Easy worked late in the garage, wrench biting down with every turn. He'd brought his work home from the shop again. Because of course he did. Why wouldn't he for a job that couldn't even get his name right?

The eerie yellowed bulb overhead flickered, buzzing like flies over a corpse. Oil stains on the concrete were dark and permanent, spreading in rings and drips like bruises that wouldn’t fade. The car on the lift sagged open, wires and hoses spilling out like veins, and Easy leaned in close, letting the mechanical silence swallow him whole. Engines broke for reasons. They could be fixed. People weren’t that simple.

Bills don’t wait. Dreams don’t matter. Just keep the lights on. Keep food on the table. Keep them safe.

His brothers still treated him like a myth, half-man, half-ghost, moving through the house like he was untouchable. His sisters looked to him to hold it together, even when he felt like he was falling apart with every split knuckle from a bad grind of the wrench. And Just.....fucking Just. She dragged herself to her classes every day because he told her to, even though she hated it. Every shift at the gas station, her paycheck vanished straight into the house, like fuel for a fire she didn’t light. Bitter as hell, smoking like it would keep her alive. Clinging to some older guy online like he was a ladder out of the pit. He didn't have the heart to tell her nobody was coming to save her. Nobody cared about any of them.

She's scared of becoming Mom and she should be. I’m scared for her. I’m scared for both of us.

Easy’s hands ached, knuckles raw from bolts and hammers, grease embedded under his nails. He wiped his forehead with the back of his arm and caught himself staring too long at the reflection of his blue eyes in the chrome hood of the car. Sometimes he saw his father there. That same hollow glass stare.

Same eyes. Same stare. Same blood. God help me. I’m not him. I’m not him. I’m not him.

He could see it though, bubbling just above the surface. That restless energy, grasping for something to numb the world. His dad had walked out years ago, drunk and high and gone, leaving nothing but debts and broken promises, only returning when there was something to take.

Easy swore he’d never be that man. But some nights, when he tilted his head just right, he could feel it creeping in....rage, exhaustion, the urge to disappear in the Vodka and pills.

He glanced at a gas-stained rag lying on the floor, thought about how easy it would be to take a hit, to let the edge blur, and shivered. That wasn’t him. Not yet. He wasn’t allowed to be. Riley depended on him. All of them did. If he fell, they fell with him. And that was unthinkable.

The garage groaned with quiet, every drip of condensation off the pipes like a clock counting down the seconds. Engines cooled in the dark corners, sounding like shallow breaths, like something alive and dying all at once. Easy felt it in his bones: the weight of the house, the weight of his siblings, the weight of every mistake his parents had made that now rested squarely on his shoulders. He had no time for failure, no margin for error.

I can’t be him. I can’t let her turn into Mom. I can’t let them see me crack.

His tattoos glinted under the harsh white light, black ink bleeding into the sheen of sweat on his tanned skin. Blonde hair stuck to his forehead. People saw wasted potential, highschool drop out, trouble, a burnout. Easy didn’t bother correcting them. Let them think that. They didn’t know how close he was to the edge.

He lit a cigarette, inhaled slowly, letting the smoke burn his lungs. Every turn of the wrench, every clink of metal against metal, every drag of smoke...it was a small defiance against the world. Against his father’s ghost. Against the life that tried to swallow them whole.

And still, he moved. Because if he stopped...if he faltered...Just would burn herself out before he could save her. His brothers would look to him and find nothing. The fragile little world they had left would collapse.

Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop. Because if you fall, they fall too. And then you’re him.

The garage creaked open softly, slow, deliberate. It wasn’t their father. Not yet. There was nothing to gain from coming home at the moment.

Bare feet moved across the concrete in silence, no words, no announcements. He didn’t turn because he didn’t need to; one of the kids stood there, watching. He let out the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding, his hand shaking as the cigarette burned down to the filter. Fucking shakes... He dropped the wrench and the clang echoed like a gunshot through the empty garage.

"What?" Easy heard himself ask, his voice hoarse from disuse and barely recognizable even to his own ears. "You should be asleep."