Author's Note

Basically, everyone has a bad day and I decided "The Humbling River" by Puscifer is this books theme song. 

Sorry for the extremely late update :(

The smell of hospitals, clinics, pharmacies- they're different. Not many know this, some claim they all mock the same scent- but to Asher, who had successfully lived in the children's hospital wing in New Orleans for nearly four months, learned to decipher them all at a young age.

Hospitals, in Asher's opinion, smelled strictly of old people, bland- if bland was a smell- and watered down disinfectant. If he managed to move to a nice room, or when one of his nurses allowed him to walk past the fluorescent lights of the front office, Asher's nose would be assaulted by the smell of damp trash.

It sounds harsh, but he had put himself back together in a hospital bed, with Tommy laying on the mattress beside his.
He had no reason to compare the stench of hospital to the smell of his mother's favorite t-shirt or Ms. Angelo's thrifted letterman jacket.

Pharmacies...  pharmacies were better. The thing about pharmacies was that the ratio to actual almost-dead-people coming in and stuffing up the air was far less than a hospital's. They had smiling people, too. The real ones, because they didn't really have to stick around the doomed all day and slowly watch people build up again, only to see them deteriorate twice as fast.

Some of them smelled like old mint gum, probably because of the stale peppermints they kept at the front desk- and really, how many kids come into a pharmacy? And even less, how many realistically want to suck on bitter candy for half an hour? Asher remembers picking peppermints out of his teeth for years, until he finally bucked up and denied the offered candy.

Now, the sight of a candy cane has his stomach rolling and his tongue tasting like acid.

Doctor clinics were like the lovechild of the two. Minus the fact that sometimes the secretaries sprayed three gallons of Febreze, attempting to cover up the smell of dank waiting rooms and broken fingers that came with blubbering kids crying.

All of it, the smells of antiseptic, the burn of heat lamps in cold months, the two-way mirrors that always found him in the middle of therapy sessions- they were as normal as the mud pies he made with a nine-year-old Ollie; the dirt that stuck to his jean's knees from a day spent with Rina and Tommy; the feeling of his father's fingers around the tip of Asher's cut thumb pad as they ran water over the shallow wound.

And now, as antiseptic burned a hole into his nose, even from outside the doors, he didn't shake. He didn't tremble. Asher tightened his jaw, narrowed his eyes, and played pretend. He wasn't walking into the clinic to seek the revelation of his cousin's status- he was visiting her, she was fine. Everything was fine.

This was as normal as his therapist asking him 'And these dreams? They're reoccurring?'

So, why was he shaking?

He stood on the other side of the sliding, automatic doors- and through the glass, his father waited with his arms tight around Asher's Aunt Evangeline. Her shoulders sagged, before she hiccuped once in every lapse of ten seconds.

It seemed as if they had created a world that consisted of the two- something they had done when they were both siblings in a much younger Hollow Grove. It was hard, in the least, when Sebastian was dubiously elected taboo of the town, and his sister had been the unstable debutante with trembling hands.

Asher's arrival spurred his father to glance up from his sister, trying to comfort Aunt Evangeline with soft rubs between her shoulder blades- which felt reassuring, Asher knew from experience that Sebastian's empathy felt real and sincere in even the most ridiculous situations.

He offered a smile to Sebastian, one that couldn't even make it past the halfway mark, and rose his hand in a twitch of 'hello'.

Asher sat across from the two siblings, folding his hands in front of him, his knuckles turning white at the tight clasp around his own fingers. And no, it wasn't because he couldn't stop himself from trembling. Asher, just- Asher really hated the way clinics and pharmacies and hospitals all possessed the same presence of death and dying and dead.

"Dad? Aunt Ev?"

Asher opened eyes he didn't realize he shut, he quickly found his gaze fixated on Oliver. He parted through the sliding doors with little grace, obviously trying his earnest best to reach his family. The older teenager sported a damp baseball cap with a half zipped hoodie he used for jogging in chilly weather.

"Ash, too? How'd you get here?" Oliver asked, but he slid easily beside his younger brother and swiped off his cap, letting it uncover his unruly hair.

Asher blinked, pushing his hands into his face as he burrowed himself deeper into the leather jacket like it could offer him some type of solace. In a way, it did. The smell of leather and Thane and years of wear and tear wasn't unpleasant, it helped drown out the stench of the clinic, so he stuck his nose deeper into his collar. He imagined that he looked as if he was intimidating a turtle, but he didn't mind coming off as ridiculous as long as the steady smell kept his heart from beating a thousand thumps a minute.

"If you can't handle it, Ash," Oliver's hand dropped on the young Bravermen's back, soothing circles pressed between his shoulder blades as he smiled softly. "You can wait in the truck with Chrissy."

Asher tried hard not to be surprised- Chrissy hadn't stepped foot in a hospital since she was nine years old. Half of the reason why her own brother became a nurse was to simply teach Chrissy self care and to look after his young sister if anything like a medical crisis happened to her. 

He imagined her, toying impatiently with her smartphone before giving up and flipping through the radio station. Her fingers frantically toying between stations, pressing on buttons with rubbed off labels and turning up the volume loud enough to cause static.

Two years ago, Ashlynn had broken her leg in a car-wreck, and Asher sat in his father's car for hours at a time, trying to find a song that could ease his thoughts until he realized he wasn't searching for any mind numbing lyrics but something to drown out the fears that screamed and clawed at the deepest part of him.

"No," Asher breathed, but he moved his body away from his brother like he was going to leap up and run to the truck. Fuck, did he want to. He wanted nothing more than to dig his fingers in old leather and push his feet down into worn car rugs.

"Y'sure?" Oliver's voice is a soft, intangible thing in the clinic. Asher remembers listening to his brother reading stories to him during his hospitalization, how his voice would be only thing that could soothe him into a sleep that lasted longer than a few minutes.

"Dude, I'm fine," but his voice is tight and Asher is blinking furiously because his eyes are becoming glassy. Against his own will, something wells up in his chest and pokes at his throat, his nostrils flare and suddenly, his eyes are more than just glassy. Damn, he's crying. His tears are falling down his flushed cheeks- flushed, because it's hot, and he wants to take off the jacket. The teenager knows if he takes off the jacket then he'll drown in the scent of Febreze and cheap antiseptic, and he much rather found the smell of worn leather more comforting. .

"Hey," Oliver's tone becomes serious, he clutches either side of Asher's face. Thumbs are running down his cheeks, and Asher tries his best to keep his attention on the sound of his brother's voice and the feeling of the callouses on his face- but fuck. Fuck. He can't.

The only steady thought he has is built around something he can't find his way out of- but he's there, and he's cemented to that spot. And whichever road he took to get to this place- this crevice in his mind that acts more like a tumor for nightmares and his worst fears- has broken away, leaving a labyrinth of broken thoughts and Asher grasping for fist fulls of something to help steady himself. 

"Ash?" Oliver is out of reach; it didn't matter that he stood only inches from his brother, Oliver couldn't feel further. "Ash, I'm right here," his octave didn't weaken, each word spoken with strong punctuation as if his voice itself could drag Asher out of his thoughts.

"I'm," Asher attempted to speak between his runny nose and his wide amber eyes blinking away traitor tears that ran over his hot, ruddy red cheeks as if they were attempting to soothe him. 

Oliver wiped beneath his brother's eyes, fingers dragging up from his cheeks to beneath his bottom lashes. "You're?" He asked, blinking furiously as he fought not to cry simply because his young brother's sobs created an uncomfortable bubble in his chest. 

"I'm- I'm so fuckin' scared, Ollie," Asher sobbed out, finally. Finally. He collapsed into his brother's arms, wrapping his arms with an inextricable grasp around the older Bravermen's shoulders, his fingers digging into Oliver's hoodie and his face pushing into his chest as he bawled without constraint. 

Oliver wordlessly did the same, tucking Asher into him identical to the way he use to. When Asher would scream himself awake after dozing in the car, or sob in the clubhouse behind their home in secret, and Oliver would find him, tangle the two of them together and stick to his young brother like one sticks to a miracle: desperately.

*

Mattie LeCruz jolted away from nurse Heather- who seemed ancient even when they were all tots- they as in Mattie and Asher. 

She grinned at the assistance, but to be blunt, Mattie did not want the rubber of gloves or the smell of antiseptic to sink into her senses deeper than they already have. Everything, from nurse Heather's sweet voice that meant to sooth, to the bandages that wrapped tightly around her wrist, to the expensive handbag she dragged along with her- even if it resembled threads more than the hand sewn white leather it had been a mere hour ago- reminded her as to why she was desperate to get the hell out of the clinic. 

"Misses LeCruz, your dad called- a car is waiting out back--" 

"Mrs. Heather," Mattie turned and tried her honest best to look as if she had a sliver of composure left in her body. And really- who would blame her if she just lost it, if she threw herself onto the ground and sobbed or if she clawed at the bleached walls or if she simply took a bat between her trembling hands and let everything she's ever felt out onto the precious German luxury car. "I'm sorry, but my dad can burn in Hell." 

Nurse Heather only let her mouth gape open for a millisecond before she accepted that the teenager was going absolutely nowhere near the sleek BMW parked and chauffeured behind the clinic. 

The blonde leaned on the railings of the hallway, supporting herself as best as she could because- even if she didn't like it- her right thigh was bandaged tightly and more than thirty stitches dispersed through her legs. 

"Let me help you- Misses LeCruz, you shouldn't even be walking, I can get you a wheel-"

"Mrs. Heather," Mattie whispered, filled with pleading more than venom. "Please," Because if Mattie couldn't walk down this hallway to the waiting room by herself, how the hell would she possibly cope with her wounds, both physically and mentally?

Nurse Heather understood, her mothering finally dying down as she simply began to follow the teenager with hands shadowing her shoulders, in case Mattie slipped. 

With every step, pain riddled up her legs- the written prescription for painkiller was tucked safely into into her ruined purse and viciously calling out to her- damn, she needed a pharmacy like yesterday.

Fortunately, the tiny clinic also owned a tiny hallway, and by her twentieth step-stumble-limp, the waiting room finally came into sight.  Her face became strictly expressionless, waiting to confront her visitors when she found only five stood for her arrival.

Well, four- because assholes like John didn't count. 

"Oh, Matts!" Her mother, beautiful even with tracks of mascara running down her cheeks, ran to Mattie. For the first time in three weeks, the teenager wrapped her hands around Evangeline with a fierce grasp, shaking and trembling in her mother's embrace. 

"Momma," she whispered, her face falling from blank to crunched up and unquestionably messy with tears. She caught her nose into the warm zipper of her mother's exercise uniform- some pricey running leggings and a water resistant windbreaker, and fought to cease the violent quivering of her bottom lip.  

"Sweetie," Evangeline backed herself up, almost forcefully peeling away from her daughter who held on identical to the way a child stubbornly grasps a stuffed toy before it's inevitably taken from their sticky hands. "Are you okay? They wouldn't let any of us back there-"

"Was it dad?" Mattie's voice dropped low as she imagined the bastard dialing Doctor Russel and finding some loophole in order to leave his ex-wife drowning with worry in the waiting room. 

"No, no," soft hands pushed back Mattie's tangled blonde hair, showing cleaned cuts- from being dragged twenty feet on cement, and another fifty through thin foliage. "Nurse Heather said you didn't look like you wanted company," her mother grinned sweetly with understanding. 

"I wouldn't've minded y'all," Mattie replied earnestly, her eyebrows knitting up together before she dropped them back down- the stitches on the edges of her right tugged less than comfortably. 

She took the time to finally glance around the room, considering who Mattie was, it seemed uncommonly empty. Aside from her three cousins, her uncle, and her own mother, the only other two in the room were desk jockeys for the clinic. 

She made eye contact with Asher, who stood only a couple feet from her, but wearily. She had no idea what he must think of her, how she had jumped at the chance to appear on national news. Now, with her hands scraped and thirty stitches sewing her skin together, she launched herself into her youngest cousin full of remorse and shame.  

His unsure hands wrapped around her waist; they settled there when she whispered into his ear she wouldn't fall apart at one touch. 

He grasped the back of her torn sweater, fingers trembling like weak and skinny tree limbs during tornado season. 

"What happened out there?" Asher asked through gritted teeth and wide, amber eyes staring up at her, the same her mother and uncle shared. Except they didn't possess the same shock of fear and dangerous curiosity that lingered deep inside flecks of gold and burnt sienna. 

Mattie blinked, shocked by the question- most people would have tip-toed around it, but not Asher. Innocently blunt, he always had been. Thankfully, it suited him and matched his spirit of inquiry. He must have learned it from his mother, the sheriff.

"I- well, I w-" she tried to begin before her Uncle Sebastian appeared beside her, placing a hand that possessed more affection than her father had ever shown. 

"Mattie, save it for the precinct," he smiled, friendly and utterly harmless. "My wife needs a formal interview, if that's fine with you," Sebastian continued. At the finish of his words, he picked up her ruined purse and nodded his head to the front doors of the clinic, where what seemed to be endless crowds of journalists chasing a story hungrily aimed their cameras and microphones to the glass doors, desperately trying to catch a glimpse of Mattie and the damage that had been inflicted to her. 

"I know you don't want to hear this," Evangeline spoke, folding her arms and glancing to the news crews as she nervously shuffled in front of her daughter to block her view from their greedy lens. "But I think the car your father sent would be the best choice for action."

"Uh," she pulled away from Asher, without his support on her waist, she shook as if she was a crumbling building seconds before the great fall, but found balance when Sebastian steadied her with his hands delicately placed on her shoulders. "I'd rather face the masses." 

AN

 Yes, I know. It's boring and it's pretty stupid considering it took like three months for this to get written. This was the most difficult chapter for some reason. 

This book is becoming a slow burn, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Tell me whatcha think below. I'm so practice for this book, I'm sorry. 

But that break down>> Damn, I love exploring Oliver and Asher, especially them together.