"You never once cared!"

God, the sound of his voice just wouldn't leave me alone. I pressed my fingers against my forehead as I tapped my pen on the heavy wooden desk Mom bought for the upstairs study. Even though the real world distractions were safely locked outside, I couldn't run from my own thoughts, not even here or at the library. Gritting my teeth, I tried to will words to flow to paper, but all that spilled from the pen was ink, staining what would have otherwise been a completely blank sheet.

"Damn it, Oliver," I mumbled under my breath, my essay on PPIs and H2-receptor antagonists largely superseded by that one quote that repeated itself over, ad infinitum.

Today was, as my brother would put it, sucking hard. It's not like my brother and I never got into fights before, but it was never physical and he always bounced back really quickly. We always got along like nothing ever happened. But this was different, and I knew it was my fault. The look in Oliver's eyes just moments after I nailed him in the nose haunted me, and I could see them even when I closed mine. Just minutes after I heard the door slam downstairs, I went and hid in the study.

I admit it, I was scared. My mind entertained thoughts of Oliver running away. "He's probably just in the back," I convinced myself as I sank against padded leather chair. I expected, though perhaps not fully, my brother to be out on the back porch, or maybe skateboarding to vent. It would have been the perfect scapegoat if he were breaking another rule. I could use that as a distraction.

But what if he wasn't? The thought tickled the back of my mind like an annoying fruit fly, dodging my attempts to swat it, but always returning to the same place. "Damn it..." I cursed again, the fourth or fifth time today. There was only one way I'd be able to know for certain. I crept out of the study, peeking in our room on the chance that Oliver had somehow snuck back while I was lost in thought. He wasn't there, so I very gradually made my way down the stairs, two hooves to one step.

By the time I reached the bottom step, my hands were shaking. From where I was, I could see into the backyard. I saw the new shining white lawnchairs that Dad bought, Mom's vegetable garden recently picked, and the liver-shaped swimming pool, but who I didn't see was that deer. I grew even more anxious when I parted the blinds to the windows overlooking the front yard and still couldn't see him. "Oliver..." I shook my head. No, I was being silly. Oliver always went out by himself, so why would this be any different? He'd probably be back in thirty minutes. There was no way that he'd let Mom or Dad get home first.

Time passed horribly slowly. Each second seemed slower than the one before it, and I even found myself pacing up and down the stairs, waiting for the sound of one of the doors to creak open. An hour passed, then two, and by the third hour, I was so nerve-wracked that I closed myself in my room and buried my head into the pillow.

When I awoke, the windows were dark, and I could hear the sound of TV downstairs. I could hear evere practice from her room, and the faint aroma of tomato sauce hung in the air; Mom was cooking spaghetti. Groaning, I rubbed my eyes and pulled myself out of bed. I reached the banister right when the backdoor creaked open.

I swear time stood still. I saw Oliver, peaking through the door, his ears folded back. I saw Mom, tall and dark, her normally groomed charcoal gray fur bristling, her ladle suspended in air, glaring in his direction. I knew what was going to happen next. I could already see Mom's shoulders rise.

"Oliver Danfort, where in the world have you been?" she demanded in her lawyer's voice. If you got that voice, you knew you were in trouble; it was completely uncompromising and demanded absolutely obedience. "What part of 'Grounded' did you not understand? Get in here."

Oliver swallowed and reluctantly slid through the door, easing it shut with his hoof. His eyes were fixed firmly on the floor, and his hands were behind his back. "S-sorry..."

"Sorry? I got a call from Mr. McKenzie. Do you know what he told me?"

"W-what?"

"Why don't you tell me what he said."

A pained look crossed Oliver's muzzle. "I... It was... I didn't mean...."

"I-I-I," Mom said in a mocking tone. "I distinctly remember grounding you. So you're going to not only disobey and disrespect me, but you're going to act like some hooligan and cause vandalism. I asked if he was going to press charges. You know what he told me?" It was a rhetorical questions, and Oliver had enough sense not to say anything. "He told me he hadn't decided yet. Even with all that, you then sneak out again while your brother is sleeping! What is wrong with you?"

Here it comes. Any moment, Oliver was going to look up at me, blame me for hitting him, and we'd both be in deep shit.

But that never happened. My brother just stood there, taking that verbal spanking that even made me ache, and did nothing but stare at the kitchen floor. The whole house could hear Mom, and probably the neighbors as well, and like me, Dad and evere just hid, Dad on the couch reading his Popular Mechanic magazine, and I noticed that Guinevere's doodles had stopped some minutes ago. Mom went on to recite an entire Christmas list of grievances, some that weren't even Oliver's fault, and he didn't even try to defend himself.

"What do you have to say for yourself?" Mom had demanded, and I watched Oliver shrivel up beneath her glare. I thought I heard "I'm sorry" squeak, but then Mom started yelling again. My brother looked tiny compared to her; Mom was almost as tall as Dad, and had she had tusks, she would have looked positively frightening.

When the yelling finally came to a close, Mom pointed a dagger finger almost directly at me. I swallowed hard, clutching the banister tightly, debating whether I should go hide in the bedroom or maybe the bathroom. But she wasn't looking at me, and neither was Oliver. The latter of them nodded meekly before slowly trudging out of the kitchen and crawling up the stairs. He walked by me, not saying anything, not even looking up or bumping in to me. His nose was slightly swollen, and I wondered if it had bled any, but I couldn't find the words to even say anything to him. Oliver slipped into our room and flicked the lights out.

"Benjamin."

I glanced back to see Mom looking up at me. I knew what that meant. Not wasting a second, I left my perch on the banister and trotted down the stairs, meeting her in the kitchen. She still had about an inch on me, but after next year, I'd probably be looking down at her. "Yes, ma'am?" I said, my heart racing. Mom had a way of carrying herself with some weird sort of practiced apathy so it was near impossible to read her. Even after that yelling, she seemed calm, almost dangerously so.

"I left you responsible for him," she said as a matter of fact, and I lowered my head.

"I'm sorry." I didn't make any excuses. I learned a long time ago that Mom didn't care to hear about why her instructions weren't followed. I tried my best to make my expression as apologetic as possible.

She gazed at me for a little bit before sighing, her apathy fading away as she opened her arms. "I can't really blame you," she said, motioning me to give her a hug. I did so. "I know it's been very stressful for you. It's been rough on all of us. We're very proud of you."

"Thanks, Mom," I said, biting my lip. I didn't feel very proud right now.

"I shouldn't tell you this, but I trust your maturity. I don't know what to do about your brother. I don't know why we can't get through to him. I never would've thought he'd get into a fight. I hate to ask more of you, but try to talk some sense into him."

I squeezed Mom extra tight before letting go, looking at her without actually meeting her eyes. "I'll do my best, okay?"

"That's all I ever ask. I'll let you get back to studying. I'm sorry you had to hear all that."

"Oh, it's okay. No worries, Mom," I said, smiling at her.

Climbing those stairs was painful, each step was slow enough to reiterate just how rotten I felt. Mom had never let us fight as kids, so I had no clue how she'd react if she found out I'd punched Oliver in the nose. But still, wouldn't it have been better just to tell her the truth? What's the worst she could do, ground me? What did I do besides study anyways? Why, then, couldn't I just tell her?

I hated how my hooves clicked on the flooring, but more so, I dreaded what would happen when I opened the door. What would Oliver say to me? I didn't know what would hurt me more, him crying or being called out on my omission. I eased the door open and stepped into darkness. I found myself wishing my books had be swept on to the floor or some other sort of lashing out, but with the hall-light, I saw everything as I'd left it. Was I looking for excuses to be mad at him?

There was a mound on top of Oliver's bed, but I couldn't hear a single thing coming from it. I entertained the thought of my brother having escaped out the only window our room had, a thought that made me feel even more guilty. "Okay, Snag, I know you're awake," I said, but the pile didn't even move. I frowned and crept near it. What if Oliver really had run away? My gut tied into a tight knot, and I was terrified of what I'd see if I pulled away the covers.

I didn't have to; standing this close, I could barely make out Oliver's hand pressing a pillow down on his head. "Oliver?" I offered, touching his shoulder, but my twin just rolled away from the touch. The pillow fell away from his face, and I winced. My brother's face was all screwed up, like he was in the middle of having a really bad dream. The furrows by his eyes were wet. I lost my mood for studying.

That night may have been rough, but the following day wasn't any better. I rose with the chirping of birds, but nothing else. A long time ago, I complained about Oliver's incessant chatting in the morning, but now I found myself missing his voice, with its slight lisp and childish flare. Groggy, I crawled out of the covers and stumbled over to what could only be described as his nest, though he was missing from it.

It took a couple of minutes for my mind to kick into to action; years of always waking up to something bright and chipper left me wanting and off balance. I made my way to the bathroom to freshen up, hoping to see him on the way. That hope went unfulfilled, and by the time I'd fully woken up, I was pretty worried.

Rubbing my eyes with a wet facecloth, I left the bathroom and peeked over the banister. Mom always left her keys on the living room coffee table when she was at home. They were gone. I squinted, trying to see the clock hanging on the wall behind the TV. 7:42, and everyone was already gone. Why didn't anyone try to wake me up? Oliver always....

I shook my head, not finishing my thought. Instead I tried to get mad, but I only felt empty, like I was missing something. I looked down towards the kitchen table; the chairs were pushed in, and there wasn't any breakfast waiting. I wasn't that hungry, anyways, so I just headed back to my room, closing the door behind me. Maybe I could catch up on the studying I missed last night.

For some reason, I couldn't sit down when I pulled out my chair. Instead, I found myself wandering over to Oliver's wreck of a desk. But amid all the trash, the crumpled receipts of candy and soda, crumpled bits of failed homework, there was a small clean spot with two propped up picture frames. The first was one of him and his two friends, Anise and Sani, acting like total goofballs. Anise had Oliver in a headlock while Sani stood behind them, making rabbit ears. The date on the picture read about a month ago. I started chuckling, though that faltered when I looked at the second frame.

"Damnit, Oliver," I muttered, breaking my rule again as I picked up the picture with a quivering hand. The picture was several years old, back when we were just twelve or thirteen, I don't remember exactly how long ago. When we were younger, the two of us were almost identical; if it weren't for my spotted nose or his freckles, you wouldn't have been able to tell us apart. Well, almost; my fur had just started darkening, so we were a little different. The two of us were holding a plaque we won from some video game competition. Thinking back, it wasn't that big of a deal, just a little local tournament that Mom let us compete in. My cheeks raised in a small grin as I remember how excited Oliver was, how excited I was, to get to play. Oliver looked like a total dork, covered in bandages from teaching himself how to skateboard.

I don't know how long I stared at that picture before it suddenly hit me. In the picture, I was beaming, like I'd won the lottery or something. I couldn't remember the last time I'd just smiled and laughed like that. The realization smacked me across the face so hard, I felt dizzy.

I was lonely.

Tentatively, I set the picture back down and picked up the other one, with Oliver and his friends. Oliver had the same goofy, happy smile he always had. I may have been the successful one, a 4.0 GPA, going to college a year and a half early, but my brother... my brother was happy. "Stop it, Ben..." I muttered to myself, mentally slapping myself. There was a reason I didn't follow my brother back then. Work first, play second. Dad always told us that, and I took it to heart. But, still...

I heard the door creak close, like someone was trying their best to make as little sound as possible, though with those hinges in need of oil, that was an impossibility. I could hear familiar clops on the varnish and tracked them as they moved from the door into the living room. They paused, and I heard a barely audible sigh, before the clops started again, going up the stairs before pausing again. Now they came slower, quieter. I set Oliver's picture back on his desk and went over to lay on my bed, waiting for him to peek through the door.

Oliver didn't disappoint. He cracked open the door and started to ease in, but froze as if he were caught in headlights when he saw me looking at him. His surprise passed quickly enough, and he lowered his eyes. "S-sorry," he mumbled, his voice sounding as if his throat were sore. "I thought you'd be asleep. I... I'll let you get back to studying."

"Hey, Oliver," I wanted to say, but he had already started closing the door. I leaped up to run to the door, almost tripping over our dirty clothes hamper in the process. "Hey, wait!"

My twin froze, still avoiding my eyes. "W-what? I said I was sorry...." he whimpered, cradling his arms.

He looked so pathetic, I bit my lip to stop myself for saying such. "So... uh... I was free, so I was wondering if you'd like to play some games or something," I asked, moving to block him from hiding in the bathroom as he'd become accustomed to doing.

"I... can't." I saw Oliver eyeball the bathroom door, but I continued to stymie his effort to slip by me.

I frowned at the deer before me. "Why not? You always bugged me about it before."

"It's nothing..." Oliver started to move again, but I reached out and grabbed his arm. It was quivering, and suddenly I realized just how much he was keeping held in. "What do you want from me?" he pleaded, his voice cracking a little.

"Dude, I just wanted to talk..."

"About what a screw up I am?" Oliver interrupted bitterly, pulling away from me. He tried to slip around me, but his hoof caught on mine, and he ended up stumbling and landing hard on his chest, yelping. His auburn hair hung limply, hiding his eyes as he righted himself on the floor and pulled his knees to his chest, and I could hear him sniffling.

I knelt next to him, resting my arm on his shoulder in a sort of side hug. "Come on, Ollie, don't be like that."

"Don't be like what?" Oliver shook the hair out of his eyes, and his tears freely rolled down his cheeks. "What do you want me to be?"

A frown overtook me. "What do you mean?"

"I just wanted to help out, okay? I wanted to make things better since I can't be like you. I can't sit and study for hours. I just can't."

"If you just set your mind to it, you..." I started, but Oliver gave me a look that shut me up really quickly.

"Don't you think I've tried?" he muttered, lowering his gaze. "Why can't you and Mom just be proud of me for the stuff I'm good at?"

"But we...."

"When was the last time you guys ever watched me skate? I can't even get Mom to take me to the skatepark."

"But I thought Sani's mom did that."

"Yeah, I had to beg Sani to ask her!" Oliver stood and turned away from me. "We go to G's recitals and your ceremonies, but you guys never come to stuff I'm interested in."

"Yeah, but Guinevere's recitals are for All-State, and those scholarship banquets are really important for networking."

"Yeah, I get that! Your stuff's important and the stuff I'm good at doesn't matter."

"Oliver..."

"Aren't you the one who said actions mean more than words? Saying you care about me doesn't matter when you don't do anything to show it!" Oliver clutched his elbows and started to shake. "I do care about you, Benji... I'll always care. I'll do anything for you."

My brother started walking away again, and I noticed his gait was somewhat labored. "Hey, Oliver..." I started, but he just kept walking until he slipped into our room. I followed quickly after him. He glanced up at me from his bed before quickly lowering his gaze. "Are you okay? You were limping," I asked, easing the door shut behind me.

Oliver's ears splayed, something he always does whenever he blushes. "I... I'm okay. I just... um... I'm kinda sore. J-Just a cramp...."

"From what?" I took a seat next to him, so close our legs rubbed. I rested my hand on his leg and squeezed a bit. "I saw your pictures. You never used to keep them on your desk."

"You... you did?" Oliver glanced up at me with genuine surprise, wiping lingering tears from his cheek. He looked over towards the desk and sighed. "Mom never took pictures.... it was the best one I could find of us."

"What're you talking about? We got a family portrait just a few months ago, remember? When Elizabeth came over?"

"Yeah, but...." Oliver shook his head. "Nevermind, you won't get it."

"What's to get?"

"It's nothing... don't worry about it."

My brows furrowed. "Tell me what you meant."

My brother groaned, but relented. "Fine. It's a picture of us, Benji. You know, you and me? Just the two of us. Don't you remember? We always used to do stuff together. We always had fun, but then you started focusing on school and going to college and stuff. I know it's wrong to wish for how things used to be, so I just keep there so I don't end up totally alone."

"You're not alone, bro."

Oliver crossed his arms. "Seriously, why do people keep bringing G into this? We don't even do anything! Hell, she's even busier than you are!"

"Don't be..." I caught myself and sighed. "Look, I didn't mean G."

"Then who, Benji?" I laid my arm around Oliver's neck, and he leaned his head against my shoulder. "Who do I have?"

"You have me, you know?"

Oliver pulled away from me. "Yeah, cause that's real comforting." He paused, like he was debating saying something. "I... you know... you know what hurts most?"

"Huh?"

"I kept thinking... thinking you'd come downstairs and help me out. Or maybe talk to her when she called you. But you just let me take the blame for everything. You didn't even tell her you punched me. She thought I got into a fight, you know?"

"That..." I swallowed my words. "I just thought...."

"I know what you were thinking..."

"And what was that," I challenged, stupidly.

"It doesn't matter now."

"Okay, look, I was a real jerk," I said pleadingly, reaching out to grab Oliver's shoulder. "I know I was, and I feel rotten for it. I'm sorry for hitting you. I'm really sorry for letting you take the blame. C'mon, Oliver..."

He glanced at me, a weird grin on his face, like he was in pain. He looked at me with his swollen nose that had a bit of caked blood in the nostril and his snaggletooth that gave him that little lisp and his hazel eyes that pooled with shimmering tears.

"Words."