Their Mom found Winnie's first bruise when she was two. It was about the size of a grown man's fist and it marred the freckle-less, white skin of her left hip. The blond haired, blue eyed two year old didn't bother to acknowledge it's presence as she fiddled with the runny bubbles in the bathtub. It was as if she hadn't a care in the world and at two, it was easy to suppose that she didn't. Penelope Garcia gazed silently at the injury on her daughter's hip for at least ten minutes. It was almost as if her mind had drawn a blank, suddenly deciding to give up on whatever it had been doing before hand, all thought processes were stopped as she gazed at that bruise. She'd originally tried to wash it off, as if had been caked on dirt or something of the like. But it hadn't come off and she was left sitting there, lifeless as a porcelain doll. The only reason she snapped out of it at all, was when a tiny two year old hand tugged on her sleeve, prompting her to look down and to be met with a pair of beautiful blue eyes that she had created. And a small voice, so wise for a child whispered. "Mommy, come out now? It cold."

It was as if Penelope had been stirred from her stupor then and she scooped her child out of the lukewarm bathtub water, wrapping the toddler up in a towel and gently drying her wet curls. The little girl whined when the towel flapped around her head, trying to sop up most of the moisture. Their Mom hushed her gently and soothingly, towel still running it's course as August came to stand in the doorframe of the bathroom. Augustus Garcia was eight when his Mom first found a bruise on Winnie. He'd come to the bathroom for the sole intention of needing to pee after soccer practice. That was the first time that he saw the bruise on Winnie's hip, he instantly started running through memories in his head, wondering if he'd been the one to cause her the injury. But he couldn't think of anything so he just shrugged it off. If he couldn't get in trouble for it, then it didn't really matter to him. Not then anyways. Yet when he passed his mother and sister on the way to the sink, he threw out a casual, "Does it hurt?", over one shoulder. He remained unanswered however, his mom already carrying his sister out of the room.

It was only three months later that Winnie was diagnosed. Multiple Myeloma. Cancer. Both brother and mother sat in shock after the doctor's news. August watched as his mom started to cry, tightening her grip on the toddler in her lap. But he doesn't move. He can't. It's as if his chair's been glued to the floor with the sticky words that fly from the doctor's mouth. Words like..'blood-forming marrow cells', 'blood platelet counts' and 'hyperviscosity', slip from the doctor's mouth like butter. Doesn't he realize that August has no idea what he's saying and that their mother is too busy sobbing to pay attention herself? Back then he'd thought that doctors were like superheroes in lab-coats, they weren't. Because superheroes care if you're crying, superheroes care if you want a red Popsicle or a green one...superheroes don't let your sister die.

Doctors aren't superheroes.

They put her on chemo that same day. August watched with shadowed eyes as he saw young adults, children, even babies with bald heads and tubes poking out f them like pin cushions. The littler ones were holding pink kidney basins under their arms, the same way that Winnie would hold her teddy. It made August want to vomit and he nearly did, when he saw a young boy his own age doing just that. They took his baby sister into this great big white room, and laid her down on a dentist's chair. One of the kind-faced nurses brought up a tray of needles and that's when Winnie began to howl and scream. She knew that they were going to hurt her, and their mom began to cry again as she held down the struggling toddler. August watched as they plunged the needle into her thin arm, over and over again. They were unable to find a good vein and Winnie would howl louder each time they tried. It was on the eighth try that they got the needle in. Winnie didn't make a sound as they hooked her up to a wide battery of machines and August heard the doctors begin to talk to his mom. He just caught bits and pieces, but it was enough to make his heart sink. "Portacath... Central line... tiny veins... Fever, infections, chills... Lower blood counts... hair loss... Developmental delays..." All August got from that was more questions.

'Will she go to school with normal kids?'

'Will her hair grow back?'

'Will she get better?'

'Is she gonna die?'

Finally he blurted out what he'd been thinking the entire time, since they first moment they told them that Winnie would be getting chemo and that it would kill some cells, both bad and good. "You're going to kill her...part of her. To make her better? That's not fucking right!" He didn't know what 'fuck meant exactly, but he heard some kids at school saying it and it honestly seemed like the right thing to say. He was angry and 'fuck' seemed like an angry enough word. He heard his mom gasp and turn to him, but it wasn't her that he was looking at. It was Dr. Reed who met his eyes and met his glare head-on. Finally the doctor spoke and it was after that, that he earned August's respect.

"You're right, it is."

August watched from one of those uncomfortable hospital chairs as they got Winnie ready for chemo. He watched as the doctor rattled off information to them. That she was going to have a central line implanted in her chest for future chemos. A central line is a three pronged tube that sticks out of her chest and will be the gateway for chemo drugs, other meds, saline, and blood draws. It means less needle sticks for Winnie. But for the first chemo they pumped her full of dexamethasone and ophthalmic drops before they started. Then they began giving her Daunorubicin, then Cytarabine, and finally Allopurinol. Poison after poison being pumped into the body of his tiny little sister, not yet old enough for preschool. It made August want to be sick. It took only two hours before she began to do just that, vomiting over and over in the pink basin that was thrust towards them by one of the nurses. When she wasn't puking, she was sobbing uncontrollably, their mom tried desperately to soothe her but to no avail. But then she just stopped, starting taking the pain and vomiting silently. That was when August realized what was worse.

His mother loved him. August knew that. But during those harrowing years, the line of love and annoyance got extremely blurred. She was run-down and tired...they all were. Sometimes she would snap, sometimes he would snap. But things would always end up alright. One of those snaps was when he was going to play in a soccer game when he was ten and Winnie was four. Still in her fight with cancer, she'd already been through one failed remission. August would always put himself before his sister, but that day he'd been so excited for the game that when Winnie told his mom that she didn't feel good, just an hour before the game...he'd snapped.

"Auggie, get in the car we'll have to go to the ER."

"But Mom! My game's in an hour, it's championships!"

"No buts, August! Get in the car!"

"No! It's always about her! I'm sick... I don't feel good... My tummy hurts... My ear hurts... My ass hurts! It's all about her! It's not fair!"

He'd screamed while half-way into the car. Winnie was already buckled into her car-seat, tears bubbling hot and wet in her eyes as she listened to them fight. Penelope Garcia hadn't had any sleep the night before and nearly strangled her son then and there as her eyes flashed and she growled, "Fair? You want fair?! Okay, the next time Winnie gets chemo, so can you. The next time I have to flush her central line, I'll make sure you go through something equally as painful. God, why did it have to be Winnie who got sick, if you wanna be fair! Why couldn't it have been you?!" The moment that the words left her mouth, she wanted to take them back. She watched as her stubborn ten year old began to cry, practically falling out of the car as he struggled to get away from her as fast as he could. She sagged against the steering wheel then, tears pooling in her eyes. She wondered how things went so bad so fast.

Their father had been Shane Wyeth, the underground hacker and leader of Starchamber. August had been conceived whilst they were actually together, while Winnie had come after. Shane had long ago, given up rights to both Penelope's kids. Mostly because whenever he would apply for partial custody, his files would mysteriously disappear off of the computer. Penelope loved her children more than her job, more than her friends and they would always be first. Like the day when she'd been called into work because the team needed her, she'd tossed away her phone when she found her five year old laying motionless on her butterfly decorated comforter. The little girl's face was drawn and pallid as she wheezed hoarsely. Then, as if she'd been yanked up by strings, she sat up and blood mixed with bile, spewed from her lips. Penelope screamed for August as she lunges forwards to shove a bucket into her bleeding daughter's arms and sweep her away to the car. August stands in his sister's room, long after both she and his mother have vacated it, he watched the butterflies hung on the walls like stars and he wonders if Winnie will be with butterflies when she dies.

That was the ending of her last remission.

One day when August was twelve and Winnie was six, he came home from junior high to find his Mom dancing around the kitchen. Winnie was sitting on the counter, happily clapping and kicking her legs up and down. She wasn't wearing her mask and her bald head was gleaming and uncovered. August had to stifle the urge to leap over there and force her to get down. It was hard to watch her play and tumble like a healthy child, but bleed out like a sick one. But he simply dropped his backpack on the ground and joined in the fun, twirling around the small kitchen, Winnie clasped in his skinny arms as they danced to whatever was playing on the radio. When they stilled, August finally asked what the occasion was. It was Winnie who answered, smile bright and eyes gleaming, voice packed full of that joy that little kids are so full of.

"Mommy's got a date!"

August had looked to his mother for confirmation and he was practically squealing as well as she nodded. He was truly excited for her, she deserved a break and maybe she'd find the right guy. He mock scowled and stuck up his pointer finger, wagging it playfully at her.

"Now, be back before 1am, young lady."

Winnie let out another squeal of laughter at his mocking tone and even his mom laughed too. It was the first time he'd seen her laugh in a very long time. It felt good to have caused it for once. His mom hurried towards him and started running her gentle hands through his blond curls. "Don't worry, Auggie. You'll always be my little prince." August blushed scarlet at her tone of voice and grinned under his breath. Just enough so that Winnie could see and mimic it. It was a good afternoon, he'd wished that he could save that moment where all three of them had been so happy. But then...that moment ended.

He stayed up that night, waiting for her to come home. He'd waited past midnight, curled up on the couch. Winnie had been sent and tucked into bed promptly at eight. But August had lingered, worried on behalf of his mom. It had been a long time since she went out with anybody. He'd known that it wouldn't go well...but the gunshots were something he hadn't been expected. They stunned August out of his stupor and sent him hurtling out of the apartment, hair screwed up and with only one slipper on as he bolted down the stairs. Taking them two or three at a time, hoping and praying against certainty that it had been a car backfiring or that it hadn't been her. Even though he knew it was.

When he saw her body, eagle-spread on the pavement...time seemed to stop. He threw himself towards her, screaming and staring at her hair. The blond hair that his mom had passed on to both him and Winnie, was framing her face like a golden, blood-streaked halo. Her eyes were closed and she was barely breathing. August was grasping at straws, he had no idea what to do. This was messing with the natural order of his life, he was The Protecter, Winnie was the Martyr and their Mom, she was the glue that held everything together and now she was crumpled and bleeding on the pavement. It was as if August was watching his world crumble before his eyes.

"Auggie..."

Winnie's voice stunned him out of his cloud of confusion and horror. He looked up to find the first grader staring outside, she was wearing nothing but her Dora pjs and her butterfly slippers. He instantly tried to block their mother's body from view, he refused to let Winnie see such horror, he wouldn't let it scare her. "Go Winnie! Get help!" He shrieked, trying to use his hands to stop the gush of blood from their mother's abdomen. He didn't say anything else as he struggled to stop the flow of the blood. He was so lost and scared. He felt as if the hole in his mother's stomach was the same hole that had opened up beneath him. He was so very scared. August was so relieved when the neighbor arrived, EMTs not too far behind her. They gently pushed him away from his mother's prone body, checking her stats and the like as Winnie launched her skinny frame into his blood streaked arms.

"Mommy! Mommy! Mommy, wake up! Mommy!"

August realized that Winnie was screaming but he didn't bother to hush her, to try and soothe her. It was as if the world had been flipped on its head and there was no way for August to stop it. The world was running ahead of them and August couldn't keep up. When they hook their mother up to a stretcher and wheel her inside the ambulance, she's mumbling, like she hears how desperate Winnie is to speak to her. She mumbled out her name and the like before two EMTs help August and Winnie to climb in after her. Penelope Garcia goes silent after that and Winnie buries her sweaty face, streaked with tears into August's shoulder. He wondered if the world was ending.

Maybe it already had.