Word count: 1331

“Are you doing drugs?” Peter finally found the courage to ask Michael one night after dinner as they both worked on the homework they had. For Peter it was his math homework, for Michael it was grading his student’s homework. Peter knew he had every reason to be concerned when Michael did not look up right away to deny it. In fact, it seemed as though his brother wasn’t even bothering to hear him.

“Do you think I am?” Michael finally asked, lifting his head to give Peter a curious look, but Peter could tell that his brother’s eyes were guarded, his expression too casual for the conversation. Peter had been concerned about the possibility ever since a few months ago when he visited. It was probably one of the reasons he decided he wanted to move in with his brother. If his brother had someone getting in his way, maybe he wouldn’t be able to do anything that would hurt himself.

“I hope you’re not,” Peter replied, clearing his calculator a little more vigorously than was necessary. “I know you’re an adult or whatever, but you know mom would worry… and I would too,” he added with a mumble, almost embarrassedly.

Now came the confusion from Michael, or maybe it was a slip of his carefully placed expression now that the didn’t think Peter could see him out of the corner of his eye.

“What makes you think I would be?” he asked, a little bit more defensive than his first question. Peter could tell by the sound of his voice that he probably suspected that Peter had been snooping around his things. It just made it more obvious that he should be concerned.

“Your little glass vial is almost empty and the syringe is missing,” Peter said, figuring there was no point in beating around the bush. “Sorry, I was curious and was looking around. I don’t want you doing anything stupid, okay?” He could hear the guilt in his own voice, obviously wishing that he didn’t have to bring this up at all, especially since he was admitting to looking through his brother’s things. He knew that Michael could very well kick him out and send him back to their parents’ house, because who would want a kid rummaging through their stuff??

“In my defense,” he quickly added as Michael continued to stare at him, his expression now somewhere between bemused and angry and concerned, “You really shouldn’t leave things like that in your kitchen drawers. It’s like you want someone to rummage through it, looking for a can opener, and find all that. Why do you keep your medals in there?”

“Why do you think that was drugs?” Michael interrupted him, but the harsh look in his eyes made it all but obvious now.

Peter frowned right back at him, “Why do you think I’m stupid enough to not know drugs when I see it? What were you doing with it Michael? Why is it gone now?”

Michael frowned, and Peter wondered if he was going to snap at him. To have him pack his things and throw him out. He wasn’t used to seeing Michael angry, especially at him; however, the more he tried to decipher his brother’s expression, he realized it looked more lost unfocused than entirely angry, as if being reminded of something rather unpleasant.

Eventually, surprisingly, Michael pushed the stack of papers to the side and sat back on the couch. He lifted his hands to rub over his face, and it was at that moment that Peter realized just how old his brother looked. Well beyond the age of thirty.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Peter said softly, setting his own work aside so he could move up to sit on the couch as well. Michael didn’t seem the type to do drugs, but…

“You know you could be killed any day, fighting like we do,” Michael spoke up, but he didn’t look his way. Instead his blue eyes were fixed on the ceiling. “You’re all so young… too young to be doing this. I know you won’t listen to me, but I really wish you wouldn’t fight.”

Peter was surprised about the change of subject, wondering what this had to do with anything. “You fight too,” he pointed out, not thinking there was much of a difference.

“I’ve seen death,” Michael interrupted before Peter could add anything else. “I’ve seen war, I’ve had people die in front of me. I’ve been the cause of deaths. I know what that experience can do to a person. I… don’t want you to turn out like me.”

Turn out like him? Peter frowned, even more confused than he was before. “I don’t think you turned out too bad…” Peter offered, feeling guilty for bringing up the subject at all.

“The drugs? They were only intended to be used once,” his brother finally admitted, a strange kind of emotion Peter wasn’t used to hearing was in his voice. Regret? Guilt? He wasn’t sure, but he did know that this was the first time he’d heard Michael say anything of this nature. He wondered if he’d spoken to anyone about how he felt before.

And to only be used once? What did that--

“Oh,” Peter mumbled softly, suddenly realizing what Michael meant. “But… you never did.”

Michael let out a small bark of a laugh and shook his head, finally pulling his eyes away from the ceiling so he could look towards his younger brother. The look in his eyes were dark, sad, lonely.

“Ironically, becoming a knight changed my mind,” he explained, letting out a small sigh. “As much as I hate this magical nonsense, it gave me something to live for again.”

Peter shifted uncomfortably on the couch. Something to live for? His family wasn’t worth the effort? “We’re here, too,” he quietly reminded his brother, who in turn gave him a guilty look of his own.

“Sorry… I wish I was strong enough to just live for you guys. I’d already been gone most of your life.”

“Well, that’s why I’m living with you now,” Peter pointed out. “So what was it, anyway? Heroin?”

“I’m not answering that,” Michael frowned, although Peter could only assume that meant yes.

“Okay… then since we’re talking about this… you never answered me about the medals.”

“They’re just junk,” was his brother’s excuse.

“They were awarded to you for being injured.”

“They were awarded to me because I was the only one who survived.”

It sounded as though Michael was trying not to snap and to reign in his emotions, so Peter took that as a hint to drop the subject, at least for now. It made him sad, knowing that Michael had obviously gone through some rough times to get where he was now, but he was glad that him becoming a knight gave him another chance at life, so to speak.

“Are you talking to anyone? A therapist?” Peter asked in all seriousness, to which Michael scowled.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t need to anymore.”

“Even Paris and Chris are seeing therapists.”

“Is their marriage already falling apart?”

“Oh my god, they’re seeing different types of therapists. Not a marriage counselor.”

“I was kidding.”

“Didn’t sound like you were.”

There was a silence that fell over them then. It was only slightly awkward, but only because Peter didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t think he’d had a conversation like this with anyone before, and he honestly could understand why most people didn’t really want to talk about how they felt.

“Thanks for telling me,” Peter finally said as he watched his brother on the other end of the couch. It was a little awkward, yeah, but now he at least felt as though he knew what was going through Michael’s head a little better. And now, more than ever, Oberon felt the need to keep an eye on him.