The sun is only just peeking over the horizon when I kick open the apartment door, arms laden with the fruits of my excursion. Or rather, the pastries of my excursion. Nate and I don't really do the fruit thing. Except for apples. Nate loves apples.

An hour later, I have eggs, bacon, and a tall stack of pancakes prepared for breakfast. But still no Nate. That's weird. He's usually up and about by now.

I peek into Nate's room to find the blinds still drawn. He's curled up under the covers with his back to the door. I sigh inwardly and knock on the door to announce my presence. "Hey, buddy. You awake?"

Nate groans and pulls the covers over his head.

"I'll take that as a no," I chuckle, sitting on the edge of his bed. "Breakfast is ready."

"Give me five more minutes..."

"I've got donuts."

He pauses for a second, weighing the benefits of getting out of bed versus donuts. I guess donuts win, because he slowly begins to peel off the covers.

I ruffle his hair and head back to the kitchen. I lay out two plates and start to load them with eggs and bacon. The sound of running water makes me frown. Nate's not usually one for a morning shower. I become even more perplexed when Nate emerges from the bathroom only a minute later. His face is puffy and his eyes are red, betraying his lack of sleep. I don't comment on it, however. He's grieving. It's to be expected.

I try to hand him his plate, but he won't accept it. "I thought you said you had donuts."

"I do, but I don't want you to fill up on that junk. You need protein first."

"But Sully..." he whines.

"But nothing. Eat your eggs and bacon, then you may have a donut."

Nate pouts, but doesn't protest any further. He knows he's not winning this battle.

We eat in silence, broken only by small talk about the weather or sports. We also avoid eye contact. I think Nate's doing it on purpose to keep me from reading him. Little does he know, his body language is giving him away. The slouching and sighing tells me he hasn't let Sam go yet. Which is expected. They were brothers after all. Who knows what they went through together when they were young.

I let Nate have his donut after only finishing half his eggs. He's too smart for his own good. He knows I'll eventually give into his puppy dog eyes. He stretches his arms over his head and declares, "I'm going to take a walk."

"Where?"

"Just around," he shrugs. "I think I need some fresh air."

"Okay." I begin to clear the table. "If you're not back in an hour, I'm calling the cops." I say it half joking, half serious. I worry about him.

Forty something minutes later, Nate returns with no major injuries or laws broken. He takes a hot shower and tries to sneak off to bed at around noon. To keep him from sleeping the day away, I make him sit with me on the couch and watch movies with me. I'm trying to keep Nate from drawing into his shell. I make sure to keep him engaged instead of letting him zone out. He slowly morphs back into his usually snarky and dorky self. It gets to the point where the movie is just background noise. There's a point where I have to physically push Nate back down onto the couch because he was literally jumping on the ottoman.

One pizza and five beers later, I send Nate to bed with a smile on his face. He's like a five year old. He uses up his energy all in one go, then acts like a zombie for the rest of the day. Damn, I love that boy.

My eyes fly open as I hear a scream come from Nate's room. I quickly pad down the hall, pistol tucked into my waistband. I poke my head into the room and find him hugging his knees into his chest whispering, "It'sjustadreamitsjustadreamitsjust..."

Nate jumps when I ask, "Everything okay in here?"

He nods.

"You sure? You don't seem okay."

"I'm okay."

"Alrighty then. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

I'm surprised how calm his voice sounds compared how terrible his complexion is. The poor boy has nightmares all the time, but I've never heard him scream like that before. I sit back down onto the edge of my bed and rub my face. I should have known a lazy day wouldn't have solved the problem. These things take time.

There's suddenly a light knock on the door. I can just make out a pair of blue eyes peering through the crack between the door and the frame. "Yeah?" I answer.

Nate presses open the door and takes a few timid steps inside. He shifts his feet, looking uncomfortable. It looks like he has something to tell me, but he doesn't know to say it.

"What's up, kiddo?" I ask, attempting to prompt him into talking.

He just blinks at me.

"Nate?"

"I'm not okay," he breathes, swallowing hard. "I'm really not okay."

My heart wrenches in concern. "Oh, Nate. Come 'ere." He tip toes over and sits next to me on the bed. He wraps his arms around himself, and his leg is jittering at a hundred miles an hour. "Tell me what's wrong."

Nate looks like he's trying to come up with the right words. "Sully, I..." He suddenly breaks off and turns his head. Soon there's the distinct sound of soft sniffling.

I rub his back cautiously, trying to keep from startling or embarrassing him. "It's okay, kid. He was your brother. It's okay to be upset."

The flood gates burst and the waterworks start pumping. He covers his face and his shoulders shake with the tempo of his sobs. I grab him into a hug. Not one of the bear hugs I use to annoy him, but a gentle one that's meant to comfort. I think all he needs is someone's arms to act as a barrier, protecting him from the rest of the world.

After what seems like hours, he pulls away, drawing the back of his hand across his nose. "Sorry," he whispers.

"It's okay to cry, kid. If you keep all your emotions bottled up, you're gonna explode."

"No, I meant sorry I got snot all over your shirt."

"Nah, don't worry about it. This shirt's been through way worse." Nate laughs softly, still not completely emotionally sound. "Did I ever tell you about the time I was in Italy with Margi?" I ask, trying to take his mind off the whole thing. He's never cried in front of me, so the awkward feeling is a first. "We were out to intercept a shipment of paintings for a local art museum and it was hot as hell..."

Nate nods off listening to my ramblings about me and Margi doing it in the back of a pick-up truck over a Van Gough. The truck part is totally true, but the painting part was an embellishment. I was just trying to make him smile. I'm happy when he's happy. And I'm on top of the world right now, because nothing can beat the warm feeling in my chest that comes from Nate laying against me.