FicWad

A/N: Second to last one I wrote over winter break. After the last one, it's right back to writing on weekends and stuff. I have too much homework to do to keep writing. Stupid school.

Disclaimer: I do not own the lyrics to "Move Along"

Song Used: The All-American Rejects' "Move Along"


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Fifty-Six: Move Along
Puppet: Cormac O'Kane


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Go ahead,
As you waste your days with thinking,
When you fall, everyone stands,
Another day,
And you've had your fill of sinking,
With the life held in your...

Keefe O'Kane was on the verge of a self-destruct.

For three days now he'd missed school because he was too sick to go. He had a fever of 103°, a cough that made it impossible to laugh even if he wanted to, such trouble breathing that it struck fear in my sturdy heart to listen to him wheeze, and a broken heart to boot. It was understandable, really, what with what had recently happened, but it killed me to see him like that.

My brother was in extreme pain, both physical and emotional.

I wanted to feel sorry for him. I really did. But it was hard when our minds and bodies were linked to the extent that I, a perfectly healthy kid, had an unexplainable moment in which I couldn't breathe in the middle of a presentation. My teacher thought I was faking and marked me down about a million points, and I could only figure that it was Keefe's fault.

I had to make him see that it wasn't the end of the world and that the sun would still rise tomorrow, for both of our sakes. I was afraid he was going to hurt himself. He had the motive; he'd lost someone very, very dear to him in one of the worst ways imaginable, and he every opportunity to get away with self-mutilation. He was left upstairs all day on his own.

Hands are shaking cold,
These hands are meant to hold,
(Speak to me)...

I trudged up the steps, my shoes heavy on the old, carpeted wood and causing a gentle, familiar creak of soft protest. My backpack tugged constantly at my shoulders but I refused to let them droop, standing up as straight as I could manage with several tons of textbook on my back. I moved with a purpose; I had to help Keefe as soon as possible.

I reached the door to our room, closed as usual. “Hey, Keefe,” I muttered in greeting as I creaked open the door, “how was sitting around -”

I stopped in mid-sentence, horrified at what I was seeing. At first glance, which had fooled me in the first place, it just looked like he was studying his hands. But as I came farther into the room, I recognized the cold, glinting blade of my old pocket knife pressed against his wrist. He hadn't done anything yet, I think (I hope), but...

“You crazy son of a bitch!” I barked, leaping forward and snagging his attention as well as the still-unsheathed knife out of his freezing cold hands before he could do any real damage, “What the Hell do you think you're doing?!”

When all you gotta keep is strong,
Move along, move along,
Like I know you do,
And even when your hope is gone,
Move along, move along,
Just to make it through,
Move along,
Move along...

He just blinked up at me, his sunken eyes eerie and vacant. He said nothing. He didn't even move.

I uncurled the fist that held the weapon, only then realizing that I'd sliced my palm wide open in the process of taking it away from his death-grip. I bit back a curse, sheathed the bloody knife, and shoved it into my pocket where he couldn't get to it anymore.

Still he didn't move. Still he didn't speak.

I wanted to hit him. I wanted to kill him. Did he even realize just what he'd done? He had to have known that I was going to come home soon! He had wanted me to see that! Why? Why would he subject me to that? What would he have done if I hadn't shown up? Would he have slashed his wrists and bled to death? Or would he just wear a long-sleeve shirt tomorrow and pretend nothing had happened?

Keefe wasn't like this. He'd always said that he hated the stereotypical emo kid because they were weak, taking the easy way out instead of moving on like everyone else. I'd always admired him for that, and here he'd just taken that and smashed it back into my face! How could he? How could he even think of that?

So a day,
When you've lost yourself completely,
Could be a night when your life ends,
Such a heart,
That will lead you to deceiving,
All the pain held in your...

Tears welled up in my eyes and I roughly took him by the collar in my injured hand, smearing my blood on his shirt but hardly caring. It wasn't like it would've been any different. “God damn you,” I whispered hoarsely, “God damn you for this...”

This was serious. He could find a way to end it while I was asleep or while I was at school, and to tell mom could only keep him safe for so long.

“You don't really think that's an answer, do you?” I hissed furiously, giving him a rattle, “You're gonna let your heart lie to you and cost you everything, too?”

Hands are shaking cold,
Your hands are mine to hold,
Speak to me...

When all you gotta keep is strong,
Move along, move along,
Like I know you do,
And even when your hope is gone,
Move along, move along,
Just to make it through,
Move along...

He shook his head. “No,” he rasped, his voice sounding like two pieces of sandpaper scratching together thanks to the illness in his lungs, “I just...I just thought...”

“You thought what?” I demanded hysterically, releasing his collar and showing him the gash on my hand, “You thought something like this was gonna make you feel better? Huh? 'Cause it doesn't! It just makes things worse, do you hear me?”

He bit his lip and looked down at his hands so he wouldn't have to look at the wound anymore, nodding very slowly. “I know.” He whispered helplessly, scaring me all the more with the easily won dominance over him.

I sat down on the edge of his bed, pressing the hem of my shirt to my hand in an attempt to stop the bleeding. It wasn't a very large cut, meaning it was short, but it had been a deep one considering the fact I'd had to wrench it out of his hand. It stung like Hell, and I just felt angrier at him for driving me to do something so stupid.

“Keefe,” I said his name sharply but not loudly, “you have to realize that she isn't worth it.”

“I know,” he said again, “but Mac I...I loved her...”

(Go on, go on, go on, go on),
When everything is wrong,
We move along,
(Go on, go on, go on, go on),
When everything is wrong,
We move along,
Along, along,
Along, along,
Along, along...

“Keefe, trust me on this one,” I put my unhurt hand in his shoulder, “no girl, no matter how smart, pretty, or nice, is worth your life. If I had a choice between my brother and the best girl in the world, I'd take my brother.”

When all you gotta keep is strong,
Move along, move along,
Like I know you do,
And even when your hope is gone,
Move along, move along,
Just to make it through...

When all you gotta keep is strong,
Move along, move along,
Like I know you do,
And even when your hope is gone,
Move along, move along,
Just to make it through...

He looked at me for a long, long time before he said anything. To my relief, the familiar fire in his eyes returned, although it was dulled by the lack of sleep he'd been getting. Or not getting, I guess I should say. “Even if it was Paige?” He asked evenly.

I admit that I had to hesitate before I answered that one. But I gave myself a good swift mental kick in the ribs for even considering taking the pretty raven-haired girl over my twin brother. “Even if it was Paige.” I answered firmly.

He cracked a satisfied smile at that, obviously pleased to be held in highest regard. “Do I have your promise on that one?”

I shot him a look. “Only if you promise never to do anything stupid like this again. For any reason.”

Now it was his turn to hesitate. He bit his lip again and looked down at his hands as if imagining the slits just below them; a thought that made my heart twist with fright and my blood turn to ice. After what seemed like an eternity he looked up at me, a hardened, determined look in his eyes. “You know I don't ever break promises.” He said softly.

I looked back with an equally steadfast look, though it was hard not to wince as pain lanced through my hand. I didn't ever want to see him like that again. “That's the point.”

When all you gotta keep is strong,
Move along, move along,
Like I know you do,
(Know you do),
And even when your hope is gone,
Move along, move along,
Just to make it through,
Move along...

Another smile that made me think of a starving man who'd just eaten an entire feast. “Promise.” He murmured, curling his hands into loose fists.

The relief that I felt came over me like a tidal wave, nearly sweeping me off my feet just with how close a call he and I had had. Without giving him a chance to flinch away I leaned over and gave my brother a hug, glad to feel his heart beating and resting assured that it wouldn't stop by his own hand. “Good. Then I promise.”

(Go on, go on, go on, go on),
Right back what is wrong?
We move along...

(Go on, go on, go on, go on),
Right back what is wrong?
We move along...

To my surprise, Keefe actually didn't seem to mind the embrace at all. Usually he would've pushed me away with an ill-tempered snarl, muttering something about how he hated it when I got sappy, but he didn't this time.

Then again, it wasn't everyday I witnessed my twin nearly slash his wrists.

“Why were you so upset when you came in?” He muttered eventually, pulling away and looking me hard in the eyes, daring me to look away.

I couldn't help but shoot him an evil glare. “Gee, let's see...it could've been the fact that I walked in on my brother about ready to kill himself with my pocket knife,” I growled, harsher than I meant to be, “I think you'd be a little insulted, too.”

He tilted an eyebrow. “Insulted?”

I felt the tears welling up again, and this time they actually managed to fall. How could he be so stupid? “You're my brother, Keefe,” I stated softly, “I love you. If you were able to even consider killing yourself, you have absolutely no idea how much you mean to me.”

He pressed his lips together for a moment, obviously not quite sure what to say. For once. It didn't last very long, though, because about two seconds later he opened his mouth to speak again. “I'm sorry, Mac,” his voice was hardly a whisper and shook, as if he were about to cry, “I...I wasn't thinking about any of that.”

(Go on, go on, go on, go on),
Right back what is wrong?
We move along...

“It's all right,” I said, even though I didn't really believe I could ever get over what I'd seen, “you already promised you won't do it again. I have your word on that, right?”

He answered without hesitation. “Yeah,” he breathed, leaning back against the headboard, “no matter what happens, I won't, 'cause I'll remember this and keep moving forward.”

Somehow I doubted it would be that easy, but for now that was enough for me. “Good. I'm gonna go clean up this cut, now.” I said standing up, glad to have something normal to distract my attention.

“Mac?” He asked. I turned around.

He smiled a little. “Thanks.”

(Go on, go on, go on, go on),
Right back what is wrong?
We move along.


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A/N: Um. Yeah. I'm not really sure if that's how someone contemplating suicide would really respond. I have very little experience in that area, thank God. I want it to be realistic (well, to an extent), though.