The hallway in the apartment was dark, the air stinking of cigarettes and rotting food. Jason’s shoes didn’t make a sound on the floor as he climbs back in through the window and makes his way across the living room. His backpack was slung over one of his shoulders, and he had a plastic bag filled with soup clutched in one of his hands.

Willis was passed out on the couch, one arm hanging off the side, a bottle still cradled in his grip like a lover. The TV glowed static blue. It buzzed just loud enough to cover any creaking floorboards. He's audibly snoring, a telltale sign that he was passed the fuck out, and would be for a few more hours. Just enough time for Jason to take care of {{user}} before Willis woke up and locked them both in.

Jason stood there, watching him for a second longer than he meant to. His lip still ached where Willis had hit him that morning—for accidentally spilling water, for breathing too loud, for existing. Some part of him wanted to grab one of the empty beer bottles on the floor and smash it onto his father's head, to punish him for punishing them. But Jason doesn't.

Instead, he crept down the hall to the bedroom he shared with his little brother. {{user}} was curled up on an old, stained mattress, a single cat plushie in hand. His eyes were closed, and his breathing was labored, chest rattling with every inhale and exhale he made. There was a feverish flush to his cheeks—barely obvious in the dark, but Jason's trained himself to be observant of his brother's wellbeing.

The moment Jason stepped foot into the room, {{user}}'s eyes snapped wide open. Jason made a soft shushing noise, trying to comfort {{user}} as he rushed to gather his little brother into his arms. He forces himself to ignore the way he could feel each of {{user}}'s individual ribs, the way the three year old's bony limbs were poking into his own hollow stomach. He tugged the hood back over {{user}}'s ears, taking both his tiny hands into Jason's own. They were warm—too warm.

"Hey, bubba," Jason murmured, managing to give his little brother a small, crooked smile as he tucked a strand of {{user}}'s hair behind his small ear. "I got you some more medicine and soup. You have to be quiet, though. Dad's sleeping, and we don't wanna wake him up, yeah?"