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Aaron was the protected one, Aaron was the untouchable twin, kept at arm's length or else you'd get stabbed—that was Andrew's control. Even his pre-med classmates knew it: you don’t mess with a Minyard, because if you do, the psychopath will slit your throat. That’s how it was.
Until it wasn’t.
Aaron would say that his brother’s overprotectiveness is something you learn to live with, even though that’s a complete lie. But without it, it would be hard to live so restrained. Aaron hates it—being protected, being coddled. He hates it completely. But it’s easier. He’s always preferred the easy way out, the easy way to disappear into the black hole that is his twin brother. But yes, sometimes it hurts. It feels bad, especially when he remembers that it’s not out of care but possession that drives Andrew’s actions. It’s not brotherly love that motivates Andrew’s protection.
That’s how he used to think about it, at least until he shattered the natural order of things between the Minyards. When he killed Drake, he felt relief—strangely happy to be seen, and then disgusted, terribly sick throughout the trial. But there wasn’t a single doubt in his mind: if he had to do it again, he would, without hesitation. And until he could stop seeing his twin broken in his dreams, Andrew constantly asking if they had hurt him when he was the victim, well, Aaron realized it wasn’t just about possession. He realized he didn’t actually hate his brother, that it was all just a lie.
Then all the charges were dropped, even from his record, and he could keep his future. He knew he’d give it up without a second thought if he had to do it again—to protect his family.
But while that part of him existed, he would be a doctor. He *will* be a doctor. He has a girlfriend, and his brother is no longer just...
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Eden’s is the only bar they go to—at least, it has been since Andrew came into his life. He doesn’t complain; he couldn’t. It’s also a safe place for him, the place he fled to from his mother, the place where Nicky worked to save up for Germany, the first clean job he ever had.
A safe place for monsters—that’s what it is, or at least what it’s supposed to be. That safety shatters the moment a particular group of college students walks through the door, and everything starts to fall apart.
“Ravens,” he hears Kevin say, and he knows there will be blood. He sees it in Andrew’s manic smile, the calm in Neil’s eyes, the fear in Kevin, and the tension in Nicky’s body.
The screams and blood are the first things that happen when the two groups clash. Then comes the crying. Aaron is helping Roland evacuate the non-combatants, getting those who come here to feel safe out of harm’s way. He doesn’t know how many people he’s wiped tears from or checked over, but there’s no need for an ambulance. It won’t get worse, he tells himself as he guides them out, constantly keeping an eye on his family.
That’s how it is until he hears the sound of a bottle breaking. That’s how it is until he hears a faint groan—not the first of the night, but this one freezes him. Something instinctive in him recognizes it before his mind does.
“Andrew!” It’s Neil’s voice. He sees Neil holding Andrew’s bloodied head, sees Nicky and Kevin cornered, and suddenly he’s not the doctor anymore. No, the same hollow rage that made him kill Drake fills his chest.
He doesn’t have a racket this time, but everything is a weapon. He’s a backliner, after all. This must be the best version of that, he thinks, and charging in shouldn’t feel so natural. The blood on his fists shouldn’t feel so satisfying.
He’s pulled back by arms around his waist. He grabs one of the limbs and squeezes, hearing a groan, and stops when he recognizes it as Kevin’s. But at any movement from the guy in front of him, he strikes again. He doesn’t know if it’s his blood or the guy’s, but his fists are red. He’s the only Raven left here, the one who bears the brunt of his anger. The others left at some point—he doesn’t know when. He just wants to see how long this guy lasts, how much more he can make him bleed. This coward had gone for his brother from behind and dared to hit him, hurt him.
“The police are coming…” Nicky says, sounding annoyed by it. Aaron feels another tug—it’s Kevin, he remembers. He kicks the guy and lets him drop to the floor when he tries to run again.
“Andrew…” It’s Neil speaking now, whispering his brother’s name. He’s hurt. Aaron doesn’t want to see how bad it is; he just wants to kill whoever did it. He kicks the guy on the floor. His face is a bruise, and he probably has a broken rib. This is wrong, so wrong, but he deserves it.
He hears footsteps—two firm and light, as if they weren’t footsteps at all, and two heavier ones, though they sound pained, difficult.
He doesn’t look. He keeps his eyes on the guy, who seems to be unconscious by now. It doesn’t matter. He’s still breathing.
“Aaron,” a soft voice says. Too soft for who it belongs to. He doesn’t want to recognize it, doesn’t want to see the damage. Again, too late. Again. “Aaron.”
The voice is firm, and the weight of a hand on his shoulder drains the strength from him. Kevin pulls him away and lets go. He sees his brother’s feet in front of him. He wants to confirm, but they’re dirty with blood. He can’t touch. Andrew doesn’t want him to touch.
“Aaron, look at me.” He feels the hand on his jaw. There’s no force, no demand—just a nudge for him to do it himself. He feels stiff as he lifts his gaze, hazel meeting hazel. His brother looks fine, but Aaron notices the liquor sticking to his skin and sees the brown—blood from a wound on his head. They need to go to the doctor, get his head checked. They need to see that wound. “We’re leaving now.”
It’s something he can follow as easily as breathing. Neil drives, Nicky beside him, Andrew and Aaron side by side—the way they never like to sit.
The Maserati is fast. Aaron decides it’s necessary to say it, or else no one will. It’s worry talking, his current inability to do anything that will force them to go. He can’t treat anyone with his hands so shaky and dirty.
“The ER,” he says, his voice rough. He feels their eyes on him—those who can look. Andrew doesn’t. He just seems closer than ever. Aaron wants to feel happy about that, but he just feels sick. “I can’t do anything about Andrew’s head like this. Someone needs to check if there’s glass in the wound.”
He says it flatly, but it gets the job done. In 15 minutes, they’re at the ER. Nicky checks them in as a stupid college accident. He doesn’t think the nurse buys it, but maybe they’re all beyond her pay grade, just like Wymack. Andrew goes with one nurse, and then he grabs Aaron by the wrist. Aaron wants to pull away—Andrew is getting dirty.
“We’ll both be docs—my head and his hands,” Andrew says apathetically, and the nurse sighs. She seems to understand something, though Aaron doesn’t know what. She leads them together, sitting them on a gurney, side by side. Aaron looks at his hands. They hurt, and they’re disgusting—covered in blood. Did he kill someone again? He wants to laugh, but he doesn’t think it’s a good idea.
“Say something,” Andrew is the first to break the silence. It’s rare—an event. Betsy would call it progress. Aaron feels sick, like they can only talk properly when something huge happens. It also doesn’t feel right for Andrew to talk to him when he’s so dirty. But if Andrew’s talking, it means he’s not dead. It means he’s breathing, alive, existing.
“Like what?” Aaron says, his voice too hoarse. It hurts. It feels like he’s been screaming, though he knows he hasn’t. It was probably during the struggle. He remembers the pressure of a hand on his throat. He’d like a glass of water, but he doesn’t think he could hold it steady. “Anything.”
And Aaron thinks about it—what he wants to say to his brother right now, what he wants to get off his chest. He almost laughs when the worst possible thing to talk about comes to mind, especially when his brother probably has a concussion and he’s in shock. But they’ve always bonded best over trauma.
“When you told me to go to hell in your letter, I tried to kill myself,” he says, so apathetically that it surprises even him. He knows his brother’s face will say more than it shows. He knows this might be a low blow, but he wants to keep this conversation going. He wants to get it out of his system. “It came at a bad time. I guess it was because I was already leaning toward erasing myself from the world, but it also gave me a reason. It was the only thing that stopped me from doing it anyway—that you existed, I mean. Maybe I would have done it if you hadn’t responded. I don’t know. Now I—”
“Hi, it’s a bit late for a fight, don’t you think? Which one of you is Andrew Minyard?” the doctor says, putting on gloves and adjusting her mask. Andrew raises his hand beside him. The doctor approaches, and Aaron can’t help but tense, watching her movements like a hawk. Suddenly, he feels a squeeze on his arm and knows it’s Andrew. He relaxes but doesn’t stop watching. “It doesn’t look too bad, but I need to clean it and remove any glass fragments. Then I’ll stitch up the torn skin. I’ll be as careful as I can, but it might hurt. Do you want any painkillers?”
“Just do it, Doc,” Andrew says, and she nods. Aaron doesn’t notice the trembling in his hand until Andrew’s firmer hands stop the spasms by holding them. They hurt now that the adrenaline is fading, but there’s no regret. Again, he doesn’t know why he always expects there to be. He doesn’t want Andrew to touch him when he feels so dirty, but at the same time, he doesn’t want him to let go. It’s a contradiction.
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.
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Once Andrew is finally treated, Aaron feels the world crumble a little. He wants to run, but Andrew’s iron grip stops him. When the doctor looks at him, he freezes and follows her orders, going through the steps to treat his injured hands. Only a slight sound of pain escapes when they clean his knuckles. Then his hands are bandaged.
“Alright, I’d like you both to take it easy for a week or two. I understand you play sports—that’s off the table for a few days. If your hands swell, come back, and we’ll do scans. But for now, it’s just damaged skin. You can leave as soon as I write your excuse notes for practice and classes,” she says. Then Andrew grabs his jaw and forces him to look at him. He doesn’t have a full bandage, just a patch. It makes his hair look weird since they wet and combed it to expose the wound. At least they didn’t cut his hair. At least it wasn’t that bad.
“Stop looking at the wound. You want to be a doctor—you can’t forget to look the patient in the eye, not just the injury,” Andrew says. Aaron sighs at that and finally looks at him. Same face, yet so different. His twin seems calm under that indifference, as if this whole thing isn’t a big deal. Maybe in the grand scheme of things, it isn’t. It’s funny how he always seems to make the situation worse. That thought actually relaxes him. He sighs and nods at his brother, who finally releases his grip.
“Here’s the note and the prescription for antibiotics,” the doctor says, holding out a bottle of pills that, as usual, Andrew takes. “One now, and then every morning for three days. If the pain persists, you can take one more during the day.”
“Got it, Doc,” Andrew says, and that’s it. They leave the exam room, walking side by side to the waiting room. Aaron really hopes Nicky isn’t too mad at him—or at least not too emotional.
“Nice left hook. Are you ambidextrous and I didn’t know?” Andrew says, and Aaron snorts at that. He’s actually left-handed, but Tilda thought it was unnatural and forced him to be right-handed. Still, it didn’t stop him from automatically using his dominant hand, especially in situations where he’s not thinking. “Figure it out.”
“My babies are here!” Nicky’s crushing hug is comforting, so Aaron lets it happen until Andrew pushes him away.
“How are you?” Neil asks, though it’s clear who he’s more worried about. They step away, and Kevin approaches. Nicky decides to hug Aaron again, and he allows it—just for now.
“How are you?” Kevin asks softly. He’ll probably be drunk all night and into tomorrow. “I’ll be better. Let’s get out of here. Being a patient is the worst.”