Chapter Text
Brown eyes from a young boy, about the age of five, follow the movement of other children his age and parents alike, watching as mothers reach for their children, who extend their hands in response, holding on to one another as they walk out the door. For each child he sees, a mother makes their way over and lovingly reaches out to their child and takes them home, where undoubtedly, food and care are to be provided.
The young boy sits there on the wooden, waiting, while the after-school caretakers provide attention and promises of fun to as many kids as they can, while one of them stands with a clipboard and talks to parents, checking off names as the kids leave one by one with their mothers.
"Eric!" He hears his name, already knowing it's his father, even before he turns his head left, spotting him waving. "Time to go home!"
He gets down from the bench, pushing himself off and slowly walking toward his father, who simply smiles at him while the caretaker crosses Eric's name off of the clipboard. As he walks, however, he notices kids who have already been picked up getting into the cars with their mothers, smiles on their faces, bouts of laughter, Eric notices it all.
"Hey there, buddy," his Dad greets, "you ready to go home?" He extends his right hand, and Eric takes it wordlessly. With a polite, 'thank you,' to the caretaker, his Dad begins to lead him away from the other children, and toward the parking lot.
Eric stays silent the entire way, getting into the backseat with his Dad's help, and then into his booster seat. He still stays silent even as his Dad gets into the Driver's seat after closing his door, and turning the key in the ignition to start the car.
Even the ride was silent, for the most part. It was only after driving for a mile and a half did his Dad break the silence. "Did you have fun at school, Eric? You're awfully quiet." Eric doesn't respond, letting the silence continue to permeate the air. His Dad doesn't push for an answer, doesn't bombard him with another question. Simply, he smiles into the rearview mirror and returns his attention to the road.
The silence festers for approximately five minutes before Eric speaks, and asks, "how come all the other kids have their Mom pick them up after school, and I only have a Dad who does that?" It's an innocent question, of course, but there's a hint of so much more than what the question presents on the surface.
The question is like the ocean; shallow waters closer to shore, deeper, much darker areas below. Jason, Eric's Dad, isn't quite sure how to tackle the question at first, but he lets himself think for a few minutes before he finally decides to speak.
"Your Mother… I don't want you to think she doesn't love you, Eric. Of course, she loves you, it's just… Well, it didn't work between us and your Mother decided to leave. That's why I pick you up after school. That's why you see your Dad pick you up, and why you see all the other kids with their Mothers."
Eric says nothing to that, and Jason takes it as a sign to continue. "Hey, I'll tell you what buddy. When we go home, let's play some catch? How does that sound?" Again, Eric says nothing, but Jason can see the smile on his son's face, and so he asks, in a happier tone, "Yeah? You like the sound of that, buddy?"
"Yes, Dad!' Eric answers, or rather, exclaims happily, giggling in a way that makes his father chuckle, and the smile on his face widens.
"Alright. Hang in there. We're almost home."
Eric says nothing back and the car delves into silence again, only this time, it's comfortable, rather than suffocating. Before long, after a few more miles, the father and son find themselves pulling into next to the U-shaped curve of their house.
Eric, before his father can even get to him, is already taking off the seatbelt of his booster seat, as well as the seatbelt itself. "Well, look at you," the father says with a beaming smile, "my lil' boy is so smart, he didn't need his dad to unbuckle him." Laughter ensues when Eric's Dad tickles his sides, making the young boy contort his body to try and protect himself from the assault of fingers brushing against his sides, and his small hands to bat away his dad's larger ones.
It only took seconds for the tickling to stop, and the father helps his son out of the car, Eric already running off toward the house with excitement coursing through his veins. He waits for his dad next to the door, needing him to open it before being allowed to enter.
"C'mon, Dad!" Eric yells, bouncing on the tips of his toes.
"I'm coming buddy, don't worry," his father replies, more than halfway up the stairs. "We still have time in the day, don't worry." He makes it to the door, inserting the house key into the lock, and the moment the door is opened, Eric barrels into the living room, making his father laugh. "Slow down buddy, you don't wanna trip and fall!"
Yet, Eric simply throws his bag onto the couch, then continues running the rest of the way to his room, Jason shaking his head at his son, but the fond smile on his face and the gentle, loving sigh symbolizes a father who adores and loves his son.
Ascending the stairs, one step at a time, considering he was just a five-year-old boy, Eric heads down the hallway, passing two doors- one on the left and one on the right- and takes the third door on the right, little fingers curling around the doorknob and gingerly open the door to his room. He walks in, and immediately upon entering, heads toward the table allocated next to his bed.
Opening the top drawer from his bedside table, the boy retrieves a baseball and a glove fitting the size of his hand, and he rushes out with equal fervor and eagerly holds the ball and glove in front of his father. “I’m ready!”
“Alright, alright.” His father ruffles his hair affectionately. “Gimme a sec to grab my stuff. Don’t go anywhere, and don’t trash the house.”
A car ride later, father and son arrive at the park closest to their home. Putting on their respective baseball gloves, they find a spot on the large patch of grass and start tossing the baseball back and forth. Eric’s lack of control over his tosses gives his father a fair challenge, but a five-year-old boy isn’t thinking of upstaging his father at all; the very fact that he can spend time with his father chasing an unruly sphere is enough to get him excited, and when the ball is passed back to him in a parabola through the air, he chases after it eagerly, the energy in him almost disproportionate to his small body. Once he even trips and lands face-first in an attempt to get to the ball before it reaches the ground, but the fall just makes him laugh. The grin never leaves his tiny, grass-stained face after that.
That is, until, the cry of a baby pierces the air.
Eric, in the middle of retrieving the baseball from where it is lodged between the roots of a tree, turns his head in the direction of the sharp wail. The image of a baby, not so small in his even tinier arms, flashes through his mind, and then he remembers: he has heard this sound before, and much closer, too.
His father approaches him and crouches down next to him to mirror his height, gaze, everything. “You alright, buddy?”
Eric tries to think of the thought that crossed his mind but comes up empty - at least, that was what he thought for a long time; in reality, his mind is just remembering but failing to reconstruct the complete image of the baby brother he only knew briefly before they were separated. He remembers eyes the same color as his own on a tiny, pink face, but that is as much as his mind can conjure up. “I’m fine,” he replies in the end with surprising maturity. “It surprised me, that’s all.”
****
"Eric? Eric! C'mon, wake up. We're here."
Groaning, Eric opens his eyes due to the hand on his shoulder gently shaking him awake, and the call of his name. Through half-lidded eyes, he sees Cooper right in front of him, smiling. "We're here," he repeats, then adds, with a thumb over his shoulder, "I also took the liberty of calling you a taxi and paying for it."
"You didn't have to do that," Eric says groggily, hands coming up to rub the sleepiness out of his eyes.
"It's not a big deal. Plus, it looked like you were dreaming of something pretty heavy." Taking his hands away from his face, Eric looks at Cooper with his right eyebrow raised. "I'm not pressing for answers, but your face was scrunched up in thought. Everything alright?"
"Yeah," Eric stands up from his seat, yawning and arching his back, joints popping in satisfaction as he stretches. "Yeah, everything is alright. I was just… It wasn't anything big. Just something from my past."
"Well, whatever it was, seemed like it was pretty important. Pretty big to me." Eric hums in response, then looks to the floor, finding his suitcase still on the carpet, but it's closed, and the scrapbook he remembers looking at is nowhere in sight. "I put the scrapbook away in your suitcase," Cooper adds, seeing Eric looking intently at the area as if he lost something. "I put it in there before waking you up. Didn't wanna startle you and damage the thing."
"Thanks," he replies with a nod before reaching down and grabbing his suitcase by the handle, pushing the button on top as he stands it straight up, extending the handle to his midsection. He walks first toward the lowered staircase, Cooper following just slightly behind him.
As Cooper had stated, there was indeed a taxi waiting for him, as the man had stated earlier. The chilly air of the night hit him, and he shivered slightly, but Eric was more than used to cold climates here and there- on the case that his job had him working in less than regulated temperature areas, more times than he could count. Looking around, he is, in fact, at the airport, planes of plenty stationed at various docking terminals, lights illuminating the dark, while a distinct, yellow vehicle sits parked a few feet from the plane.
"I appreciate this, ya know?" Says Eric, looking over his shoulder just before reaching the bottom of the stairs.
"Don't mention it, Eric," Cooper replies, following Eric toward the taxi. "I just hope everything goes well between you and your brother."
I hope so, too, Eric thinks. His arms litter with goosebumps as the wind picks up again, nipping at his exposed skin, the wheels on his suitcase grinding against the ground, the sound loud in Eric's ears. He swallows the lump in his throat, formed from the anxiousness that he feels from not knowing just how Ethan will react to this news. He doesn't stop, however, not until he gets to the taxi, opening the doors and putting his suitcase inside before he gets in himself.
It's Cooper who closes the door for him, saying, "I wish you luck on your endeavor to reconnect with your brother. Get some good night's rest for now."
"Will do," Eric nods. "See you around, Cooper." The latter taps the top of the taxi with a smile, the driver pulling away from the spot.
Looking out of the back window, he finds Cooper waving at him, the man growing smaller and smaller as the taxi continues to drive off, Eric responding with a small smile and a wave of his own before turning forward, just as the taxi drives past a metal gate and slowly merges onto the road with the rest of the cars- which, thankfully, isn't too many at this time of night.
Throughout the drive, Eric gazes out the window, eyes captivated by the clear, starry sky that seems to be ever so impossibly brighter thanks to the lights within the town that shimmer. The street, peaceful; cars seemingly scarce, but just enough that it creates a calming, serene atmosphere that Eric seemingly enjoys. He rests his head against the headrest, sighing softly, but keeps his eyes outside the window, letting the beautiful sky and the serenity of the unoccupied road keep his attention, letting them hold his sense like a mother would her child- with deep care.
He isn't sure how long it took or, whenever exactly it happened, but soon enough the driver is telling him that they're here. Eric notes the Slavic accent, but simply thanks the man. Just as he gets out, suitcase on the ground, handle in his, reaching toward his pocket to pull out his wallet, the driver tells him there's no need to pay him, stating that his friend had already taken the liberty of paying for the ride as he got there. With nothing else to do, Eric simply nods with one last "thanks" of gratitude before he turns around and walks toward the open doors of the hotel he'll be staying at, while the taxi takes off behind him.
Seeing the tall building towering over him, Eric hadn't expected the hotel to be so vibrant, so wide in regards to its height- not just the outside, which could be mistaken for a school if an outsider wasn't paying attention-, but the inside as well.
Various chandeliers above his head, pristine, white, porcelain floors, triple beam cream-colored pillars to the left and right of him that match the walls, a three-step staircase he descends before coming toward the front desk, finding a woman with her black hair in a neat bun behind her head smiling at him and welcoming him, dressed in all dark blue from head to toe, stationed behind a dark brown oak desk.
He keeps it simple and asks for a single room, which the woman is happy to give him. She gives him a keycard to his room, located on the fourth floor, four doors down from the right. He expresses his gratitude with a simple, "thank you," with a nod of his head, walking past the desk toward the left hallway.
The pristine, white porcelain tiles and chandeliers remain the same, as well as the cream color of the walls, too, but soon enough, a lush scarlet carpet appears as soon as he spots three silver doored elevators not too far from his location. He speeds up his walking a bit, eager to get into his room and fall asleep for the night.
He pushes the up button and, thankfully, the elevator to his right is the first to open, vacant of any civilian. He presses button four and waits patiently after the elevator closes and starts to ascend. He rests his head against the cold, steel interior, sighing and, exponentially, dreading tomorrow.
Ethan has no idea who he is, and Eric had only found out about his brother today or seemingly, if he's keeping time zones into consideration, yesterday. Reaching into his right pocket, he fishes out his phone to check the time. Turning it on, and rather amused at himself for always keeping the location option on his phone on, the time reads 11:42 pm. He puts his phone back into his pocket as the elevator dings and the doors part, allowing him to leave.
The carpet below his feet is lush and scarlet as well, the walls still cream-colored, but the lights above his head aren't chandeliers, but regular fluorescent bulbs. As he walks, he thinks about the dream he had back on the plane.
He shakes his head at himself as he thinks about it, scoffing, too. Now that he's older, he realizes that his life had been a partial lie, and that, even from a young age, he felt something was off but never questioned them. Now, he realizes that the baby wailing, triggering something inside of his head at the time, wasn't some random imagination, but it was a memory. He never realized it at the time because he was nothing more than a child, but Eric had remembered Ethan. He shakes his head, slight annoyance setting in that his- their father, had kept this from him. Kept this from them.
He sighs heavily just before reaching his door, pulling out the key card from his back right pocket, and inserting it into the keycard lock on his door. It takes only a second before the light goes from red to green, and Eric quickly turns the handle of the door and steps inside his room.
It's nothing too fancy; the room is simple and Eric isn't complaining. He takes off his shoes, closing the door with his right socked-up foot, then pushing his shoes into the small space where the door doesn't reach upon swinging inward. Closest to the door, the tiles are a mixture of black and light grey, a door to Eric's left that, upon opening, reveals to be the bathroom. Closing that door gently, he ventures past the kitchen to his right further into the room, the tiles now turning into light green lush carpet.
Above him is a simple fluorescent bulb encased in a circular glass shade just a few inches away from the bed that has been neatly made. Next to the bed on the right is a nightstand with a lamp that's on, and above the headboard was the air conditioner. Without missing a beat, Eric quickly pushes the handle of his suitcase down, gently placing it on its back and sliding it under the bed, then makes short work of pulling the blanket back and climbing inside, remembering to take his phone out of his pocket, along with his keycard, and placing them next to the lamp, of which, he turns off, plunging the room into darkness.
He rests comfortably in the bed, the mattress as soft as a cloud, making Eric sigh softly as he sinks just ever so slightly deeper, eyes growing heavy. Whether or not he gets a good night's sleep is the ultimate question, but Eric can already feel himself falling asleep. He can worry and ponder over his memory tomorrow or another time, but for now, he sighs one last time and lets himself fall into a deep slumber.
****
When Eric wakes up, he first finds out it's morning by rolling onto his right side and grabbing his phone, seeing that the time reads eight o'clock AM. He rubs the sleep out of his eyes, needing just a few more minutes to himself before he gingerly pulls the blanket off of himself and sits at the edge, placing his phone on the pillow and reaching down to grab his suitcase.
Once procured, he unzips it, finding the scrapbook sitting back at the top in its original place, just as Cooper said he placed it. He grabs it, setting it nicely on his lap and flipping toward Ethan's section, starting with the picture of when he was a baby.
Eric shakes his head as he thinks about the dream he had; his younger self seemingly remembering his baby brother for a brief moment before he grew up, never remembering something like that again. Never having another memory of Ethan. Perhaps, he should've told his father about it, but he was young and didn't think too much about it. He didn't want his father to think he was crazy, but now, as a thirty-five-year-old man, he realizes, that at the age of five, he wasn't crazy for remembering something like that.
Perhaps, it had been a sign. Maybe, as he remembers that time in his life now, he needed to wait all this time to find Ethan. Maybe he needed to mature a bit until he got to this moment? Although rolling his eyes, he thinks, That's bullshit.
At any point during his time after college, his father could've told him that he had a brother. Maybe Eric could've reached out to him- hell, maybe Eric could've been a part of his brother's life, doing brotherly things, getting to know him, even spending time with their mother, too. Sadly, the time for that has passed, but Eric can still dream.
While his dad had known about his brother since the day he was born, perhaps he didn't know just where Ethan was in the world. Their parents were divorced, after all. At least, that's what his Dad had told him-, among other things about his mother. Maybe the Dulvey Incident was the only time his father had been able to know about Ethan. However, that doesn't explain the scrapbook, and the way his dad talked about him, it sounded like he was alive. His Dad wouldn't send him out here to find a grave with his brother's name on it, right?
"Fuck," he swears, looking at the scrapbook. "There's something wrong about this." Eric, ever observant, realizes that pieces are missing- fragments scattered like forgotten details in a well-written story. There's something his father omitted from telling him.
Looking over his shoulder at his pillow while leaving the scrapbook open, he grabs his phone, looking through his contacts after unlocking his device and locating his father's number, putting the phone to his ear after pressing the call button.
"Hi, this is Jason King-," Eric groans loudly and swears under his breath as he automatically gets put to voice-mail, not a single ring from his father's phone. "-Sorry I can't answer the phone right now, I'm rather busy. Please, feel free to leave a message after the beep if you've gotten this far."
As soon as Eric hears the beep, he says, "Hey, Dad. Do you think you can call me back as soon as you get this message, there are some things I need to talk to you about- things that don't make sense. Call me back when you can. Bye." He sighs after he hangs up, placing his phone on the nightstand. He isn't sure whether he's more annoyed or grateful that his father didn't answer; grateful for the fact he didn't pick up because, in the event he did, Eric might've been on the phone with him for a while wondering just how much information is being kept from him and possibly wasting a day looking for Ethan. Annoyed simply because his father didn't answer his fucking phone while he has so many questions.
But now, Eric realizes, as he looks back at the scrapbook, flipping through pages until he reaches the end and sees his brother graduating from college, he sighs heavily and pinches the bridge of his nose, coming to the sudden realization that he doesn't know exactly where Ethan lives, only what city he resides in.
"Great, just great," he grumbles. He gets more frustrated by the minute as realizes the only person who possibly knows where Ethan lives is his father, whose phone isn't currently on.
Although, as much as Eric hates to think about it, there is one person who he can call, he just doesn't want to-, and for good reason. However, his options are limited, and his temptation grows stronger as he, once again, grabs his phone and goes through his contacts.
He doesn't press the call button right away. Instead, he sits there, staring at the contact name, wondering to himself, why the fuck does it have to come to this? If given the option, had he known before where his brother lived, he wouldn't have to even consider the option of calling Rachel. Hell, he doesn't even want to talk to her. She broke his heart and left him trying to pick up the pieces of himself she didn't care about.
He stares at her contact, her first name on the screen, his thumb idly scrolling up and down just to keep his phone from turning off. He's almost tempted to call his dad again to see if he'll answer the phone, but knowing his dad, he probably won't have his phone on if it was off the first time. It pains him to have to call the person who hurt him emotionally; had an affair behind his back and blatantly left him with nothing, despite giving him his stuff back. Fuck, the only reason he got kicked out of the house was that she had already had Nick move in. She didn't even bother to look for a place herself, she just decided that Eric had to be the one to go.
Bitterly, he presses the call button, her phone ringing in his ear. Despite Rachel being the last person he wants to talk to, her job working for the CIA would help him to find Ethan more efficiently, and as much as he doesn't want to admit it, her area of expertise is rather helpful to him.
He jerks his leg up and down with a combination of anxiousness and nerves, holding onto the scrapbook with his left hand as he does so, making sure it doesn't fall. He's close to hanging up the phone and trying again on the fourth ring, but suddenly, the ringing stops, and Rachel's tired, yet annoyed voice greets his ear.
"Eric, why the fuck are you calling me at 1 AM in the fucking morning?"
"Good morning to you, Rachel," he does his best to hide his distaste, but he hears the slight assholish tone in his voice. "Hope you managed to get some sleep."
"Eric," she sighs heavily, "what the hell do you want? I was sleeping." He goes to open his mouth, but another voice greets his ears. He quickly shuts his mouth, clenching his jaw as he hears Nick's voice in the background, and Rachel speaks softly to him about how, "it's just Eric," and, "go back to sleep."
"I need a favor," he says, getting to this point.
To this, Rachel gives a rather exasperated sigh, and Eric can't help but roll his eyes at this. "Eric-, no. Okay? It's 1 AM, and I'm not going to go out of my way to help you whatever the fuck you decided was so important that you had to wake me up, and-"
"I just found out I have a brother," he says, quickly cutting her off. The line goes silent, something he's rather grateful for. He doesn't think he would've been able to sit there any longer listening to her and not snap at her. He hears muffled speaking, then the sound of Rachel getting out of bed, and finally the sound of a door softly closing.
"I'm sorry, can you repeat that?" He can't help but chuckle softly at her disbelief.
"Yeah, trust me, I didn't believe it at first, but I found out from my dad that I have a brother named Ethan Winters. I tried calling my dad, but he's not picking up his phone. So, I called you because I needed help finding out where he lives."
"This is just… Wow." He can almost picture her deer caught in headlights look from the other side.
"Do you think you can help me? I'm about to leave my hotel room to go look for him, but I need his address."
"Yeah, I'll help. What was his name again?"
"Ethan Winters. He's somewhere here in Romania."
"Wait… You're in Romania? When did you leave?"
"Yesterday. I left as soon as I heard about my brother. My dad arranged a flight and everything. Amid everything, I managed to omit the part where I needed to ask where in Romania he lives."
"For someone who's rather observant, you sure are dense sometimes."
"You try thinking logically when your father tells you you have a sibling you never knew about for thirty years." She hums but says nothing. At the very least, he knows she acknowledges his point. "Can you help me? Please?"
"I'll help you." He sighs softly, relieved. "I'll text you his address. I hope everything works out between you and your brother."
"Yeah. Me too." He hangs up the phone, nothing more left to say. It feels like an awkward point to hang up, but he doesn't dwell on the matter for too long. He closes the pages of the scrapbook, bringing him to the first page, the envelope resting against the cover of the book. He grabs it and rests it against his baby pictures and closes the scrapbook, standing up, dialing a taxi, and pressing the phone to his ear he grabs his keycard, putting it into his right pocket.
He leaves the room, the automatic lock engaging, and he walks down the hallway toward the elevator. By the time he reaches one out of the three elevators, he's already procured a taxi for himself, even before the doors open. He presses the first-floor button which takes him to the lobby after waiting for less than thirty seconds. Casually, he walks straight, scrapbook secure in his right hand against his side, shoes thudding against the tiles until he finds himself outside, the taxi already waiting for him next to the curb.
His phone dings in his pocket, Eric taking his device out. He smiles as he sees Ethan's address pop up in the text message from Rachel. Grateful for what she had done, he sends a quick "thanks," in response before getting into the taxi. Even before the taxi driver could ask him where he wants to go, he's already reciting the address, and before he knows it, they're pulling away from the curb onto the street, joining the rest of the cars like a group of ants.
For Eric, the car ride was nothing more than just a blur; buildings passed, cars, and pedestrians, were nothing more than simple blurs to Eric, having not paid any attention to what was out the window. He held the scrapbook in his lap, fingers curled around the edges, gripping it so tight his knuckles were white. His mind was only focused on one thing; Ethan Winters, his brother.
What would Ethan say? Would he be mad? Would he despise him for spending time with their father and not knowing about him or their mother, despite Eric not knowing about them growing up. He only knows so little about their mother from how their father talked about her, but in Ethan's case, he was a mystery.
A honk of the horn startles him, breaking him from his reverie. "We're here," the driver says, and Eric finally catches a look out the window of his surroundings.
He expected Ethan's house to be more out in the open, surrounded by neighbors, and cars barreling down the street, but what he got instead, was unexpected. The house was secluded, snow covering a straight path toward the house, trees on either side of the taxi. Perhaps, if he had been paying attention, he would know just how far from civilization he was.
He wants to question if this is truly the address he had stated, but he chose to bite his tongue. Instead, he said, "keep the meter running," before he opens the door, frigid air brushing against his skin, littering it with goosebumps, making him shiver.
Scrapbook in his right hand, he closes the door with his left, each step he takes toward the house creating a shoe print in the snow. He trudged forward past a Toyota Hilux and a Dodge Challenger parked next to each other, inhaling the cold air, then exhaling out of his mouth, seeing his breath in front of him. He feels the nerves nestled deep in the pit of his stomach, nervousness threatening to make him turn around and head back to his hotel, forgetting about his plans to meet his brother, about his plans to be part of his life and get to know him.
He steels his nerves and continues to make the journey forward, swallowing the lump that formed in his throat. He makes it to the porch, standing in front of the brilliant double wooden door with a golden door knocker near the top center of the door.
He stares at the door, the nerves in his stomach making an encore, his left hand staying at his side, curling and uncurling a fist, right hand gripping the scrapbook tightly. Once more, he inhales deeply, then exhales the same.
You can do this, Eric, he tells himself internally, finally raising his left hand to the door, knuckles pointed toward the door, choosing to knock instead of using the doorknockers. "Here goes nothing."
****
Ever since Chris, Rose, and Ethan returned home from the ice rink, Ethan hasn't been acting like himself. The entire ride until they returned home was filled with uncomfortable silence ever since the question of whether or not Ethan had siblings had been asked. He didn't seem to recover from the question either. He had this perpetual lost expression on his face, confusion and distraught thrown into the mix, creating a husk of Ethan Winters that neither Rose nor Chris recognized.
Even now, after they entered their home, Ethan hadn't said a word to them, and headed straight toward his room, leaving Rose and Chris to mingle amongst themselves.
Of course, Chris took the liberty of heading toward the kitchen with Rose, who sat atop a stool behind the breakfast bar, and made her a simple peanut butter and jelly sandwich, cut into two diagonal slices.
She ate it in silence, Chris washing the knife he had used for both condiments. It's only when he puts the knife away and walks over toward her does she speak, "Is Dad mad at me?"
The question takes Chris aback, eyes as wide as saucers. "No, of course not," he replies with an incredulous tone, not believing that she had just asked that. "Your dad’s not angry at you. He's just… Lost in thought is all."
"I didn't think he'd freeze up after I asked him if he had any siblings. I wonder why that happened?"
"I'll tell you what." Chris leans forward, using his forearms for balance against the breakfast bar. "Lemme go talk to your dad and find out what's wrong. I'm sure I can get him back to normal in no time."
"Can you?" Rose asks with slight disbelief.
"Of course! Lemme go see what's wrong and I'll be right back, okay?"
"Okay."
Chris smiles brightly at Rose, pushing off of the breakfast bar and, firstly, making his way around to plant a kiss on the side of Rose's head, causing the young blonde to smile before her second dad made his way toward the living room, and then up the stairs, indicated by the sounds of his footsteps thudding against the steps as ascending a wooden staircase.
Each step Chris takes brings him closer to the top, closer to the room he shares with Ethan. Truthfully, he's been worried about Ethan ever since he had gone quiet in the car. The only reason he hasn't been pestering him ever since is because he had thought giving Ethan some space was the correct answer. However, ever since they had gotten home, Ethan secluded himself in his room, yet to speak to either of them. Chris had simply thought he needed time, but ever since yesterday, after they came home, even today, Ethan hadn't been himself.
So, after making it to the top of the stairs, Chris takes a left down the hall and heads toward the first door on the left, gently knocking on the door to signal his arrival, then gently opening the door slowly, swinging it inward.
He spots Ethan on the edge of the bed, still in his clothes from yesterday. It amuses Chris ever so slightly; the fact that he had been too lost to bother changing out of his civilian attire and into sleepwear, there was some amusement there for Chris to chuckle softly at. Closing the door gently behind him, he inches toward Ethan slowly, taking cautious steps to not startle him. As he gets closer to Ethan, the blond looks up at him from where he was looking at his lap. Chris gently kneels, taking both hands that were on Ethan's knees into his own, pressing his lips to each open palm respectfully, Ethan following the movement with his eyes.
"What's wrong, babe?" Chris asks with a tone so soft, so sweet, and caring, that Ethan can't help but smile.
"I just-," he shrugs, looking down at his lap, "I can't help but feel I'm forgetting something. When Rose asked me about any siblings I… I felt something. I think I remembered something, but that can't be possible. It was always just me and my Mom."
"What did you see?"
"... Someone with the same eye color as me. A… Child, but I couldn't make out the face. Their voice was… Familiar. I just don't know what any of that is supposed to mean."
"Do you think it's a sign or something?" Chris wasn't sure of what to say to this, but he wanted to try at least to soothe his boyfriend's worries.
"A sign of what though?" Ethan asks, tilting his head. All Chris could do was shrug, making Ethan sign. "It's… Strange, I guess. I don't know who that was but, for some reason, my mind is telling me that I do."
"Well, perhaps I could take your mind off of it?"
"Oh, yeah? Just how are you-?"
Before the words could leave Ethan's mouth, Chris had silenced him with a kiss that took Ethan by surprise, but one he quickly melted into. Ethan squeezes Chris' hands, the latter returning the gesture before he lets them go in favor of placing one hand behind Ethan's head, deepening the kiss, and placing the other on his waist. For Ethan, his hands cupped Chris' face, thumbs brushing over his cheeks, over some of his facial hair. He chuckles into the kiss whenever Chris' facial hair brushes over his face, making him also kiss back with deep intimacy that makes the both of them moan.
As the kiss heats up, and tongues begin to explore each other's mouths, Ethan begins to back up on the bed as Chris gets off of his knees, crawling onto the bed and forcing Ethan to lay down on his back, towering over him. Chris' left hand is the first to venture off of its path and toward a new destination- in this case, under Ethan's shirt. The brunette's hand travels upward with the speed of a snail, taking his time on his adventure up Ethan's stomach, and toward the middle of his chest where he's rewarded with Ethan breaking the kiss and moaning softly.
Chris has discovered at some point during their sexual activities, that Ethan was sensitive near his chest area. He wasn't sure how to explain it, and neither did Ethan, but he wasn't going to complain when the sound went right between his legs and made his cock twitch in interest every time. And the same goes for Ethan, who had discovered that one of Chris' sensitive areas was the left and right side of his body, close to his lower abs and belly button. Much like right now, Ethan's hands stop cupping his face and go down his body, under his shirt and find that exact spot that makes him groan ever so seductively, that Ethan's hips respond and grind their growing erections together, moaning in synch.
"Fuck," Ethan swears, head against the pillow, panting softly.
"You sound so beautiful when you moan," Chris replies huskily, leaning down and kissing Ethan deeply.
Retracting his hand, Chris begins to pull Ethan's shirt further upward, exposing the expanse of his chest, breaking the kiss to travel some down his neck, toward the freshly exposed skin. Ethan takes his hands out of Chris' shirt and wraps them around his head, biting his lip as Chris teases him, kisses his chest with such care, such love as he slowly inches his way toward Ethan's right pectoral. A shaky breath leaves Ethan's mouth as he feels Chris' hot breath over his hardened nipple, while simultaneously, his left thumb teases his other hardened nub. In deep anticipation, Ethan shivers as he feels Chris' breath get hotter, ready to sink his mouth and start to work Ethan toward a great amount of-
"Dad! Someone's at the door to see you!" They both groan loudly at the interruption coming from Rose, both men fully aroused, but the feeling, and the atmosphere, slowly dissipate.
"I should probably get up and go see who's at the door."
"I'll do it," Chris offers, already getting off of Ethan and pulling down his shirt. "Might as well see who disturbed our private time."
"It's probably just Mia." Ethan takes the extended hand Chris offers him after he sits up. "Thanks."
"It can't be Mia. Rose would've said that her mother was here."
"Hmm, you're right."
"Let's go see who it is together." Hand in hand, they exit the room together.
They walk side by side from the hallway, down the stairs, and before they even touch the floor, Chris places a hand against Ethan's chest, stopping him from taking another step.
"Chris?"
"Stay here," Chris orders without looking at Ethan, too focused on the mysterious man who's he can see from the ajar door. "Let me take care of it."
"Chris I'm sure it's-"
"Stay, Ethan!" Ethan closes his mouth, sighing from his nostrils as Chris walks down the rest of the stairs, his posture straight, and after all the time Ethan has spent with Chris, he knows that he's gone full protective mode.
Chris approaches the door slowly, footsteps thudding against the floorboards, softly muttering, "Excuse me," to Rose who moves out of the way from where she stands in front of the crack in the door, Chris replacing her previous position and coming face to face with the man behind it.
"Hi there," the man says, forcing a smile. Chris takes note of the book close to his right side, and how underdressed he is for such cold weather. However, he does notice the slight shiver and the goosebumps, but looking at his face, he's never seen this man before in his life. So how does he know exactly where they live?
"Who are you and what do you want?" Chris asks, getting straight to the point.
"Thanks for the greeting big guy." Chris places his arm against the other door, rolling his shoulders back just a bit, trying to make himself more intimidating.
"I'm not in the mood for jokes, and don't make me ask you again."
"Alright, alright," the man rolls his eyes, and Chris' patience is tested for a moment. "My name is Eric King, I'm looking for Ethan Winters. I was given this address and, well," the man looks around, "I'm hoping he's here."
"I'm sure as shit not gonna tell you where he is. I don't even know you."
"Fair enough." Eric clears his throat before he adds, "My dad-, well, our dad, told me I had a brother named Ethan Winters. This scrapbook I have next to me contains a letter and some pictures of us when we were kids. I was hoping to find him and, well, after not knowing I had a brother for thirty years of my life, I'd like to get to know him."
"I'm sorry to say this, but you're gonna have to come up with a better lie than that," Chris replies, making Eric's left eyebrow raise. "As far as I'm concerned, Ethan never had any siblings. Never mentioned them. He grew up with a single mother. So excuse me for saying that your story is full of shit."
"Trust me, I didn't believe it either. I was mad at my dad for lying to me since I was five, but I flew in here from the states yesterday, and I'd like to see my brother. I have proof that we're siblings."
"Even if I knew where he was, I wouldn't tell you a fucking thing. So, it's within your best interest to get off my property."
A heavy sigh leaves Eric's mouth, his chin dropping to his chest before he looks back up at Chris, an unamused, borderline glare look on his face. He holds up the scrapbook with his right hand toward Chris, and says, "Look, can you just give Ethan this scrapbook and I'll get out of your hair."
"Why the hell should I?"
"Because he deserves to know the truth. If you're gonna lie to me about him being here, you could at least give him the scrapbook and the letter on the first page."
"I'm not-"
"Your hand is covering the area behind you, making it so that I'm not allowed to see what's behind you. You wouldn't have done that if there was nothing behind you," Eric ever so observantly points out. "The door is still kept ajar, further proving my earlier statement. You changed your stance to be more intimidating, further emphasizing that you'd like me to leave because you're protecting my brother. I'm grateful you're going to such lengths to do so, but if you won't let me see him, at least give him this." Chris stares at the scrapbook, and Eric adds, "The moment you take it, I'm out of here."
"Fine," Chris growls, aggressively taking the book from Eric's hands.
"Thank you," Eric says with an eye-roll. Keeping his promise, Eric quickly turns around to head back to the taxi, but he finds himself bumping into a petite, black-haired woman with hazel eyes, dressed in a light grey jacket, light brown pants, and black snow boots, with a white purse hanging from her shoulder. "Sorry," he apologizes, quickly moving past her, barely hearing her say, "It's okay."
He makes it back to the taxi, sighing heavily as he closes the door, buckling himself in and letting himself slump against the backseat. "Take me back to my hotel, please," he says with the tone of defeat in his voice, "this was a fucking mistake."
At the door, Chris watches as the taxi pulls away from the area, watching it until it disappears. Then, his gaze focuses on the person walking toward him. "Hey, Mia," he greets her.
"Hey, Chris," she greets back, fixing her purse. She looks off in the distance where the taxi had been, then back at Chris. "Who was that man?"
He stays silent for a moment, tearing his gaze from Mia to the scrapbook, turning it over and over as if the answers were written somewhere on the front or back cover of the book. In the end, as he looks back at Mia, he gives her the answer he chooses to respond with.
"I'm not sure how to answer that right now, Mia. But I think we'll find out soon enough whether he's a somebody or a nobody."