A/N: A huge thank you to my beta who worked on this chapter during one of the most stressful times in her life. Honestly, I could not ask for a better editor and friend. This story is as much hers as it is mine.

Also, thank you to the loyal readers who waited so long for some kind of update. Sadly, this chapter is just still part of the set-up for the 'real' story to follow so there's not much excitement here, only some honest conversation and some not-so-honest.

About the time Sig was making his silent promise to Nick, back at the house, Norman was making some unspoken promises of his own.

The tough middle brother was making promises to God and all the saints that he was only dreaming that Sig's ring was missing from his pants' pocket. Please God, let this be a mistake and I promise, Norman closed his icy blue eyes, I will go to church every Sunday – not just when I feel like it.

In full panic mode, Norman explored the kitchen looking for any signs of his brother's ring for what seemed like the tenth time that morning.

The kitchen being the first place he searched, he also thoroughly checked the laundry room, upstairs bathroom and his bedroom. It was a small blessing he had examined his bedroom because, upon entering, he was quickly reminded of the ruse he'd set up there the previous night.

How could I have forgotten about this?

The pillows were still positioned in the bed as if someone was sleeping under the covers. The note he left his family was still sticking out from under the pillow. Both were sad reminders that his plan to elope hadn't come to fruition.

Yet, Norman had no time to dwell on his loss this morning. His brother's ring was still missing.

Properly making his bed, he swiftly tore up the 'goodbye' note and dropped the pieces in the wastebasket.

Truthfully, there was no need to search his room for the ring; he hadn't been up there, obviously. Also obvious was that Edgar hadn't been there, either. The kid would have located the note and had a hissy fit about its contents if he'd been in Norman's room last night.

Returning downstairs, Norman went back to the kitchen. Maybe I overlooked the obvious!

"Edgar," Norman asked, now lying cheek to linoleum as he peered under the refrigerator, "Are you ABSOLUTELY sure nothing fell out of my jeans' pocket last night?"

In full cleaning mood, Edgar shut off the vacuum and said for the fifth time that morning, "Not that I saw. And…" the teen added, getting annoyed that he kept getting asking the same question, "…if something did, I would have picked it up…or it'd still be there, dude." Finger on the vacuum switch, Edgar went to return to his chore when he hesitated and asked, "What are you looking for, anyways? Your wallet or something?"

"Ah…Ummm…" Norman stammered, sliding his hand under the refrigerator and feeling his way around. Buying himself a little time, the middle brother tried to gain his composure. Bombarding Edgar with the same question five times in the last twenty minutes was about to backfire unless he could come up with a plausible reason for panicking about the missing contents of his pants' pocket.

Finding nothing but dust bunnies and wrinkled, squishy red grape under the refrigerator, Norman rose to his feet and proceeded to the sink. "No…not my wallet."

"What then?" the persistent teenager asked from the living room. His curiosity heightened, Edgar had yet to return to vacuuming.

The fact that the vacuum remained silent left Norman feeling like he was being sucked into a corner. I hate lying but… "Just something…" he cringed as he turned his back to Edgar. Can't look at his innocent face, mom's eyes staring back at me. Walking to the sink, he tried to casually add, "…something Amanda gave me." There it is…another lie.

Edgar hung his head. Instantly sorry he asked, he muttered, "Oh," and returned to vacuuming.

Last night's conversation fresh in his mind, Edgar was still very worried about his older brother's state of mental health.

Last night, Amanda's sudden departure with her family came as a surprise to Edgar. Yet, this morning, he remembered that he shouldn't have been THAT surprised; Sig had confided in him a week or so ago that Amanda and her family was planning on moving. How could I forget? But Sig had told me that wasn't happening for another month or so…if at all. Maybe that's why I was surprised…maybe that's why Norman was so shocked last night, too.

Edgar pondered all the evidence while moving furniture to make a wide path for Sig's return.

Lifting his eyes to the kitchen ceiling, Norman said another silent prayer. This prayer was one of thanks and a plea for forgiveness; thanks that Edgar was apparently going to leave the subject alone and forgiveness for another lie he told to his little brother.

Lies were piling up around Norman like the newly fallen snow had piled up outside. At least, that was how he felt.

Snow! Peeking out the kitchen window, the middle brother assessed the situation. Now that the sun was up, the result of last night's storm was evident. There were several inches of fresh snow accumulated on the driveway. The tracks from the truck's tires and his own footsteps were still there. I totally forgot about the snow.

"I'M GOING OUTSIDE TO SHOVEL," Norman yelled from the sink, over the water and over the hum of the vacuum. I need to get out of the house anyway…before I go crazy. Give me a chance to look outside for the ring, although I already freaking know I didn't drop that ring in the snow.

"'KAY" Edgar hollered back, "It'll be easier for Sig to get inside the house then." By this time, Sverre had already called home to let them know he and Sig were leaving the hospital. Edgar, of course, had whined over the phone about not being included in the pick-up arrangements, right until Sverre threatened to give him something to really whine about.

A quick wash and dry of his dusty hands, Norman turned and looked at his discarded, burnt jeans one last time.

The jeans were still hanging on the kitchen chair, very much like Edgar left them last night.

When Norman had awoken that morning, the burn on his thigh still ached a bit. Remembering about the burn lead to Norman's next and most pressing thought – his brother's ring was IN those jeans, buried safely in the pocket.

Admittedly, last night, he was willing to deprive his big brother of the ring for a while. However long that 'a while' was originally planned for would forever remain a mystery; in all honesty, Norman didn't even know himself. And it didn't matter now. He had decided last night to return the ring to its rightful owner first thing this morning.

Therefore, upon sliding off the couch and disengaging himself from an entangled sleeping Edgar, Norman went right to the kitchen.

Finding his jeans slung over the chair, he immediately searched the right pocket. Empty. Maybe I put it in the left. A quick check of the left pocket revealed the same answer; empty.

Bending over to search the floor, a knot of panic started to build into Norman's chest. His mind began racing. If Edgar had found the ring last night in my pocket, the kid most certainly would have commented on it. The KGB has nothing on interrogation skills when it comes to Edgar's relentless pestering and the kid would have been all over me about why I had the ring and how'd I get it. Well, that never happened last night so…where was the ring?

Thirty minutes, and what seemed like a lifetime of searching later, Norman was still asking himself the same question.

"Aa..um…ah…son?" Sverre kept his eyes on the road, paying careful attention to effectively navigate the snow-packed streets. The sports car had slid a few times coming home from the hospital. Luckily, the Old Man knew how to keep the wheels on the road.

And, unlike the forward motion of the Mustang's Goodyear All Weather tires, the wheels in Sverre's head were frantically spinning but getting him nowhere.

Since leaving the hospital, Captain Hansen looked for an easy way to tell his oldest son that he accidently betrayed their secret 'Operation Norman Gets Jilted at the Altar and No One's the Wiser' pact.

Of course, Sverre had felt like shit about the slip-up. Widely known to be trustworthy and dependable, he was quite proud of his reputation for always being a man of his word, most especially with his children.

Therefore, having to explain his 'slip' was a particularly painful and humbling experience for the Old Man. Yet, it was better Sverre let Sig know what he was walking into when they got home.

Now, the pressure to get the words out was building the closer they got to the house.

Sig shifted uncomfortably in the passenger's seat, feeling groggy and slightly disoriented. "Yeah, Dad? You saying something?" His right hand, sewn together with twenty stitches and heavily bandaged, was already a nuisance as he tried to find a comfortable position for his casted left ankle.

"Well…" Sverre glanced over at his oldest child. Sig looked weary, dark circles under his eyes from a painful night's restless sleep. Maybe I better wait. "…you OK, son? You look exhausted."

"No…" Sig then begrudging admitted, "…and yes. I don't know why doctors and nurses think a hospital is any kind of place to 'get a good's night rest?' They tell you to get some sleep and then they keep coming in to check on you. It's kinda cruel, in a way."

Sverre chuckled. His son's assessment of the contradiction between medical advice and patient treatment was amusingly ironic. "You've got that right…which is why I like to stay as far away from hospitals myself."

Sig's wheelchair, folded and squeezed into the back seat, rattled around as they bumped their way over the divots and ridges in the snow.

"Hopefully, no one from this family will be seeing the inside of a hospital any time soon," Sig smiled, his grin fading as he continued, "Unless it's to visit a good friend during his recovery."

"Hmmm," Sverre hummed, "If we're gonna hope for anything, let's hope you'll be visiting Nick at home as soon as possible."

Sig grew quiet, remembering something he'd seen…or didn't see…some moments ago in the hospital waiting room. "Where was Matt? I didn't see him at the hospital when we left."

Sverre nodded, "Because he wasn't there."

Sig flashed his father a questioning look. He knew Matt had been at the hospital at some point last night. Someone told me he was there…I just can't remember who or when.

Sverre explained, "Last night, Matt got upset and ran out of the hospital." Silently acknowledging he was getting off track from his task but in no hurry to get back to it, he continued, "Colleen's father went after him but the kid didn't get very far. Matt ran right into his own father in the parking lot."

Eyes widening, Sig whistled low, "Mr. Mavar showed up at the hospital last night?"

Sverre raised an eyebrow of his own, "That appearance seems to come as much as a surprise to you as it did to Matt. It seems," he proceeded, "Nick's mom felt it was the man's right to know his oldest son was in critical condition after a major car accident…so, she called him from the pay phone at the hospital." The Old Man pondered the scene he witnessed last night, "She was right, you know?"

"Huh?" Habitually, the blond raised his right hand to scratch his scalp. A second later, he regretted it. It was easy to forget his hand was practically immobilized.

"Mrs. Mavar," Sverre explained, "She was right to call her ex-husband. No matter what kind of father he is…or was…or has NOT been…he's still Nick's father. The man should have been told." Spoken like a true father and one who knows.

Turning his eyes to scan the scene out the passenger's side window, Sig shrugged. "I guess," he said, feeling less sure about that assessment than his father. Maybe I feel differently because I know a lot more about Nick and Matt's father than my Old Man does, most of it NOT good.

"Sig," Sverre took a deep breath and mentally screwed up his courage. There was no smooth segue into this conversation but the Captain gave it a try. "Before we get home…there's something I have to tell you…" the Old Man swallowed the lump in his throat, "…something you have a right to know."

The artificial segue forced Sig's stomach down into his bowels. Something I have a right to know sounds an awful lot like something I don't WANT to know. I can't deal with any more bad news. "Sir, no offense but…" Sig said in an unusually fragile tone, "…from the sound of your voice, this 'something' doesn't sound like it's gonna be positive and, honestly..." The blond shook his head, glancing down at his injured hand and broken ankle and searching inwardly for the bruises no one could see.

"…I can't take anymore." Sig felt broken in more places than his ankle as he spoke quietly over the hum of the car's engine, "My friend is in a coma, who knows if he'll wake up and what he'll be like if he does. My first Opie season as captain is sunk before it even started, leaving my family scrambling to make other plans for the next few months. I have weeks of therapy and idleness ahead of me, all the while taking care of my younger brothers…BY MYSELF…AGAIN…and, to top it all off, I lost the one material possession I owned that I actually cared about - ALL this within the last twenty-four hours."

If Sverre felt bad before his son's speech, he felt even lower than dirt right now.

Sig, on the other hand, discretely flicked his eyesight over to his father and tried to gauge the man's reaction to his little speech. He loathed admitting his fragility; especially to the man he admired most in this world, the one he had spent his entire life trying to impress.

"I'm sorry," Sverre said after a few moments of tense silence. "I…ah…I didn't mean to make it sound so dire." The Old Man changed course like only a seasoned, sea captain could. Sig's right…he's absolutely right. All things considered, I don't need to be having this conversation with him. Norman's the one I really need to be talking to right now, a continuation of a conversation that we already started last night at the hospital. God please keep me from breaking that boy's neck if he gives me a hard time.

Hearing his father's apology didn't help the eldest son feel any better. Now, on top of everything else, he felt guilty for not hearing the Old Man out. "Go ahead, Dad," he said, digging deep to find some courage and a bit of energy, "Tell me what you wanted to say."

"It's nothing, Sig," Sverre straightened up in the driver's seat, "Just something about the crew." The Old Man came up with that 'something' quick, "I've been thinking about firing that new greenhorn you hired during Kings."

"Jonas?" Sig asked, "Why? He seemed like a decent guy. Did an OK job…for a greenhorn."

"Yeah, well," Sverre said with a flourish of his hand, "I've heard from a few of my sources on Dutch that he's been partying pretty hard since the season ended and not watching the boat like he should be."

It was all true. Sverre HAD heard from his sources up in Alaska that their new greenhorn, left behind with explicit orders to babysit the boat between seasons, may be having some dangerous battles with addiction during the off season.

Sig bristled a little at the information. Jonas was the first deckhand he'd even hired and he'd done an extensive back ground search on the guy. To suggest that the guy was unfit was basically a poor reflection on Sig's hiring abilities, a critical part of captaining. "All guys party during the off season, Dad," Sig said dismissively, adding a bit condescendingly, "You should know that."

Now it was Sverre's turn to bristle a little. "Sigurd, I'm not talking about a few drunken nights at the bar, here," the Old Man forcefully spoke, "Believe me, I know a lot better than you what goes on UP ( Sverre dramatically pointed to the interior hood of the car as if a map of Alaska hung there) there between seasons."

"Maybe so…"

"The guy is an addict, Sigurd," Sverre let his eyes leave the road to glance meaningfully at his eldest son, "A.D.D.I.C.T." There…I've spelled it out for you.

"Can't be," Sig said, disbelieving. "I vetted him myself. There was nothing in Jonas's history to suggest that he would…"

"…be spotted buying cocaine from one of the local dealers in Dutch." Sverre finished, raising a smug eyebrow, "More than once."

Slowly, Sig absorbed this new information. "Are you sure? Maybe it's a case of mistaken iden…"

"Sigurd," Sverre stopped his son, "My sources are very reliable and have been for years. Trust me, this guy you hired is fighting some serious demons. Normally, I could look the other way, as long as the guy keeps his personal problems and the boat separate. But, we're paying this guy to do a job that he's not doing. He's taking advantage of us. Now THAT, I gotta problem with."

"I...I'm sorry, Dad," Sig relented, "I swear, I checked the guy out."

Sverre sighed, suppressing his relief. He would have told Sig sooner or later that he fired Jonas and hired a new greenhorn. Frankly, he didn't need his son's permission. Yet, the greenhorn situation was a good alternative to confessing Norman knew all about Sig's interference in his love life and that he himself played a direct role in divulging that information.

"Don't worry, son," Sverre patted his son's left hand, "It's part of the learning curve. You can't always predict what'll happen next."

Leaning his head back against the car's headrest, Sig exhaled sluggishly. Closing his eyes, he relived those few seconds right before the accident; the careening truck coming around the bend, the falling snow blocking their vision, Nick's piercing scream from behind the wheel. No, I sure as hell can't.

Daisy had no fondness for the vacuum cleaner; the loud, noisy machine, with its lights and erratic sweeping motions, scared her to death.

Therefore, it was no surprise that the minute the vacuum came out of the hall closet, Daisy promptly took herself and her little, stuffed lamb outside.

Currently, the lady of the house was lying on the safety of the porch, her beloved lamb toy between her outstretched paws. From her vantage point, she could also watch as Norman shoveled the driveway.

Since the porch was covered, the wood remained clean and dry from last night's snowstorm and Daisy's tail occasionally whacked the wooden slats as she observed Norman's labors. Whatch'a looking for? I bet I know! I wish I could help ya.

"Don't look so comfortable up there," Norman said, barely glancing up at the dog as he moved the heavy snow to the sides of the driveway.

Dressed in his puffy parka, snow boots, gloves and woolen hat, Norman's already bulky body was similar to the shape of the Michelin Man.

All the while as he shoveled, Norman scanned around for any sign of his brother's ring. He had already scoured the porch and walkway, turning over the trash can and rummaged through its contents. He retraced his steps from last night several times, a task easily done with his footsteps still imprinted in the snow. Nonetheless, all his efforts were in vain.

In his heart, the middle son knew his brother's ring had been in his pocket when they came home last night. He hadn't left the house since. There was no possible way the ring could be outside. Still, Norman had to hold onto some kind of hope.

As time went on and the snow was cleared from the driveway, whatever remaining shreds of hope faded with winter's coral and umber-colored sunrise.

Just as Norman was coming to terms with the fact that his brother's ring had vanished into thin air, the Mustang came rolling down the street.

Don't panic, Norman thought. The ring has to turn up. It has to! In the meantime, I have to play it cool. I just don't know what cool is?

As the Mustang pulled into the driveway, Norman went over around the truck and opened the far side garage door.

Sverre pulled into the garage without so much as a peek over at his middle child. The Old Man was already looking for an opportunity to get his middle son alone so the two of them could have a much needed conversation. Sverre just hoped Norman would keep his temper in check until that happened.

Conversely, Norman was quickly trying to resolve how to act around his brother and his father. It was a complicated situation – he had to pretend to be hiding that he was mad. That shouldn't be difficult, Norman thought as he shut the garage door from the outside, because I am mad; mad at Amanda's father, my father, my brother and, most especially, myself for somehow losing that God damn ring.

Walking around to the porch, Norman leaned the shovel against the side wall. Daisy, having spotted her master's car, was eagerly waiting to be let back into the house. The lab stood facing the back door, her entire back end wiggling, as she looked back at Norman and gave a solitary bark.

"Yeah, yeah…they're home," Norman grumbled, "And I'm glad you're happy about it. Me, on the other hand…"

Daisy interrupted with another, more impatient bark. Her bark was so forceful it lifted her four paws off the deck for a brief second.

"I'm hurrying," Norman shook the snow from his boots by pounding his feet against the wooden railing.

A few moments later, Norman opened the door, almost getting pushed over by a determined canine.

Daisy took off through the kitchen and through the open interior garage door.

Edgar was no longer vacuuming.

Stalling, Norman took off his boots, coat and other winter apparel. Hanging up all the wet items to dry in the wash room, he warmed his hands with his breath.

Voices came through the adjoining wall between the wash room and the garage.

Out in the garage, Sig was faced with his first challenge – how to successfully get out of the Mustang and into the house. The passenger's car door was close to the wall of the garage and it was impossible to squeeze the wheelchair between the two.

"Come on, son," Sverre came around the side of the car, "We'll get you out of there."

Daisy was close on Sverre's heels.

"By we, you mean you and the dog?" Sig tried to make light of the uncomfortable situation.

"No, he means me," Edgar eagerly offered, maneuvering around the dog and his father.

"Good to see you, kid," Sig said honestly, glancing out the doorway, "Cause I seem to be stuck."

"You're not stuck," Sverre sighed, not one for the overdramatic. For a man his size and age, he was surprisingly strong and he showed it by leaning over and lifting his son's legs so they were positioned outside of the car.

Carefully, Sig slid the rest of his person out of the seat. With his bandaged hand, it was more than difficult.

Once he was out of the car and standing upright, Sig leaned all his weight on his right leg. With his father and brother's help, he managed to hop his way to the back of the car and around the aluminum garage door.

Daisy backed out of the way, partly to save herself from getting stepped on in the commotion. Also, the lab was perplexed by the changes she saw in the tall guy; he walked with a different gait, had a giant, white boot on his left leg and he smelled funny.

Finally, out in the open space of the garage, Sig stopped. As stupid as it seemed, the simple task of exiting the car left him with the same feeling he would have after pitching 9 innings in the blazing August sun. Taking a deep breath, Sig leaned against the tailfin of the Mustang, feeling the soporific effects of his condition. Still covered with a fine layer of snow, the coolness against his body was a small relief.

"You want the wheelchair now?" Edgar offered.

Sig plastered a weak smile on his face. "I want a cigarette now," he confessed.

"That can wait," Sverre groused, his backside hanging out the driver's side of the car as he juggled the folded wheelchair into a better position for extraction. "Right now, we gotta get you settled in the house first. Then, I have a million things I have to do before…"

The Old Man left the sentence hanging. Sheepishly, he backed away from the car and cast a sideways, regretful glance at his eldest son.

Sig shrugged. "You have a lot to do before you leave. I know." The blond sighed, keeping his thoughts and questions to himself.

Abruptly, Sverre went back to his task.

Edgar's ears perked up, sensitive to the resignation in Sig's tone and his father's jerky mannerisms.

Did his father resent him for getting injured and forcing him out of retirement, Sig wondered. If so, did his father feel guilty about the resentment, unjustified or not as it may be? Or was his father feeling guilty about leaving him at home to watch his brothers again, all the while being secretly thrilled to return to the wheelhouse?

All Sig knew was that guilt had become his primary state since betraying his brother the day before.

Since then, the young captain added the guilt of surviving a car wreck relatively unscathed while his good friend did not, causing a complete upheaval in the Hansen's financial and domestic routines and losing his 1984 class ring. Irrelevant was the fact that none of those events were directly his fault.

As Sverre pulled the wheelchair from the car, he unfolded and placed the apparatus on the garage floor. "Hvile, Sigurd," he offered, pushing the wheelchair closer to his son.

"I'm OK, sir," Sig explained, "I don't need to rest."

Sverre quipped back, his ire rising, "Well, you can't stand in the garage for the rest of your life." In truth, the Old Man was finding Sig's current condition more and more upsetting. My strong, healthy 18-year-old son can't even make it into the house without resting; how is it fair to put all the household responsibilities on him when I leave? "NORMAN, God dammit!" he bellowed, "Get your ass out here!"

Edgar cringed at the sudden harshness of his father's voice. Even Sig, used to his father's normal bluster, was taken aback.

From the laundry room, Norman clearly heard his father's beckon. Taking a deep breath, the emotionally-wrecked teen heeded the call.

A second later, Norman appeared in the doorway of the garage. For lack of anything better to say, he softly offered, "Godt Nytt År, takk for det gamle."

"Help your brother into the house!" Sverre commanded, ignoring his son's traditional Norwegian New Year's Day greeting.

Unlike his father, Sig did not forgo traditions. He responded, "Godt Nytt År, bror."

Struck by how feeble Sig seemed, Norman stood frozen in the doorway. Conflicting emotions towards his older brother and best friend abounded in the tough guy's heart and head.

Carefully, Sverre studied his middle child's face, seeking any kind of indication of Norman's emotional state. Yet, very much like looking into a mirror, Norman's face remained stoic and unreadable. I know that look, that unemotional façade when you don't want your family to know that you are hurting or worried.

Just as Sverre was about to prompt his son a second time to lend a helping hand, Norman seemed to come out of his daze.

Walking the width of the garage, the first parking space left open because the truck was still outside, Norman approached his older brother.

This time, Sverre held his breath. Although it would seem outrageous considering Sig's current condition, the Old Man was genuinely worried Norman would cold-cock his brother the first chance he got.

Luckily, that was not the case.

"You take one arm and I'll take the other," Edgar offered, completely oblivious to the tension in Norman's shoulders. If he had noticed it, he would have easily dismissed the posture as one of concern.

"I think not," Norman muttered. "He'd still have to get up the two steps into the kitchen."

"I can make it up two steps, little brother," Sig defended himself.

Norman stopped dead center in front of his brother, slightly tilting his head back and staring Sig square in the eyes. "And what about the other fourteen going upstairs, smart ass?"

"Ah…" Sig recoiled, "I planned on staying downstairs for the duration of my rehab, thank you." The last image Sig wanted to visualize was lying in bed like an invalid for the next few weeks. Also, being 'set up' upstairs left him with the feeling of being trapped.

Norman offered a superior grin. "And then you and Daisy can have something in common?"

A silence fell over the garage as Sverre, Sig and Edgar tried to figure out what Norman meant.

Daisy barked at the sound of her name, her gaze drifting between all four men. Well, two men, one almost man and one man-child.

Sverre leaned down and petted the dog on the head.

"They're both blond?" Edgar threw up a casual hand with the obvious assessment.

"Yes, little brother, that is true," Norman stated, flashing Edgar an innocent grin, "But now they can both use the back yard as their bathroom."

"Eck!" Edgar wrinkled his nose, "You can't be serious. I'm the one that's gotta pick that shit up…literally."

Daisy barked again. Little man-child. 'Wanted a dog in the worst way and now you have to take care of it…and all IT does' – that's what your sire says ALL the time. But make sure you thoroughly check that shit, too, before you throw it away. Most likely, one of my 'offerings' may have something valuable in it very soon.

"Language, Edgar!" Sverre scolded.

Sig groaned. The reality of his pathetic condition was hitting him.

Norman smiled another smug, self-satisfied smile.

Considering there was only one bathroom in the house and that bathroom was located on the second floor, it seemed Sig didn't have much of a choice. With his father leaving for Alaska and his brothers in school most of the day, he'd be stuck downstairs with no way to get upstairs to relieve himself. AND, I'm NOT using one of those God-forsaken bedpans that my brothers would have to empty. NO! JUST NO!

"Fine," the eldest brother said with deep resignation.

"OK," Norman nodded his head, "Let's do this."

The middle brother turned around and offered Sig the full view of his back.

"Norman, what are you doing?" Sverre questioned, getting tired of this delay.

"I'm taking Sig upstairs," Norman answered as if the answer was clearly evident already.

"You're gonna carry him?" Edgar asked, more than intrigued and impressed.

"Yup."

"Nope," Sig quickly answered, reaching an outstretched arm in his father's direction, "Pappa, help me."

"It's OK, son," Sverre confirmed Norman's idea. Let them bond together for these few minutes. I'll be right behind them should something go wrong. "Norman won't drop you…will you, Norman?" The Captain gave his middle child a chillingly hard look.

"Never," Norman spoke the word, feeling like it was some kind of lie. He had dropped his brother the minute he stole his brother's ring. But who dropped who first? Didn't he drop me when he betrayed our sacred bond?

"I don't know about this," Sig tallied, leaning against the car.

The blond didn't have much time to think about it. Norman backed himself into Sig and gently tilted him forward, off balance. Sig had no choice but to 'fall' onto Norman's broad back.

Wrapping his arms around Norman's neck, Sig felt himself lifted from the ground as Norman slipped both his muscular arms carefully under Sig's thighs and picked him up.

"Whoa," Norman adjusted for the weight on his back, "That cast is heavy." Generally speaking, he knew how much Sig weighed - they had wrestled each other enough together to know – and Sig had come home much thinner than when he left for Alaska. Therefore, the amount of weight on Norman's back came as a surprise.

Sig wrapped his arms tighter around Norman's collar, his bandaged hand dangling in front of Norman's chest. He leaned over and whispered a challenge, "Change your mind…tough guy?" OK, I'm now grateful Norman doesn't know I betrayed him and Amanda because this is a little scary. He could easily drop me on my ass.

Norman's only answer was to hold on tighter and start walking.

After the production of getting Sig safely tucked away upstairs, everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

To Edgar's delight, it was immediately decided that Sig would be stationed in his bedroom. The decision made sense considering Edgar's room was the closest to the bathroom and housed the largest bed.

With Sverre's permission, Edgar was allowed to bring the portable, upstairs TV into his bedroom for his big brother to watch.

Sverre went back downstairs to get some things ready for New Year's Day dinner.

Norman went back outside to 'shovel' and continue looking for his brother's missing ring. He also planned to bring the truck inside after brushing off the snow that had collected on it overnight.

As Edgar set up the TV in his (and now Sig's) room, Sig tried to make himself comfortable in the large bed. Changed into his own clothes and necessaries attended to in the bathroom, including a cigarette smoked by the bathroom window, he was feeling somewhat at a loss. It was still early morning and he was ready for bed. Surprisingly, he was tired enough to sleep until tomorrow.

A pillow propped up his injured leg, Sig watched Edgar setting up the TV with a humorous eye. Edgar was whistling while he worked. Clearly, the kid was happy with the current arrangements.

"Happy to have the TV back in your room?" Sig asked.

"I guess."

"If I recall correctly, last time the TV was in here, things didn't end so well for you."

Embarrassed by the reminder of his last transgression during the summer, Edgar's face flushed. The transgression didn't have so much to do with the TV, or the Atari that was hooked up to it, as it did with the outright disobedience he'd shown his brother. It was the only time Edgar had openly defied his brother without good cause or extenuating circumstances. The end result, however, was just the same.

"I'm just happy you are OK," Edgar pointedly stated, holding no grudge against his brother for that particular round of discipline or any of the previous rounds he'd earned over the summer.

Sig half-smiled, sorry he brought up the unpleasant memory. "I know. So am I."

"Edgar," Sverre interrupted from the doorway, a glass of water in one hand and two pill bottles in the other, "Go shovel the new neighbor's driveway. It hasn't been touched yet." And get out of the house for a few minutes so I can have a much-needed conversation with your other brother.

Edgar opened his mouth to complain, giving Sig a forlorn look. Obviously, the kid wanted to stay in his big brother's company and was about to throw some teenage attitude their father's way in order to do so.

Sverre was in no mood to argue and the attitude would not have ended in Edgar's favor.

Fortunately, Sig came to Edgar's rescue. Discretely, he interrupted. "Doesn't that new girl…what's her name…own a shovel?"

"The one with the bright, pink stripe in her hair?" Sverre asked for clarification, "Totally forgot," he scratched his head for emphasis. Thank you, my eldest son, for the perfectly-timed reminder. "Maybe they didn't pack a shovel…nor had time to unpack one."

"Morgan," Edgar whispered the girl's name in question. Apparently, he was the only one in the room that remembered.

Like a fire had been lit under his backside, Edgar hurried from the room, calling back as an afterthought, "I'll check on you in a little bit, Sig."

The two older Hansens looked at each other for a moment, listening to Edgar literally tripping over himself trying to get his winter gear on and out the door.

Only after the slam of the backdoor reverberated throughout the house did either son or father speak.

Sig broke the silence. "Why do I have the feeling that this new neighbor is going to cause ME some serious heartburn while you're away, Dad?"

Sverre actually cracked a smile. "Heartburn for you…heartache for Edgar."

"God help me," Sig glanced up at the ceiling. The small crack was still there. "Please let him be extra good while you're gone. I don't want a repeat of the summer."

"Sig," Sverre sighed, coming into the room and sitting on the edge of the bed, "Let me share a little parenting expertise with you…"

As best he could, Sig tried to sit up and pay careful attention to this departing of parental wisdom. Of course, he was curious as to what his father had to share, all the while finding it a bit ironic - their mother did most of the day-to-day parenting.

"I have found that when you really, really want your kids to be good…" Sverre raised a confident eyelid, "…you're the one who ends up feeling really, really bad."

Sig didn't quite know what to say to that. After a moment's reflection, he asked, "Like maybe you…or me, in this case…are setting our expectations too high?"

"And putting a lot of pressure on the kid," Sverre enunciated, "I found that out the hard way. Every time I left to go to sea, I'd lecture you boys about your behavior while I was gone…offer veiled threats, even."

"Dad, they were NOT veiled," Sig almost smiled, "They were as clear as the Alaskan waters."

"Yet," Sverre cocked his nearly balding head to the side, "You boys still managed to find ways to get into trouble."

Sig had the good sense to look guilty.

"Take it from me…" Sverre focused on the items in his hand, and then offered Sig the glass of water.

With his right hand bandaged, Sig took the proffered glass with his left.

Sverre then opened the pill bottles and removed two pills from each. "Antibiotics and pain management meds. Open up. No complaining."

Complying, Sig opened wide and let his father drop the pills into his mouth. Then he took a big gulp of water.

"Anyway, take it from me," Sverre repeated, this time continuing, "by the time that hand of yours (he pointed to Sig's injured right hand) is healed, I'll bet that Mustang you'll be putting it to good use keeping your little brother out of the line of fire."

Sig almost spit the water and the pills out into his father's face. Bets. Sport cars. Fire. Was his father purposeful in his word choices or simply ignorant?

"Swallow, son," Sverre sighed, "You survived raising Edgar the last time and did a damn fine job. I expect nothing less this time around."

As he choked down his pills, Sig pondered the sardonicism of his father's statement, the one about putting too high of an expectation on one's children…and coming back disappointed.

With Sig fast asleep and Edgar over at the neighbor's house, Sverre quickly prepped their traditional pork roast dinner. Once that task was complete, he went in search of his middle child.

Conveniently, he found Norman pulling the truck into the garage.

As Norman parked the car and was about to shut off the engine, Sverre rambled his way into the garage and knocked on the driver's side window. "Leave it running," the Old Man hollered over the engine.

Then, the Captain opened the driver's side door and blocked Norman from exiting. "Move over."

Norman asked at the same time, "You going out?"

"Yes, but not before we talk first," Sverre explained, getting into the car and shutting the door.

Norman had no choice but to slide over to the passenger's side.

It was a good thing the garage door was still open or the two of them would have gassed themselves and the rest of the house to death.

"Going out?" Norman cautiously asked, taking off his jacket.

"Yes," Sverre turned sideways to face his son, "To Nick's house."

Quizzically, Norman glanced back at his father. "Nick's?"

"Yes," the Old Man pulled out a set of house keys, "It seems Matt and Nick got their mother a kitten for Christmas and someone has to go over there today and feed it. With Matt at his father's house and his mother refusing to leave the hospital, they asked me to do it."

Norman smiled inside. His father, big, tough fisherman that he was, always managed to find himself in situations where he was called upon to help those in need. Tirelessly, the man always answered those calls, large or small, without fanfare or want of accolades; one of the man reasons he was so respected and admired in the community.

"You could take Edgar with you," Norman offered, "You know how he loves animals."

"I could but…" Sverre explained, "…I'm going to Cozy's afterwards. One of my friends is meeting me down there. He has some blank forms I need to take to Alaska. I'll be leaving on the first flight I can get."

Norman felt like he'd been punched in the gut by a small child. Hiding his shock, he asked softly, "So soon…"

"Ja," his father admitted, "With a change of captain, there's some paperwork that has to be cleared. It's too late to try and do that by mail so…I've got to take care of things in person…up north"

"Fishing licenses and tags?" Norman assumed.

Sverre was impressed. He never figured his middle child took much interest in the fishing business. "Yes, now that it's 1985, my license is expired. Considering I didn't think I would need it, I wasn't in any hurry to renew it before today." The Old Man gave a dry laugh, "I could fish without it and I doubt anyone would know the wiser, everybody knows I'm an honest guy. Still…" he grew serious, "…it's better to be safe than sorry."

Something about the 'better safe than sorry' phrasing caused an imaginary lightbulb to go off above Norman's head. The lightbulb also could have gone off from the discussion about licenses. Either way, in a moment of clarity, Norman remembered that he still had his duffle bag packed in the back of the truck.

Oh SHIT! My duffle bag…the bag with all MY money, the fake licenses I had (in order to be safe than sorry) AND Mom's wedding ring. I have to try and get it out of the truck before Dad leaves…just in case. If he finds that…I'm DEAD!

None the wiser, Sverre was still thinking about his proclamation of being an honest man. Gotta be honest now…and beg my son to forgive his brother so they can all live in peace while I'm gone.

"Edgar will be upset that you'll be missing his birthday…again," Norman tried to change the subject so they could move to whatever his father REALLY wanted to talk about.

Sverre groaned, literally slapping his head with his hand. Damn it! And I promised the kid we'd do something special. I'll have to get him a present before I leave. Maybe Alma can help me with that. Lowering his hand, he said with regret, "Well, there's nothing to be done about it now. I'm sure he'll understand."

"I guess so."

"Oh, that reminds me…" Sverre sat up straight, "Sig lost his class ring last night."

Norman's heart came to a full stop. Naturally, he lowered his eyes as not to give away what he was thinking. He's not the one that lost it. Upon lowering his eyes, Norman ended up staring at his own class ring. Unconsciously, he began twisting the white gold ring with the blue stone.

"He doesn't want Edgar to know. All things considered, I'm in agreement with Sig on this…NOT that I'm a proponent of lying to my children." Sverre seemed to underscore the words with veracity.

Norman's face remained passive. But you just lied to me last night. Well, at least you pretended you didn't know what I was up to, which is sorta like lying.

"I'm going to order a replacement ring…" Sverre added another thing to his to-do list, "…and hopefully it will get here and Edgar will never know Sig lost it."

He'll know, Norman thought to himself. Edgar knows every nuance of that ring…just like I do. Wisely, the middle brother left those thoughts unspoken. "Maybe the ring will still turn up," he muttered, adding a heartfelt prayer he would turn out to be right. "Maybe someone will find it on the side of the road…once the snow melts."

"That's a long shot, Norman," Sverre was skeptical of the notion, "And you're assuming the ring was lost at the accident sight. It's more likely the ring got cut off Sig's finger before surgery and the pieces were lost somewhere in the hospital."

Norman nodded, wanting nothing more than to sink down into the back seat and disappear. No, Dad. The ring survived the accident and the surgery…and safely made it home. It's lost somewhere in the house…because of me. How the hell can I explain my irresponsibility to you OR to Sig without explaining why I took it in the first place?

"It's gone," Sverre said with finality. "And…" Please let this go right. "…your brother is a wreck right now."

"I know," Norman murmured, suppressing a shudder of nerves. After having lost Sig' ring this morning, the last thing he wanted was to have this stomach-churning conversation with his father. Not now…please…not now. "Dad…"

"So…" the Old Man steeled his nerve, "…Let's get this out in the open."

Norman remained passive, unresponsive.

Undeterred, Sverre plowed into the storm. "Yesterday, your brother took it upon himself to try and talk Amanda out of this ridiculous plan of yours. She wouldn't listen…"

Something about that information made Norman's chest painfully contract. Perhaps the reaction was in response to knowing his girlfriend remained loyal to him, all the way to the end.

"…So," Sverre unconsciously rubbed his palms together, "Sig went and spoke with her parents…"

Norman closed his eyes, unconsciously trying to block out his father's words. Strongly suspecting his brother's involvement was one thing; having it confirmed was another. Emotions re-ignited, Norman temporarily forgot about Sig's ring.

"Her parents decided to take her with them last night," the Old Man explained, "To prevent her from doing anything foolish." He verbally underscored the word 'foolish' by emphasizing the first syllable.

Norman ignored the barb.

"Amanda had no idea she was leaving last night for the east coast," Sverre racked his brain trying to remember where the Winchester family was moving to, "headed to Washington or Virginia or…Maryland…I don't remember."

Barely hearing or caring about his father's geographical befuddlement, Norman was focused on how Amanda must have been feeling last night. He assumed she felt very much like he did: tricked, betrayed, powerless and heartbroken.

And my own brother was the architect behind every one of those feelings.

While Norman stewed, Sverre prattled on about how awful Sig felt about what he'd done. "He was downright shattered about going behind your back. I think…" he paused, trying to recall Sig's face on the porch yesterday morning, "…I think he was crying when I found him on the porch yesterday."

Norman was scarcely listening.

"From the start, he wanted to tell you." The Captain confessed upon finishing, looking uneasy.

Tentatively, Norman opened his eyes but continued looking straight ahead. The garage wall became his visual landscape. Upon the wall housed rows and rows of carefully organized tools. His blue eyes scanned the variety of hanging hammers and wrenches, almost all of which he had put to good use at some point. Sig, in stark contrast, probably couldn't identify half of them.

Fuck him! Sure he wanted to tell me…because he wanted me to forgive him.

Drawing out of his reverie, Norman was left with a strange feeling of disconnect with his older brother and best friend. The tools only highlighted how different they were and always had been.

"He wanted to let you know…right up front…what he did…" Sverre explained. Let him be mad at me, not his brother. I'll gladly take the fall for this debacle. "…but I talked him out of it."

Finally, Sverre caught Norman's full attention.

"Why?" Norman asked hoarsely, having gone so long without speaking. YOU talked my brother into lying to me?

"I didn't want there to be animosity between you and Sig…I was just trying to protect the both of you from getting hurt." The Old Man sucked in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "Because…I…I didn't think you would ever find out how or why she left."

"You thought wrong." Not often I get to tell my Dad he was wrong.

"I wasn't expecting your brother to get into an accident just hours later," Sverre became more emotional in his tone, "And I AM sorry I blamed you for it. I…I lost my temper. That accident would have happened regardless of who was driving or what kind of car it was."

Another anomaly – it's not often my Dad admits to being wrong…AND apologizes for it. Regardless of Norman's scornful thoughts, he was somewhat relieved that his father didn't blame him for the car accident.

Sverre shifted nervously, trying to catch Norman's line of vision, "Your brother's gonna need your help during the next few months and I won't have you making his life a living hell because you're pissed off he saved your ass from what could have been the biggest mistake of your young life!"

In mantra fashion, Norman clung to his beliefs. "It wasn't a mistake."

"Norman Scott," Sverre's jaw muscles tightened, "So help me God, if I hadn't promised your brother yesterday that I would forgo any external punishments for this half-baked scheme…"

"Half-baked," Norman repeated the words. "Half-baked…I put a lot of time and effort into that plan." Ill-timed as it may be, he was still offended by his father's choice of adjective.

Resisting the intense urge to reach across the seat and slap his child upside the head, Sverre focused on his breathing. In a taut voice, he asked, "You should have put more time and effort into thinking how getting married at seventeen was going to negatively impact your future…specifically, how you were even going to have a future once her father and I found out about it."

"It would have been too late," Norman spoke with confidence, "Amanda and I would have been legally married."

"Son," Sverre started, "Have you ever heard the word 'annulment?'"

Norman had the good sense not to answer. Of course he'd heard the word and knew what it meant.

"I can pretty much guarantee you that her father would have had this marriage annulled so fast it would have made your head spin," Sverre explained, "And if he hadn't, I sure as hell would have."

Now Norman's jaw muscles flexed as he clamped his teeth together. His father's open admission to undoing his plans, although those plans never came to reality, was like rubbing salt into a fresh wound.

"So, you see, you would have done nothing but waste your money and delay the inevitable by running away and getting married," Sverre spoke, "The end result would have been the same; your girlfriend would be with her family and you would be with yours."

Before he had a chance to stop himself, the words slipped out of Norman's mouth, "Family doesn't stab each other in the back."

Stunned, Sverre sat there, staring blankly back at his teenage son. The phrase 'Sticks and stones may break my bones but words can never hurt me' came to his mind. So much for that theory. The words left a resounding sting in Sverre's heart.

"Is…" the Old Man cleared his throat, feeling the strange urge to cry, "…that what you believe happened? I mean…really, really believe?"

Exaggeratedly, Norman turned and, for the first time, held his father's gaze. "I…" the middle child wanted so desperately to drown his father with hateful words.

Yet, looking into those familiar blue eyes staring back at him, the tough, middle child cracked. Same eyes as Sig. Same as my own. Same blood. It used to be so easy when I believed in that. I believed in that above all else. "I…" Norman muttered again, feeling the hot tears of despair rising in his throat.

"I…" Finally, Norman spoke from his heart. "…don't know what I believe anymore," he blurted out.

Desperately, before he completely broke down in front of his father, Norman hurriedly opened the passenger's side door and scurried out of the truck.

Left alone, the Old Man went about his business but not before letting a very rare tear slide down his cheek. Before pulling out of the garage, he brushed it away quickly, not wanting to think about how much his middle child was hurting and especially not the part where he was the one that caused the hurt.

~tbc

**For those of you interested in the 'Lost Atari' chapters from last summer, I started them over on Love Knots, just for fun. Reviews are always appreciated but never expected. Happy St. Patrick's Day and Easter/Passover to all.**