Burning In Hell

Sam has never had what you would call a "normal" life, being the only one that can take care of his little brother. Now, as his legal guardian, things seem to be calming down into a regular routine.
Until one day Sam's temper gets the best of him, and things get crazier than ever.


1. ᴘʀᴏʟᴏɢᴜᴇ


Sam looked up from his book to see his little brother standing at the door to his bedroom, his face distorted by the flickering lamp, and sandy white-blonde hair looking brown in the dull light. He sat up and set the book in his lap and smiled. "Hiya, kiddo," he greeted, his low and husky voice the polar opposite of Pat's higher-pitched vocals. "What's up?"

Pat lingered in the doorway, seemingly unsure. "Can I come in?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly, making Sam instantly alert.

"Of course you can," he said, holding out an arm. "C'mere, kiddo."

Pat was still for another second, before he ran across the room and launched himself at his older brother. Sam was surprised at the sudden weight, but quickly adjusted. He was used to his little brother's need of affection, and he didn't particularly mind - not that he'd admit that to any of his classmates. They were all at the ever-judging age of 16, making Pat 12, four years younger. Pat still acted like a little child when it came to the brotherly relationship between the two, and Sam was all too happy to oblige.

Pat buried his head into Sam's shoulder and wrapping his arms around Sam's neck. Sam, in turn, wrapped one arm around his little brother's waist and moved the book to the bedside table with his free hand.

"What's up, bro?" he asked gently. "What's on your mind?"

"Sam?" Pat asked, his voice slightly muffled, his face pressed into Sam's favourite blue hoodie. "Can I ask you something?"


"Why did mother leave?"

Sam grimaced - this wasn't the first time Pat had asked this, and it pained Sam to not be able to give a proper answer to his brother, to not be able to give the answer he knew was needed.

"I don't know," he answered honestly. "I guess things just weren't working out between her and Dad - although I'm not entirely sure he knows why she left."

"Can I ask Dad?" Pat lifted his head, his voice rising in pitch slightly in his hope and excitement.

"No," Sam answered quickly, harshly, and Pat drew back in fright. Sam softened his tone. "No, Pat, you can't ask him," he amended. "It still pains him to remember her, I think."

Pat sighed, and fell back against Sam, who fell back against the bed again. They spent a few seconds shifting into comfortable positions, which ended up being Pat curled up against Sam's side, and Sam's arm around Pat's shoulders.

"I still can't believe you're suddenly so much taller than me," Sam grumbled.

Pat giggled. "It's not my fault you're so short."

"You got the tall genes from Dad."

"And you most certainly didn't."

"Shut up, kid. I've still got two years on you."

"And soon I'm gonna have two feet on you!"

"Bro, that's disgusting."

"You know what I mean, Sam," Pat sighed, and Sam chuckled. They lay in comfortable silence for a few minutes.

Sam didn't know why their mother left, which was only six short years after Pat was born. At first, Sam hated his mother for leaving, for getting that divorce, for leaving a baby Pat behind with no understanding of the world, for not ever asking to talk to her children after her abrupt exit.

For not taking them with her; for leaving them with their mad scientist of a father, who sometimes came home for dinner each night and then collapsed into bed without another word.

But then, Sam had slowly begun to put the pieces together, and realised that their relationship had been rocky for a while, even before Pat was born.

And so he'd started working for the extra money their mother didn't, and that their father didn't give them access to, so he could feed himself and his little brother. Even if it was just washing dishes down at Grillby's for a few hours, it put some money in his pocket.

And, six years later, he'd long accepted the way things were: no mother, more-absent-than-not father.

But Sam had Pat, and he was coming to realise that Pat was all he ever needed.



Sam lay on his bed, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling and brooding. He was lazy, he knew that, but today was just a bad day for all sorts of reasons.

His little brother had retreated to his room in tears, and Sam had retreated to his. He was pissed off at his father's bout of carelessness, annoyed at himself for being pissed off, and he felt absolutely terrible for his little brother, so much more so than himself. They'd lost so much in one day.

He rolled over onto his side, so he was facing the wall. He wanted to punch it, he was fighting too many tears back. At the same time, however, he could barely muster the strength to move.

"Sam?" A trembling voice came from the doorway, and it took a lot of Sam's energy not to tell them not to go away. But he knew that voice anywhere, and he could rarely say no to that tone.

He slowly rolled back over, looking over at the doorway with tired eyes to see his little brother Pat standing there, shaking, tears rolling down his face.

But he couldn't find the strength to say anything, so he just lifted one arm up. Pat ran across the room and all but fell into Sam's arms. It wasn't like the old days anymore - Pat was much too tall for that now, almost doubling Sam's height, despite being two years younger. But still, Pat found a way to curl up into Sam's chest, sobbing. Sam hugged him tight, running his hands through the white-blonde hair that was identical to his own. He wanted to sob, too, but he also wanted to be strong for his little brother. He wanted to tell him that everything would be okay, that they'd work it out, that they wouldn't be separated, because Sam was 19 and working and had been living at home to care for Pat because their father didn't, and that he could continue to care for him.

But in this moment, he couldn't say anything, because he was too unsure. He could never lie to Pat. So he just continued to run his hands through Pat's hair in silence.

They stayed like that for a little while as Pat's sobs slowly subsided into occasional sniffles, his head now buried in Sam's shoulder. But even in the darkness of the room, Sam could still make out tears streaming down his face.

"Sam?" Pat asked, his voice shaky, and barely more than a whisper.

"Yeah, Pat?" Sam's own voice was croaky, like he hadn't spoken in days.

"What will happen to us now?"

Sam froze, causing Pat to look up at him in confusion and fear. Sam sighed and gently touched his forehead to his little brother's, trying to find the right words.

"I dunno, bro," he admitted. "I really don't know."

"Are they going to take me away from you?" Now Pat's voice was barely audible.

"No," Sam replied firmly. "I won't let them do that. Not today, not tomorrow, never in a million lifetimes will I let anybody separate us."

Pat managed a weak smile. "Really?"

"If you want me to promise you that, I will. As many times as you need me to."

"You don't have to promise me anything, Sam. Just don't let them separate us."


"Thank you."

Soon after that, they fell asleep in each other's arms, safe and warm, where Sam finally allowed himself to cry.

The two brothers were safe in each other's presence, and nothing would ever tear them away from each other, for their determination and courage would always connect their hearts.

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