milk dripping from his mouth. "Ew!" Ry frowned and leaned back in disgust.

Their older brother smirked and finished doing the dishes. "Let's brush our teeth and go to bed okay?" He said, looking out the window to make sure their dad hadn't arrived yet.

The routine that followed consisted on Colt and Ryland fighting over who brushed their teeth first, competing over who could put on their pajamas the fastest and arguing over the best character in their favorite show.

Just as he passed by, Court caught a glimpse of a bruise on Ryland's back. "Ry? When'd you get that?" He frowned and walked into their room. The kid put down his shirt and covered himself, "it's nothing—" he tried lying, but he'd never been the best at it. "Ry," Court crossed his arms. "Show me." He said.

The kid glared away but did as he was told, showing the awful mark on his skin. "What happened?" His brother asked, carefully touching him. "I..." he looked at his twin, who looked down as well. "I told him I didn't want to live with him anymore..." Ryland confessed.

The eldest sighed and sat down on the bed in front of his little brother. "Hey," he touched his arm, "it's okay, it's not that big— it'll disappear soon." Court promised.

Ryland smiled and got into his bed, pulling the space covers up to his chin, while Colt was still playing with his action figures, already tucked in. "Tomorrow'll be better." He whispered, bumping the fists of his siblings and smiling with the confidence he wished he had.

But later than usual, instead of going to bed, he packed a notebook, pencils, and his math book, and put on his bike helmet. "And where do you think you're going?" His father asked him at the front door. "I have a study session," Court replied without looking him in the eye. "Again?" James asked, sipping on alcohol as he did every night.

The teenager just nodded and put on a jacket. "Come back with a bottle of rum, okay?" he said, finishing the bottle he was holding. "I'm not buying you any more booze, Dad," he said, looking away. "Is that so?" His father laughed sarcastically, throwing the bottle on the ground and walking over to him. "It's bad for you, and you know it." Court insisted, his grip on the strap of his backpack tightening as he saw what was coming. "Well, excuse me for not being able to manage my life any better!" he said, crossing his arms. "You always use the same excuse..." the teenager muttered. "What did you say?" James leaned in.

The boy's fist clenched and he turned to face his father. "That you always use the same excuse!" Court snapped. "You never change! And you're always— hurting us!" He said, eyes burning with tears.

On those nights he would arrive at his tutoring sessions with a red eye and a bleeding lip, and he would always tell the same kind of lies: 'I fell', 'I had a fight', 'I was wrestling with my brothers'.And nobody had the strength to ask him more.

But when he returned home at one in the morning, with 40 dollars more toward his goal of being able to afford a hotel stay far from Florida, and his brothers hugged him and brought the first aid kit (which they used more than the TV remote), he remembered why he made all the effort and had the strength to fight for the next day.

He counted the bills again, 80, 120, 160... It was still not enough, but he was closer. "Soon," he'd tell himself, kneeling in front of his bed and hiding the old lunch box where he kept all their savings.