i sink just like a stone

gordy woodrow. 32. doing the best i can.

[staygoldgoose]

↳INSTAGRAM: @goosewoodrow posted to their story:

[gordythegood]

@gordygoodrow: What's our next movie, kid? Having a blast.

[cheerlaura]

Laura had wondered how she was going to fill in all her spare hours during the summer months as soon as vacation started. She’d been looking down the barrel at three months of nothing more than Star Wars rewatches and following Scotty around like a pathetic puppy. Surely she had to have more going on for her than that.

Luckily, when their boss had asked for volunteers for summer camp, her hand had shot into the air right away.

“You don’t have to put your hand up, Laura. You’re a coach, not a student,” Principal Meyers had said, smirking from the other side of his desk. His gaze had eventually turned warm. “But I’ll put your name down anyway.”

Coach Vidala had been glad that summer camp wouldn’t pose a threat to her family vacation to the Caribbean and Coach April, while horrendously nice to work with, had wrinkled her nose and declared, “I really don’t want to do that.” Which left Laura and Coach Matea taking the reins for the summer, an arrangement which suited the brunette perfectly fine.

“You go eat,” Matea told Laura, pinning her blunt, dark bob back with a headband. “I’ll set up for the post-lunch session.”

“Are you sure?” Laura asked worriedly. “You need to eat too, dude.”

Matea fixed her with a pitying look, hands propped on her hips.

“Sometimes your obliviousness is really cute, but other times I worry. I’ve literally been snacking on like, three Babybels an hour since we got here this morning. My girlfriend just buys me them in bulk from Costco now.”

At Laura’s questioning look, Matea jiggled the rackety drawer of the equipment trolley open, revealing a veritable mountain of red wax peels from all her snacks.

“You’re like a stealth cheese eater,” Laura solemnly declared, before allowing Matea to send her off to the staff room.

As she entered, a spring in her step and her ponytail swinging, she almost faltered when she realised Coach Woodrow - Gordy, although Laura had never called him that to his face - was already in there. Of course, the football players also had a summer programme, which would never be a problem to Laura if it weren’t for the fact that she hadn’t had the foresight to realize this heightened the possibility of spending a prolonged amount of time with their coach. A man who seemed to take it ill out every time he saw Laura, his expression contorting into one of discomfort, as if she was causing him actual pain just by doing him the disservice of existing near him.

She barely suppressed a wince, and plastered a friendly smile on her face instead.

“Hi, Coach,” she greeted him, before crouching down by the fridge so she could open it and bring out her Tupperware boxes full of her lunch food. Turning to set them down on the low coffee table, she stood up again to reach for the coffee machine, only to see an abandoned cup full of dark, sludgy muck already sitting there.

“Oh, the filter again?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder at Gordy, figuring the cup was his. 

Suddenly delighted at being able to do something that could potentially help her work her way into Gordy’s good favour, she bounced on the spot.

“I can fix that!” she said, only barely managing to stop herself from slipping into a Russian accent - Chekov style. Briskly, she shrugged her cheer jacket off and rolled up the sleeves of her sweatshirt so she could quickly get to work.

[gordythegood]

As soon as Laura spoke up, Gordy’s eyes betrayed him. He was trying to remain unbothered, training his attention on a random strip of wallpaper that was peeling on the opposite wall. His fingers clenched and unclenched at his side, just out of view, as he fought with all his might not to look at her. Up until he did, of course. Her ponytail was just as bouncy as always, and her smile as dazzling. He couldn’t believe that someone could be as cheerful as she was all the time, but he figured that was just a natural side effect of dating Scotty Carter, the hottest man alive. 

He nodded feebly to begin with, before blinking and sitting to attention. His brow furrowed in confusion, wondering absently if she was about to do that very thing that all women seemed to do, where they could address a problem in a matter of seconds, and find the most glaringly obvious solution in even less time. His Ma had always been like that, knowing exactly where Goose had left his pencil case, or where Pa had set his keys down. When the tv remote was a little sticky – which happened often – she was the only one that could nudge it just right against the heel of her palm to get it working again. 

“S’cool, seriously,” Gordy grumbled, casting his eyes downward again. He’d be able to live without a coffee for the rest of the day, and he didn’t want to give Laura even more of a reason to turn her nose up at him. He was sure she probably found him deeply uncomfortable to be around. 

She didn’t seem to be fiddling with filters the same way he had, though. Her jacket was coming off and heat rushed to his cheeks as she rolled up her sleeves, exposing her toned and lightly tanned arms. More than ever, Gordy was suddenly so glad neither Libby or Ace were here. He was pretty sure he was acting about as flustered as a Victorian gentleman seeing an ankle for the first time. 

“Is that so, Sam the Onion Man?” Gordy huffed out a laugh, before immediately regretting his dumbass joke. 

Whatever accent she was doing, it probably wasn’t a reference to Holes. He’d watched that one a few summers ago with Goose, who’d pulled it up and insisted that Gordy sit still and pay attention. He had, and he’d loved it, much to the delight of his brother. It was one of his favourite memories, on account of it being one of the only times he could think of where he’d done right by the kid. 

He pushed to his feet and joined Laura, nervously stepping into her space. Was this okay, or was she about to jump ten feet in the air and accuse him of, hell, skulking suspiciously, or some shit? That’s what all the pretty girls back home would’ve done. Nervously, he rested a hand on her arm, the touch light as he tried to draw her attention back to his.

“I really don’t want you goin’ to no trouble, Cheerio. I’m not so crazy on lunch, anyway,” he insisted, as his stomach gave another low rumble. 

[staygoldgoose]

Admittedly, it had been a while since Goose had been beaten up. It turned out they hadn’t changed the rules, so even though he didn’t necessarily welcome the rubbery feeling of a split lip or the tight feeling of his eye swelling shut, it wasn’t like it was unfamiliar. Goose had been here plenty of times before.

Habit didn’t account for the shaking of his fingers right now though. He curled them into fists, causing fresh beads of blood to bloom from the cuts on his knuckles. He wasn’t in danger of swinging again, not right now anyway. He’d gotten away. But even as he’d run, clearly outnumbered, a scrappy stray clearly overmatched by a pack of wolves, he was still being chased by the reason of why he’d started wailing on those guys in the first place.

Art had been wearing make-up again, bolder than usual. Goose kept trying to swallow back the nauseating feeling it created, turning his stomach over when his brain, moulded by the other small minds of Tulsa, told him everything about it was wrong. Boys didn’t wear make-up and even though Art wasn’t completely all boy, which was another thing Goose tried to wrap his head around despite thinking he was maybe doing alright with the pronouns stuff, his friend still looked like one. So when they’d walked down the street together, a rainbow hue coating Art’s eyelids, people had stared. Some had glared. A bunch of guys smoking outside a bar had made comments.

Art had been cheery about it as he always was, blowing kisses to the men to taunt them. Even when he’d heard the slur, he’d barely flinched but Goose could see the way his eyes dimmed a little. He’d eventually walked them home, muscles pulled taut and had avoided a goodbye hug. He’d seen the way Art had looked at him, known they were filling in the gaps wrong. So when Goose had walked back the way they’d come, he felt like all his body parts were glued together in the wrong formation and nothing would settle them again until he did something.

He’d walked by the same bar. He’d yelled a lot. His eyes had widened in horror when the same man thought his defense of a friend made him just like Art and - well, he wasn’t. Goose wasn’t.

Now, lip freely dripping blood and his eye throbbing, he tried to convince himself he’d thrown the first punch in Art’s honour and not because those guys had said he was just like him.

He limped up and down familiar streets, not all that jazzed about the prospect of going home to Killian’s dismissive coolness. Wraith would be there and she’d be more of a comfort to Goose than his roommate would be, but he still wanted something more than that. Amira would have probably hugged him if she hadn’t gone and left him behind. He didn’t want Art to see him like this. He really just wanted his mom, but that wasn’t an option either.

Maybe he had a concussion. He was actually kind of happy to blame his actions on that. There was something wrong with his brain right now, maybe some internal bleeding. That, combined with his only desire being to have his mom wrap him up in a hug, could be the only reason he was standing where he was now.

He stared at Fliss’ doorway. How did she manage to make a door look rich? He stepped forward, fist raised, about to knock before he could talk himself out of it, only for the door to swing open before he came into contact with it.

Goose’s step faltered as he stared at the figure on the other side. He dropped his hand at once and took an automatic step back, as if ready to run again, despite the fact that he had come here of his own accord.

“Don’t be mad,” he blurted out, staring at Gordy. Like he’d just been caught snacking before dinner or sneaking out to meet Cole. Not showing up after nearly two years with a busted face and sorry attitude.

[gordythegood]

Any day that wasn’t spent working, Gordy was out looking for Goose. He knew his little brother didn’t want to be found, but it wouldn’t stop him searching anyway. He was relentlessly devoted to bringing him home, even though his heart ached something drastic each time he returned to Ace with his head hung low. Whoever the assholes were that said it got easier over time were obviously filthy fucking liars, too. With each day, it only got harder, but he wouldn’t ever give up. There’d need to be a coroner's report in his hand for him to finally believe all hope was lost, and even then he didn’t think he’d believe it. 

He’d be lying if he said there wasn’t a slight spring in his step today, though. It was humiliating, and he’d been on the end of the most extensive grilling of his life when he’d stumbled in from work the day before. Ace had needled him better than any scummy cop could’ve dreamed of, and Gordy had ended up giving his brother a half-hearted shove to escape their ridiculous game of 21-questions over what’s got Gordy Woodrow smiling so much? God forbid a couple’a carrot sticks and jokes about space lift his spirits. 

He’d already agreed to meet Ace down at the site where he was working. His brother had gotten the go-ahead to clock off early, and Gordy had insisted they make good use of the daylight and see if they could find any new leads on their baby brother. What he hadn’t been expecting, as he pinched his scruffy, beat-up denim jacket from the pristine coat hook by Fliss’ door, was to come face-to-face with the boy himself, standing in the doorway. 

“What?” Gordy whispered, voice cracked and broken as he stared across at what could only be a figment of his imagination. 

Goose’s face looked wrecked, to say the least. The soft lines of his face had hardened, his puppy face lost to a sharper jaw, the babyish features that Gordy had once quietly doted on now revealing a young man underneath. He wasn’t a boy anymore, was he? But he’d always be Gordy’s kid brother. His gaze seemed to flit erratically across each freckle and each dimple, his stomach turning as he took in the sight of dried blood and freshly bruised skin. Whatever had happened, Goose wasn’t looking for him, he was here for Fliss. He was looking for a safe space. Now wasn’t the time for him to scare him off. 

His coat slipped from his hand as he tossed it on the ground behind him, lifting his palms into a careful surrender motion. Gordy’s stance was that of a man trying not to spook a horse, doing his best to keep it at bay before it bounded off and left him in the dust. 

“Baby, hey, woah,” he breathed. He was confounded, still at a loss for words, his voice lost to the din of his loud and messy thoughts. He hadn’t called Goose baby in years, those dark nights where he’d tried to emulate their Ma, to soothe him through nightmares that he couldn’t reach him in. 

[gordythegood]

Gordy was exhausted. Ace and Fliss had kept him up all night with their endless giggling, the shrill sound of Fliss and her cackle startling him awake and pulling him from his slumber. Ace and the boys had gotten a new contract the day before, one that would ensure them another good few months of work. It was great news, obviously, and Gordy was pleased his brother would have a steady income to keep things moving as well as something to keep him busy, but he and Fliss clearly had different ways of celebrating. 

Gordy had promised to take his brother for a beer some night when they weren’t both working the next day, whereas Fliss had taken it upon herself to whisk the middle Woodrow sibling off into her bedroom. The two of them weren’t subtle, and Gordy had all but smothered himself with a pillow when he heard her moans filtering through the drywall. He supposed he should be proud that his brother could draw those sounds out of a pretty woman, but that didn’t mean he wanted to hear ‘em. 

Sufficed to say, he was in a pretty foul mood by the time he showed up to work. Aside from the obvious fact that he was never exactly chirpy, it didn’t help that he was also running a football summer camp. Summer Camp, for Christ’s sake. One of the only perks of being a teacher – or a coach, which was really all he could be whittled down to – was that he got the damn summer off. So much for that, huh? 

Somewhere between running drills and playing practice games, Gordy had blown his whistle and shooed his kids off for lunch. They couldn’t train and play at their lunch if they were low on energy. He knew that better than anyone, especially given that he hadn’t had the foresight to bring his own lunch. The pennies had been tight this month – when weren’t they – and he’d prioritised helping Ace out with getting some new tools over running to the grocery store. Fliss kept the fridge well stocked but, given how much she’d already done for them, he hated to seem like he was scrounging. Besides, he wasn’t much of a caviar kinda guy. 

“Damn filter,” Gordy mumbled under his breath, a low growl settling in his chest. 

He’d been in the staff room for all of 3 minutes and already the coffee machine was acting up. He knew he wouldn’t be getting a whole lot to eat, but he thought he could at least keep himself awake with a little caffeine. That seemed like a dud now too, so he settled for throwing himself down on the communal sofa, head tipped back against the wall as he stared into space, wiling away the minutes until it was time to return to the field. 

Suddenly, the door to the staff room creaked open and his gaze darted over toward it, anticipating a sight that he knew would send his stomach into another, completely different frenzy. Sure enough, in walked Laura Timlin, one of four coaches to the cheer squad, looking as pretty as she always did. It was insufferable, the way her perfect ponytail seemed to swing just above her shoulders, hair framing her sweet, rosy cheeks. Libby had caught himself staring once when they’d been down at the rink, Laura accompanied by her blonde friend, and he’d almost impaled himself with Libby’s skates there and then. 

“Hey,” Gordy grumbled, voice low and barely even a whisper. Certainly not loud enough for Laura to hear, he realised. His lips were curled into a frown as he tore his gaze from hers, embarrassed. They didn’t usually talk much, so he figured today would be no different. 

[aceinthering]

Ace’s eyes widened. Gordy was scared?

He took a deep and grounding breath, trying to wrap his head around the unthinkable. As a kid, he’d steered clear of horror movies and scary stories. Even the donkey island in Pinocchio had been enough to keep him up at night, shivering in bed and peeking over the duvet at his window just in case Honest John was lurking outside, waiting to take him away. He’d grown up and shed a little bit of his cowardice. Not much, but enough to take a good hit or two. And he knew that nothing could be that scary when his big brother was around to protect him, to keep him and Goose safe.

If Gordy was scared, then the world had just become a more terrifying place.

His heart sank and he held onto his brother. He didn’t want Gordy to be scared, but suddenly it made sense that he was. He’d been carrying so much for so long and Ace had let him because Gordy was the oldest and Mom and Dad had always told him when he was growing up that he had to listen to his big brother because he knew what was best. Ace had thought that Gordy knowing what was best meant that Gordy knew everything. 

He had to remember it was Gordy’s first time living too.

“Hey, c’mere. I don’t give a shit if you cry or not, you know that,” he gently scolded.

It was uncomfortable to see his big brother fold like this, crumpling like a paper doll. Ace’s throat tightened and he held onto him, his own grip stronger. He fisted his hands in the flannel of Gordy’s shirt, pulling his brother in and letting him cry it out into the safety of his shoulder. If only he’d realised he could’ve been a pillar for Gordy all this time, just as Gordy had been for him and Goose.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “Fuck, m’so sorry, Gordy. I didn’t mean to make you carry it on your own.”

He pulled back slightly, just enough to lift his hands up and grab at Gordy’s face, forcing his brother to look at him.

“But listen here, alright? You don’t have to be strong all the damn time. I’m here now, okay? And we don’t need you to be Mom and Dad. You hear me, Gordy?” He frowned, his voice insistent. “You kept us together for so long. You did that. You’re always lookin’ out for us.”

He stared at his brother’s tear-strained face, at the anguish that was painted across it. He’d never seen Gordy look like this. Not even when their parents had died or when he’d had to drop out of college and leave his football scholarship behind.

“Breathe with me, Gordy. You got this.”

[gordythegood]

Gordy had never wanted to burden his brothers with his problems, even if it meant carrying theirs on his shoulders too. It was his job, wasn’t it? That’s what Ma and Pa had wanted, for Gordy to be the man about the house. It had been his responsibility to get his younger brothers to school on time, and to ensure they were fed and dressed each day. He didn’t get to be sad or heartbroken when his birthday went forgotten every year, cakes and candles substituted for tears from Ace and the cold shoulder from Goose. They were all grieving just as much as each other, and Gordy had sworn to always understand and put them first. 

Sometimes, putting them first meant hurting them too. He was yet to master the exact art of choosing his words right, always quick to say the wrong thing and send Goose running. That’s what had gotten them into the mess they were in now, and if they ever managed to get him back, he was certain it would happen again. Gordon Woodrow Jr was a good-for-nothing waste of space who’d never amount to anything. He’d known that for a long time now, but he’d always hoped his role as big brother might remain firmly intact, with at least a couple merits to the title. Turns out, he couldn’t get that right either. 

He couldn’t stand the way he’d unraveled, but there was no stopping it now. Sobs racked his body as he allowed his baby brother to hold him tight, the guilt that he felt entirely outweighed by the fear that was gripping him now. What good was it to be strong and stoic if he couldn’t even convince his brother to come home? Why even bother when Goose was out there hiding from him, with no intention of ever returning? He’d driven he youngest Woodrow away, and now Ace had to suffer as a result of his bullish behaviour too. 

“I didn’t do nothin’, not really,” Gordy blinked, tears still dripping from his lashes. He couldn’t stand to look Ace in the eye, not knowing what a mess he must looked right now. His head ducked and dipped as he tried to avoid his brother’s gaze, but Ace held firm and steady, proving himself once again to be the real glue that held them together. Gordy hadn’t ever been the one they’d needed to keep them grounded. It had been Ace all along. 

It wasn’t like Gordy to be self-deprecating, and in his heart of hearts he knew he had always looked out for them. Even before they’d lost their parents, he’d fought tooth and nail for the knuckleheads he called his brothers. He’d never stop fighting for them, but that didn’t mean he’d earned the right to any of Ace’s good graces right now. 

Slowly, he followed his brother’s instructions and did as he was told. As the minutes slowly slipped away, his pulse drew to a steady rate, his breathing matching Ace’s own. Less shallow, if still a little unsteady. His grip had loosened, his knuckles no longer clenched into a fist, his palms flat instead as he laid them against his brother’s back. 

“He hates me, Ace,” he sighed, shame engulfing him as he finally met his brother’s eye. “I don’t think he’ll ever forgive me.” 

[cheerlaura]

↳INSTAGRAM: @lauratimbits posted to their story:

[gordythegood]

@gordygoodrow reacted to this story with 👏. @gordygoodrow reacted to this story with 😍. @gordygoodrow: I have no idea how I did any of that. @gordygoodrow liked this story. @gordygoodrow: Sorry.

[aceinthering]

↳INSTAGRAM: @acewoodrow posted a photo to their story:

[gordythegood]

@gordygoodrow: You don't need to do all that to get her attention, kid. Now I gotta listen to her tell me how good our genes are.

[beekeeperbenji]

↳INSTAGRAM: @benjikent posted a photo to their story:

[gordythegood]

@gordygoodrow: Nobody is reading any of that.

[gordythegood]

↳INSTAGRAM: @gordygoodrow posted a photo to his story:

[sean19carolan]

@carolanandclover: Very handsome!

[gordythegood]

@gordygoodrow: Thanks. I knew it was only a matter of time.

[gordythegood]

↳INSTAGRAM: @gordygoodrow posted a photo to his story:

[marymarykatekate]

@marymarykatekate: SMASH

[gordythegood]

@gordygoodrow: You planning to follow through on that promise?

[gordythegood]

↳INSTAGRAM: @gordygoodrow posted a photo to his story:

[cheerlaura]

@lauratimbits: i think you look really cool, dude!! kind of have greased lightning playing in my head now!

[gordythegood]

@gordygoodrow: Thanks, Timlin. You're the second person to bring up Grease, which is humbling.

[gordythegood]

↳INSTAGRAM: @gordygoodrow posted a photo to his story:

[beekeeperbenji]

@benjikent: Oh, who’s a handsome chap?

[gordythegood]

@gordygoodrow: Is it me? @gordygoodrow: Asking that made me feel like a well behaved dog. Who can talk. Jesus, Benji. What are you doing to me?

[gordythegood]

↳INSTAGRAM: @gordygoodrow posted a photo to his story:

[samhowletts]

@samhowlett: Wow, this is so candid and casual.

[gordythegood]

@gordygoodrow: Yeah, my bad. I saw Scotty Carter walk past and I froze. I've heard he has that sort of impact on people.

[gordythegood]

↳INSTAGRAM: @gordygoodrow posted a photo to his story:

[linechangelibby]

@libbster96: Okayyyy. Hell yeah. Pop off, Danny Zuko!

[gordythegood]

@gordygoodrow: Greaes? I was thinking more The Outsiders.

[gordythegood]

↳INSTAGRAM: @gordygoodrow posted a photo to his story:

[aceinthering]

@acewoodrow: and it was ALMOST a smile too 🤩

[gordythegood]

@gordygoodrow: That's your sign to be funnier, kid

[gordythegood]

↳INSTAGRAM: @gordygoodrow posted a photo to his story:

[aceinthering]

Ace cast his memory back to the weeks that had followed Goose’s runner. Gordy had been scarily silent, pacing up and down the floor of their childhood home, turning away their friends when they came over to try and help with a search party. They already knew better than to go to the police, knowing that if they got into what had actually happened that night, they’d be painting a target on their little brother’s back. As usual, the Woodrow brothers had been on their own.

He’d been worried about Gordy then too, but it hadn’t been like this. He knew his brother had turned his anger in on himself, but Ace had been too damn yellow to actually try and get him to talk about it, wanting to avoid another fight as much as possible. As much as he could handle getting his licks during a neighborhood rumble, Ace didn’t do much fighting outside of the gang or the ring. He liked to claim he was a lover, not a fighter! And he really, really hated fighting with his brothers.

But as soon as Gordy made an enemy out of Fliss’ kitchen counter, Ace knew he had to step in. If he ended up with a busted lip for his troubles, he could feel sorry about it later when he licked his wounds alone. Right now, his big brother needed him.

“Hey, stop. Gordy, hey. Stop that,” he urged him, eyes wide and pained.

His gaze flew to Gordy’s knuckles. They already looked red and would likely bruise. At the very least, they hadn’t split open. That was good. For Gordy’s sake, and because Ace really didn’t want to have to explain to Fliss why there was blood all over her shiny furniture.

“He does want us back, don’t say that!” Ace snapped, hating that his voice had risen in pitch. He didn’t want to be the one that shouted, but the idea of Gordy really believing that their little brother wanted nothing to do with them hurt him. He wanted Gordy to stop talking like that. “‘Course he does, he was just scared.”

Ace stood tall the moment Gordy whirled around, half-expecting his brother to be glaring at him the way he did when Ace traipsed home at all hours of the morning, covered in lipstick-kisses with a wild look in his eyes. There was no anger on Gordy’s face though. Instead…

“Shit, don’t cry.” Ace took an automatic step forward, then paused. What was he meant to do when Gordy cried? Gordy never cried. Ace cried whenever the wind changed and Goose had been known to bawl like a baby, all the while claiming he wasn’t. But Ace had never seen Gordy cry and it terrified him. Gordy wasn’t meant to cry, he was meant to… what? Look after them? Not show any emotion?

Heart hurting more than he thought possible, Ace surged forward and pulled his brother into a hug, wrapping his arms tightly around him.

“Gordy, we got this,” he reassured him as soothingly as he could. “You can’t blame yourself, okay? We’re here ‘cause we love him and wanna bring him home. What’s so bad about that?”

[gordythegood]

Gordy knew he needed to calm down. If not for the sorry state of his knuckles and Fliss’ damn kitchen counter, but for Ace. He was embarrassing his little brother, and he was starting to think that’s what he knew how to do best. Anyone with a working pair of eyes and ears could see just how smitten Ace was for the pretty brunette in the next room. It was honestly kinda sickening. The last thing he needed right now, on top of all their troubles, was for his idiot big brother to go scaring her off. Or worse, for her to kick ‘em out onto the streets. 

The problem was, he didn’t know how to stop. He’d spent his whole damn life beating himself up for shit that wasn’t in his control, but if he didn’t, who would? It weren’t like they had any responsible adults around to shoulder some of the pain. No Ma or Pa to wrap him in a warm embrace or clap him on the shoulder and say hey kiddo, s’all good, we’ll take it from here and relieve him of some of the tension he’d been carrying around for so damn long. All he ever wanted was to shield Ace from all their troubles, his sweeter-than-pie brother who never let nothing drag him down. He’d wanted to shape Goose into a better, more secure version of himself that Gordy never had the chance to grow into, and instead he’d turned his baby brother into his god forsaken double before driving him away completely. 

“I know damn well he’s scared, Ace! Y’ever stop to think maybe I’m scared too?” Gordy snapped, his voice cracking in the process. 

He could feel himself breaking down, every last barrier crumbling as he tried to fight the tears that were stinging his eyes now. Gordy weren’t meant to cry, he couldn’t. He hadn’t wanted Ace looking at him like that, not now and not ever, and the fact that he was surging forward now to comfort him was only further proof of the fact that he’d fucked everything. How could he look after his brothers if he didn’t know how to look after himself? 

“S’fine. I’m not... I ain’t cryin’,” Gordy murmured, though the words spilled out between shallow breaths as he tried to stave off the sobs that were building in the back of his throat. 

He wanted nothing more than to shove Ace away and tell him to mind his own business, but he didn’t do that. And Ace wouldn’t have listened anyway. Instead, his little brother – though, he guessed her weren’t little no more, what with them coming in at the same height – wrapped his arms tight around Gordy’s shoulder, embracing him hard in a way that he wasn’t sure anyone had since their parents had passed. 

Gordy wanted to be strong, but he was starting to think that strength had nothing to do with hiding the largest, most important parts of yourself away from the people that loved you. Wasn’t that part of what had gotten he and Goose into this mess in the first place? 

“I can’t do this, Ace. I can’t keep losin’ him, I can’t... I ain’t strong enough,” he cried out, burying his face in his brother’s neck. He let the tears spill as he slowly brought his arms around Ace’s waist, hands bunched into tight fists, knuckles cracked as he held them loose against his brother’s back. “I can’t look out for you the same Ma and Pa did, I ain’t them. I ain’t ever gonna be good enough.”