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Grayson wasn't entirely certain what was going on, but he was a little uneasy. Lounging about the living room, cell phone turning over and over in his hand, he couldn't shake the gut feeling that something was wrong. Elke never called to come over, and she should've known she wouldn't have to ask him to stay there. Without anything pressing to do, he was most often found at home, anyway, and it wasn't like he'd go running off when he knew his sister was coming to visit. He enjoyed her company, hadn't had the chance to spend much time with her. Between patrolling, Jude... everything, he'd found his time eaten up much faster than before, and there hadn't been much room for anything else.

He'd tried to go see her, but had run into Serenade instead. That was nice, but he missed her. So, he was glad she was coming to see him. He just wished he didn't feel vaguely nervous, like he was sitting around in the calm before the storm rather than just the silence of an empty house.

His parents and Tristan had gone out and he'd opted to stay in, which was nothing unusual, but he almost wished for someone else's presence. He couldn't get ahold of Jude, which was a little annoying but not really a concern, so he was glad for Elke.

The door knocked and he hopped up, padding over barefoot, hand hovering above the doorknob. For just a second, he wondered what he would see on the other side, then dismissed it. He hoped Elke hadn't gotten hurt badly when she was patrolling or something.

The thought made his stomach twist, and he opened the door, eyebrows raised slightly in concern. Seeing Elke, he couldn't help but notice how.. unlike herself she looked. Sure, she was the same girl, but there was none of her easy cheer or vibrancy. She seemed... contained.

"What's wrong, honey?" Stepping back, he held out a hand, ushering her in.

Grayson's nervousness only intensified with the hug, desperate rather than familiar, and the solemn walk to the couch. By the time they sat, he was imagining the worst, though he didn't know what the worst was. Elke was here -- so it couldn't be the worst, she was fine -- but clearly something had upset her. Her parents? Had something happened to her parents, or someone at school, or?

Jude?

Confusion was the first reaction, and out of habit, he slipped his hand into his pocket, clasped his fingers around his cell phone. Jude... hadn't responded to his text earlier, but... so? He just hadn't responded to the text. Sometimes he didn't. It wasn't anything to worry about.

His hands went cold, and he tilted his head slightly, violet eyes narrowed in further bafflement. Elke thought he was... dead? Impossible. Jude wasn't dead, he was just unavailable. Jude had almost died a few times, had died a few times, actually, but that didn't mean anything. He pulled his cell phone out, looked down at the screen. Punched a button, and it lit up. No new texts.

So? It didn't mean anything.

He tried to open the slider, but for some reason, dropped his phone. It clattered to the ground, and he stared, watching it spin in a slow circle. How weird, his hands...

Holding them up, he looked, watched his fingers shake. Cold, and shaking... they were shaking because he was cold. That made sense.

"Jude..." Why did his voice sound hoarse? Well, because he was... "Jude isn't dead."

If Elke said anything, he didn't hear her. He was having a hard time focusing on anything but the sound of his own voice, and after that, the sudden, painful beating of his heart. He felt like he'd just run three miles, and when he drew a breath, it burned.

Finally, he looked at Elke, and his face was still, but a smile hinted at the corners of his mouth. A confused, pained smile, as he said slowly, "You've got to be wrong... because... he's not dead."

He licked his lips, placing shaking hands on his knees, and waited for Elke to laugh. It wasn't a funny joke, but... he would forgive her.

Because it was a joke.

Grayson wanted to snatch his hands back, and that was ridiculous. He didn't want to be touched, even though it was Elke, and he didn't want to hear what she had to say. He was angry, he realized with some horror, unreasonably so. He wanted to grab her shoulders and shake her, demand that she stop crying, that she take back what she was trying to say to him. What she had been saying to him. He didn't want to listen, and he didn't want to be there.

His heart hammered, and he probably stopped breathing. He knew he didn't blink, because his vision hazed a little, Elke's form became blurry enough that he couldn't see the tears on her face, the sorrow in its lines. He leaned back, unable to help himself, teeth clenched tight against the words that wanted to spill out. His fingers flexed, and he took a deep, shuddering breath.

Dead.

Part of him pulled away, shrank away from Elke and himself alike, curled up deep inside and shook. It hurt too much to think about, so he didn't; he breathed again, slowly, and his jaw relaxed. He didn't cry, but he did blink, a slow motion, bringing the world back into startling clarity.

Jude was dead.

Jude was dead, and it hurt more than anything he could imagine, made it impossible to think much less even breathe, but Elke was not.

So, he slipped his hands to either side of her face, then to her shoulders. Mechanically, he pulled her to him, arms feeling oddly light as he wrapped them around her. After a second, he pulled her fully into his lap, bent his head, breathed in deeply. He shivered, everywhere, and closed his eyes.

Summoned Jude's face.

Held her even tighter, a voice screaming inside of his head, claws digging into his chest, and said softly, calmly, "Go ahead and cry on me, baby."

Elke had no idea how much it meant for him to be able to hold her. He wasn't actually even holding her - he was clinging, desperately gripping her as close to him as he could, for fear that if he let go, he would fall apart. His usual coping methods only worked as long as he wasn't alone, as long as there was someone around for him to try to be big and brave for, strong enough to handle anything for.

Knuckles white against her back, he fought to control his breathing, the sickening roll of emotions that ranged everywhere from numbness to nausea. The full effect of the situation hadn't hit him, was being held at bay only by the tenuous hold of shock and denial, and he could feel it pressing closer. A crack in the wall, a slow and steady leak that would flood over him and completely destroy him when it happened. He couldn't let it happen in front of Elke.

Eyes burning, he began to panic. He couldn't let it happen in front of Elke. He squeezed her tighter, hard enough to hurt, and it startled him when she made a pained noise, shifted uncomfortably in his arms. Releasing her all at once, fighting a losing battle against feelings that wouldn't be kept at bay, he scooted back, knocking pillows off the couch as he did, jostling Elke off his legs. His face was still, calm, but his eyes were wild, and he looked away, curled shaking fingers against his knees.

"Sorry. Sorry," He repeated, breathing quickening. He was going to cry. He was going to sob if he didn't -- "Sorry."

He rose, unsteady on his legs, and stumbled a little. Elke gripped his shirt, her voice high pitched and strained as she begged him not to go, and he lost his balance. His legs went weak underneath him and he hit the floor, hands barely bracing himself against the fall, and his shoulders shook.

Two, three tears.

Four, five.

Against the hardwood, they fell one after the other, Grayson whispering brokenly, "Stop--" as Elke leaned against his back, hands still fisted in his shirt.

He began to crawl, palm smearing the tears, and his chest heaved. "I have -- I have to get a drink --"

Standing, he immediately wished he was back on the ground, if only so that he could press his hot forehead against the floor and wait for the balance of his world to come back. He was losing it, fast, doing precisely what he didn't want to do in front of Elke, and if he wasn't careful, it would be the same in front of his parents. Tristan. They would all see him crumble, and he wasn't even prepared to grieve on his own, much less with an audience, no matter how much they loved him.

His hand was moved to Elke's shoulder, and he licked his lips, tasting salt. Wordlessly, he followed her into the kitchen, palming his face with his free hand to try to rid it of the tears. Breathe in, and out. As far as Elke knew, he was simply upset for the loss of a friend - a comrade - and it was going to stay that way. No matter what Jude really meant to him, he would pull himself together, and he would...

His steps faltered, but he caught himself. Stepping away from Elke, he took down a glass, filled it with water. He didn't look at her, simply closed his eyes, tipped it back and drank as much and as fast as he could. He choked a little, had to set the glass down and cough, wipe the water from the corners of his mouth and chin. Everything was hard, everything was suddenly -- nothing was working --

"I'm okay." His voice trembled, and he finally turned to look at his sister, a smile on his face. It was a little sick, barely present, but it was there. "Thanks, I -- I'm okay."

Because his hands were still shaking, he shoved them in his pockets, curled them into fists. He was still crying, and damned if he could stop it, but even that was slowing. Everything was slowing down, and he was getting colder.

"I'm just... it's a surprise." His smile widened, wobbled, and his chest burned. "You know me, I, well. I'm not good at this." She hadn't seen him at Benny's grave. But she'd seen him when his dog died, and for reasons mysterious, he remembered it with sudden clarity. Sobbing over a mound of freshly turned dirt, holding onto Elke with everything he had, unashamed to cry for the animal that had slept beside him every night for years.

He leaned against the counter, took the weight from his weak legs. Braced his hands against it.

"Thanks." He was still smiling, and his face ached from it. "Hearing it from you--" Was worse than if he'd heard it from anyone else. "It helps. Thank you."

And he brought his hand up again, brushed at his face, laughed thickly. How many times had he lied about Jude? To Jude? For Jude? To himself?

It should be easy.

He covered his eyes, drew in another deep breath. "I... I'm really tired."

Oh God. His parents.

Tristan, his parents. The last thing he needed was to have all of this blow up beyond his control, and his chest tightened with anxiety once more. When would they be home? He didn't even know. They had Ignacio with them, and -- God.

God, why were there so many people in his house?

He dropped his hand, and the smile fell. He just looked weary, though he hadn't been tired before she showed up. The strain of trying to hold everything in, the fatigue from his failure, the stress of the entire situation was dragging at him. He just wanted to go upstairs, curl up in his bed, and sleep until he woke up from the nightmare that had become his life. It still wasn't entirely real, but as the seconds ticked by, each beat of his heart became a little more painful.

By nightfall, he knew he would be hugging his pillow, unable to sleep for all the thoughts swirling around in his head. He might as well get a head start on it.

"No, I should... it's okay. They know Jude." An awkward pause, a pained smile. "Knew Jude. I should tell them, so..."

An alarm went off upstairs, and he realized it was his own, set for the days where he slept in to ridiculous hours. He stared up the stairs, expression uncomprehending, before saying slowly, "I should... go upstairs. Thanks. I'll take care of it."

He rested his hand on Elke's shoulder, squeezed. "Really. Thank you."

"I love you too," he said, and meant it. He did. Elke was probably the only person in the entire world who cared enough to come personally and tell him that his football buddy had passed away. Had she known that they had been more than that, he knew Elke would have handled things a little differently, but... he was glad she didn't. They hadn't discussed their awkward, limping relationship with anyone outside of his immediate family, and even then, they hadn't been given many details.

He would let the knowledge that he had meant something to Jude, if only as a substitute to Hero, rest with him. It seemed more respectful, somehow... easier. To just let what had begun between them die with the man himself.

Throat tightening, he watched Elke go, waited until she was out of sight and well gone before he headed for the stairs. He made it to the base of them, toes hitting the edge of a stair, before he gave in to the first sob. Palms against the wall, he slowly lowered himself, entire body shaking with the awful, haggard motions of his breathing. Knees tucked against his body, he leaned his forehead against the wall and cried until he could barely breathe.

Some time later, that was how his parents found him, curled up into a tiny ball, so miserable that they didn't even ask him what had happened. They just sent him upstairs and forced him into bed, hoping he would get some sleep.

Eventually, he went downstairs, told them all in a steady voice that Jude had passed away, and slipped upstairs once more to attempt sleep.

He didn't manage it, but at least they left him alone.