It was eight o'clock. Klavier had been waiting around for Kristoph since four, going back and forth to destinations on his bike. There had been a gallon of milk and a loaf of bread from the grocery store, two coats from the dry cleaners, and Klavier had taken what was left of the money Kristoph had given him and bought a container of trail mix and a Pepsi from the convenience store around the corner. After finishing the Pepsi and plowing through half of the trail mix, it was five, and he knew something was wrong. There was no way an excursion with Mr. Gambino could take this long, neither Kristoph or Klavier found Mr. Gambino interesting enough to withstand for three hours.

He tried to call Kristoph. Standing in the front room, anxiously switching from looking out the window to the modest television perched across from their dusty old couch. The line rang a few times and then went into voicemail. Klavier sighed and ran a finger through his hair, crashing down onto the sofa. His whole body was buzzing in frustration and anxiety; he felt like his clothes were all too tight and he was being choked by his shirt collar even though it was just an old t-shirt and jeans.

Just at that moment, he heard wheels rolling into the driveway. Relieved, his head popped up to stare out the window.

Another pang of panic ran down his spine as Kristoph got out of the passenger side of Mr. Gambino's car. Dried blood caked his face, down his nose and out of his mouth. One of his eyes was swelling and there were a few specks of blood on his nice clothes, but Kristoph made no move to cover it. In fact, Kristoph, seemed to be walking funny - he had to lean on Mr. Gambino to make it into the house.

Once he was in, Klavier shut the door behind them. As Mr. Gambino walked Kristoph into the kitchen, Klavier asked in German, "Kristoph, what happened to you? Why are you covered in blood? Why are you walking funny?"

Klavier was astonished to see Kristoph sitting back in the chair, eyes shut, grumbling but not really saying anything back to him. It was the first time in a long time Kristoph had nothing to say to Klavier. So, instead, he turned to Mr. Gambino and asked the same of him.

Mr. Gambino was covered in little beads of sweat and breathing hard - he was nearly a foot shorter than Kristoph and in not nearly as good a shape. He replied breathlessly, "We went to one o' tha bars our group owns. We had a few drinks and someone approached us. Gawd, he was enormous! He picked a fight wit' yer brotha. Kristoph got so angry, the man kept calling him a nazi 'er somethin'!"

It didn't make sense to Klavier. Kristoph would never get into a fight with someone, especially not with Mr. Gambino, who was now probably his boss, there. He expressed his concern. "I've never seen my brother in a fight before. He doesn't fight."

Mr. Gambino, unflinchingly, replied, "Well, ya eva' seen 'im drunk?"

Klavier frowned and turned to his brother. "I will clean him. Good night, Mr. Gambino."

The short man nodded and left, the front door closing quietly behind him.

Klavier watched as he climbed into his crappy little car, turned on his headlights, and drove off into the twilight. Turning back to Kristoph, he noticed that Kristoph's glasses were intact despite the fact that his face seemed to have gotten the majority of the pummeling. Kristoph continued to babble quietly, his tongue rolling around in his mouth. Klavier asked, "What happened to you, Kristoph?" When Kristoph didn't respond, his eyes out in space, Klavier grabbed Kristoph's cheeks, pulling his face to face his own. Stronger, with eyes flaming with questions that demanded answers, he asked again, "What happened, Kristoph?" Kristoph looked at Klavier for the first time, and Klavier continued. "I know you didn't get into a fight, brother. I know you don't fight. I know you don't feel much of anything. So tell me, why is your eye bruising but your glasses unharmed?"

Fingers digging into Kristoph's square jaw, the one eye was wasn't bloodied stared at Klavier. It was the color of the sky on a snowy winter morning, and it sent shivers down Klavier's back. Kristoph began to laugh, a chuckle deep in the back of his throat, quiet, and then louder. The blood on his teeth stood out, red on white, and he replied back, "I was learning how things are. Don't worry, Klavier. It's alright. Everything will be alright. I'll save you."

Klavier's eyebrows furrowed. "Kristoph," he spoke, "I don't need saving."

Kristoph snorted, and Klavier let go of his face. Kristoph's head lolled back and he continued chuckling. Klavier wetted a rag and began cleaning blood off of his brother. Once he was blood-free, Klavier got him into bed. Locking the doors and turning out the lights, he went into his bedroom as well, despite it only being 9 o'clock.

Climbing onto his bed, he whipped out his phone and began texting Daryan. He couldn't let this go untold.

Klavier: u know how my brother had business 2day?

A few seconds later, his phone vibrated.

Daryan: Nobody texts like that, Klav. And yes, I did. Did something happen? Did he hit you again?

Klavier: oh ok. and no, he didn't. he got beat up real bad. mister gambino said they were at a bar that belonged to their organization and that somebody picked a fight with him. he said kristoph was drunk and that's why it managed to get so far along. my brother doesn't fight anyone. he doesn't get emotional. sometimes I think he's a robot, lol. but the issue is that he had a really bad black eye but his glasses were completely intact. should his glasses not be broken?

It took a few minutes for Klavier to get a reply. The screen on his phone dimmed for a second, then the phone buzzed and the screen lit up brightly in the dark room. Klavier laid down on his back and grabbed the phone, holding it above his head to read Daryan's text.

Daryan: That sounds really serious. Were all of his injuries around the head?

Klavier managed to drop the phone on his face before replying.

Klavier: Yes.

Daryan: And his glasses were completely intact?

Klavier: Yes.

Klavier wondered what Daryan was doing - was he thinking long and hard about the issue? He played with a piece of his hair, then decided to add in what his brother had told him.

Klavier: When I asked him why he was beaten up, he said he was learning how things are. I already told you the kind of work that my father used to do. I'm worried that my brother is not getting the same treatment as my father. Kristoph is not cut out for this work.

The reply was almost immediate.

Daryan: That sounds really suspicious. And why do you say Kristoph isn't cut out for that kind of work? Kristoph is big and menacing like your dad was. He seems perfect. Why did he tell you he was learning how things are?

Klavier: I think it was a beginner's process, perhaps. He was crazy, mister gambino said he was drunk. I've never seen Kristoph get drunk but it was similar to the way people on television get drunk. It was also how my father was when he drank.

Daryan: So Kristoph wasn't sad or anything? He wasn't crying about lost love or home or anything?

Klavier had to think for a few minutes. Kristoph was definitely not sad, but he definitely wasn't happy either. The only word he could think of was "crazy."

Klavier: No, he wasn't sad. He would mumble to himself and his eyesight was far away, as if he wasn't there in the room with me. I had to grab him and yell before he would acknowledge me, and then he only said he was learning the way things are and that he would be my hero. I don't understand what he meant. Why do I need a hero? I don't need a hero.

Daryan: Sounds like he was drugged. And I hate to break it to you, Klav, but you really do. You need someone to get you out of that shitty household. This isn't any way to live.

At that last message, Klavier felt a burning anger run through him. It wasn't Daryan's choice to tell him how his life should be. He shot back a menacing reply.

Klavier: I don't need anyone telling me how to live my life or how good or bad my family is. I can handle it on my own, thanks.

Daryan: Cmon man, you know I didn't mean it like that.

Klavier: I'm going to bed. Good night.

With that, Klavier shut off his phone, plugged it up to charge, and laid on his bed in his sleepwear. He felt a few tears coming to his eyes as he laid and thought to himself, This isn't fair. He wiped away the tears and rolled over to stare at his clock. It was ten now. Although he wasn't tired, Klavier wanted to sleep - he wanted to sleep so badly. The memories of Papa coming home covered in blood were coming back to him, the nights when Papa would drink and fall asleep on the couch, those seemed like Papa's best nights of sleep.

Klavier then decided something that he knew Kristoph probably would've forbidden if he'd been awake and aware: he decided to drink one of Kristoph's beers. He'd never had alcohol in his life, and Kristoph was very strict about what Klavier could or couldn't eat or drink. Kristoph was setting Klavier up to be some kind of winning race horse or something - nothing but fruits and vegetables and lean meats. No snack food entered the house unless Klavier snuck it in. His mind wandered back to the trail mix he'd devoured that afternoon, what Kristoph would say when he saw the chocolate pieces in it. It was nothing less than perfection when it came to Kristoph.

Klavier was careful to be quiet when going down the stairs. The house was old and despite the stairs being carpeted, they still creaked and moaned if you stepped on the wrong spot. Unsure of when the drugs or alcohol or whatever was in Kristoph would wear off, he didn't want to disturb Kristoph.

The cool air from the fridge was unsettling against his warm skin. The package of beer on the bottom shelf called his name. Picking one up and examining the label, he grabbed the bottle opener from the silverware drawer and opened it. First, he smelled the scent coming from the bottle - bitter, but in a good way. He swirled it around a few times, then took his first drink.

He gagged - bitter, but not in a good way. Klavier wondered why the hell adults liked alcohol if it all tasted like shit as he took another swig. Pondering for a few seconds, wondering when he'd start to feel the effects, he drank again, and god did it taste terrible. It burned on the way down his throat, but left a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach. After a few minutes of aftertaste, Klavier decided it would be best to just knock it all down. In a bottoms-up motion, he drained the bottle, and set it quietly in the trash. He knew he could convince Kristoph that he drank one before going to bed.

As he tip-toed up the stairs, he began to feel a fog come over his brain and a tingling in his fingers. Klavier smiled. This was the happiness Papa and the drunk people on the television felt. This was something he could get used to.

A/N: I hope everyone is enjoying what I have to write so far. As always, feedback is incredibly appreciated. I'm hoping to have a little more time to write in the upcoming weeks, so that means I may be able to squeeze in another chapter or two before I get busy again. We'll see. Thanks for reading!