A/N: I should not be publishing this right now. I have an Econ rough draft due tomorrow afternoon that I've only sort of started and a math test right before lunch (Thank god I have first period free). Regardless, this just came to me because someone asked me to write some Sammy. Ah, life.

Regardless, thanks for the enthusiastic response so far and you will be getting more Marino! Very soon, in fact.

Thanks again and take care.

-dayofwrath

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Your name is Samuel Motherfucking Kiefer and you still think your mother was high when she gave birth to you. (What sober parent would name their son Nolan?)

You grew up in a little white house on the corner of a street, with all the white picket fence goodness that came with suburbia. You also had a dog, although it mysteriously went missing after you accidentally hit it with a Frisbee when playing with Toby. Twenty years is a long time to spend at the vet.

You shared a room with Alex and Toby, even though everyone knew Alex was at Nora's house most of the time anyway. Sometimes, when your mother was home, she'd come in and kiss you goodnight, maybe even sing you a lullaby if it wasn't too late. You'd throw your arms around her neck and keep her with you until you fell asleep. You had an odd habit of waking up in the middle of the night, so you'd crawl into Toby's bed when you did and hold him close and sing your mother's lullabies back to him. (It was dark, but you could tell he was smiling.)

And, all of a sudden, you are ten and the world is ending. Alex (he goes by Gavin now and you totally get why- being named after your father-in-law [you just /know/ he's going to marry Nora] sucks more than being named Nolan) is off fighting a war, just like Mom used to be and he might come home with a flag and "Sorry" just like she did.

"You just don't do that!" You'd yelled in his face when he'd mentioned his deployment, raising your voice for the first time since your mom died (six months, a week, four days). "You just don't do that!"

He'd excused himself from the table and you slunk back off to your room. You're ten and your life sucks so bad it hurts.

Eleven and twelve weren't big deals at all. You cooked, Dad cleaned, Kate kept denying her serious heartboner for Derek (you're really getting the hang of this relationship thing) and Toby... was Toby. He was the one thing you could always lean on, the one thing that always stayed the same. He still chewed on his fingernails when he thought no one was looking (he'd proudly said he was done with that when you turned five) and watched Scooby Doo with the sound off to try and find out their lines. So you throw yourself onto the couch next to him and giggle shamelessly when he misconstrues a line about sandwiches on purpose to gauge your reaction, scooting closer to him under the premise of not having enough blanket for yourself.

Thirteen wasn't so great.

The boys at your school start talking about girls and how pretty they are and you feel completely lost. Toby doesn't join in, so you have someone to hold you to the ground, but you start noticing other things- the way one of your classmates smiles, how he holds himself, how you can't see why they're so obsessed with the girls' bodies- and it scares you. It scares you more than Gavin going off to war, it scares you more than Kate moving out soon, it scares you more than zombies or angry kittens or that one bunny that Lian has that just refuses to die. (You spent an entire summer trying to help her and Toby get rid of it- all of you had gotten tired of Uncle Morgan and little Lucas' claims that science would do the trick). The only thing that could scare you more is if Toby found out.

Fourteen passed without event, at least that's how it seemed to everyone else.

Fourteen was an attempt to be what they wanted you to, to grow up into that strong, not-gay man they all thought you were. (You dated a girl for a month or two and you don't even remember her name.) Fourteen was ignoring Cass' constant questioning and dodging anything suspicious. Fourteen was full of sports (which you were surprisingly good at) and school dances (you knew where to stand, what to do, to seem completely normal) and smiles.

Fourteen was hell on earth, but you were good enough at it that no one noticed.

Fifteen was a blur. Gavin and Nora got married, Derek and Kate soon after and Toby starts spending more time with Lian than you. Consequently, all the nights you spend alone in your room, playing chess with yourself, blend together into one endless string of darkness and you want to wake up, but Toby isn't there to catch you. Fifteen is losing all of your friends, even the person who you swore would stay with you, and staring up at the ceiling, wondering if things would ever be okay again.

You are sixteen and three days and you just kissed a boy behind the bleachers. You run home and wash your mouth out with all the Listerine you can stand before it starts feeling weird and crawl into bed, pulling the covers over your head so tightly that the sun's blocked out. This isn't right, nothing's right and you turn around to tell your brother, but he's not around. Hasn't been for awhile now. You sigh and sing softly into your pillow, content in the fact that at least you could keep an inanimate object safe. (Derek's sister threw up on it three weeks later. You /knew/ babysitting wasn't a good idea.)

Seventeen is when Cass forces her way back into your life, all grown up (that's simply a claim, you know eleven's not nearly grown up at all) and you sit by and smile when she relates everything that's gone on since "the beginning of time", as she puts it. You're both "best friends" again and you don't want her to leave when Uncle Morgan comes to take her home, saying something about dinner and being grounded, but she has to go anyway. At least she promises to come back.

Eighteen is a hot day in the middle of June with gross robes sticking to your chest as you stand in an awkward line on the football field. Eighteen is no one knowing who Nolan is until you get up on stage and Toby walking up just after you, with his quiet congratulations and his attempt to wrangle that tassel you're supposed to be moving to the right side. ("You're graduating, not going back to preschool.") Eighteen is one last hug before slinging a backpack over your shoulder and walking off into uncharted territory. Toby's across the country now and you can't help but miss him. A notification pops up on the corner of your laptop screen and you laugh. "Samuel, your room is probably looking like something vomited all over it. For the sake of your roommates, fix it." (You cry for a day and a half, but do it anyway.)

Nineteen is waking up in the middle of the night to find out that Toby and Lian are together and wondering why he didn't think to tell you himself. You'd known for years that this was coming, but the fact that it did, and that it did now, was enough to throw you off your game. You date a girl in competition for a couple weeks, but she wants things you can't give and she dumps you on a cold January morning. (It snows.)

Twenty is throwing yourself into medicine, thankful it required so much of a commitment, and ignoring the rest of your life. Toby calls, Lian calls, Cass calls, but you set up an auto-responder and just keep working. You study everything from hormones to babies to muscles and start looking into specializations, considering you're going to have to declare one at some point. You know for sure that you'd rather die than go into gynecology. (You can hear Toby's laugh in your head, but you don't know if he laughs like that anymore.)

Twenty-one is being dragged to a bar by some classmates who constantly get on your case to loosen up and pretending to drink to make them believe you're making the best of it. Alcohol is synonymous with fear in your head because you're scared of what you'd do if you really did get drunk. What if you kissed another boy? (You can't afford to do that again.) So you stay at the edges of the crowd during parties and maybe take a sip or two before throwing the cup away. (He wouldn't be proud of you, but you could really give less of a shit about that right now.)

Twenty-two is hooking up with a cute guy you met in the chem lab and waking up with a headache and a churning feeling in the pit of your stomach. You feel wrong every time your lips meet his, but everything else about it is so perfect. He finds someone to "be serious with" and you start to wonder if you're relationship material at all. (The only girl in your life is Cass. To tell the truth, you like it that way.)

Twenty-three is a week off before med school and going home to see the family face to face for the first time in a year. Cass is just as tall as you are (if not a quarter of an inch taller, which you'll never admit) and she laughs when she introduces you to her girlfriend, who just stands there and stammers like there's no tomorrow. You stick out your hand in the most gentlemanly fashion you can and shake hers, kissing her knuckles just to spite the girl you've come to think of as your little sister, and running as far as you can to avoid her wrath. You lie and say you can't make it home when Toby and Lian get married and burn the invitation in the same chem lab where everything spiraled out of control. (You spend the entire weekend getting shitfaced and screaming at a wall.)

Twenty-four's an urgent phone call from home and a semester off because Gavin's back and god, he's not okay. You stay at his side until you absolutely have to go, pouring every inch of affection you forgot to give him into every moment. "I'm sorry for yelling at you." You whisper under the cover of darkness and he smiles, hand expertly finding yours in the darkness. "It's okay, Sam. If I were you, I would have yelled too." You share a little smile and ruffle your brother's hair. (You're the big brother now, Sam. Grow up.)

And twenty-five is a night in the hospital waiting room, trying to separate Lian's cries from the rest. You distract yourself by throwing yourself into conversation with Aunt Faith, who's always been great at taking your mind off things. Toby emerges, all bloodshot eyes and definitely on the verge of collapse, and smiles. "It's a girl."

You go up and playfully smack his shoulder, something you haven't done in years. "With your genes, you'll be beating the guys off with a stick." He laughs and pushes you back. "I'll keep that in mind."

You leave early the next morning, a midterm in a couple hours, and wonder if this girl'll be nice to you. (You hope she is, you can't survive on Cass for a lifetime.)

Twenty-six looks like it'll be better. Anything beats twenty-five.