Fred didn't want to think about it. He sat with his back against the wall, clutching at his pillow. And didn't say anything. He didn't want to talk about it.
George sighed again, rubbing his forehead roughly. "Okay, so maybe it's not but...I dunno, Fred. You don't know what's gonna happen. And there's nothing anyone can do to stop whatever it is. So what else can ya do other than try to pretend it's okay?"
Fred pressed the balls of his hands hard into his eyeballs. He was trying to stop the tears from falling, but all he managed to do was see spidery webs of light in the darkness.
"He won custody," he said, his voice still raspy, but no emotion left in it.
"Woah. What's wrong?" he asked worriedly, walking across the room to face his brother.
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"Nothing. I had something in my eye."
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"Just...stuff," he said, quietly. That didn't mean that Fred was going to give in easily.
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"Bletchley's dad's dead," he said, finally, very quietly, his voice all raspy-like.
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"Yeah. I read."
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And didn't say anything.
He didn't want to talk about it.
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George nodded slowly, absently picking at a loose thread on his sleeve.
"It's okay, y'know," he said quietly.
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"It's not, George."
Did he even know what this meant?
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"...That's not all..."
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"Angie's dad..." was all he could manage to get out before his breath caught in his throat.
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...Oh shit.
"Oh shit," George muttered, his eyes widening considerably as he realized what this could actually mean.
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"He won custody," he said, his voice still raspy, but no emotion left in it.
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