I can't believe we've had a whole year without Cal. His death still feels so recent to me and still makes me so sad!

I wanted to mark the occasion with a fic but I've been busy and uninspired and so I only started writing this awful word-vomit yesterday. I wish I was posting something much better than this, but it was now or never, and so here we go! I hope the concept even make sense! I like to think I'll come back and edit this one day but I can't promise.

If by some miracle you like this, please leave a review. Or you can just leave a review to talk about Cal if you like, that never gets old haha.

Thanks for reading x

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It's 2am when he arrives home. The lights in the lounge are off and he keeps them that way, taking the path to the sofa from memory rather than sight. He slumps onto the seat. His body feels weak. His mind aches with exhaustion. He rubs at his forehead, wishing he could wipe away the painful thoughts as easily as he had his tears earlier.

He had been sent home from work mid-shift. It wasn't Charlie's decision to make but no-one challenged him. The nurse's statements had progressed from a gentle I know what day it is to a firm go home before you do more damage than good and the latter had finally got through to so he had gone home but not before tears had overcome him in the staff room at the same time someone had handed him a cup of tea. He didn't even like tea.

They had lost a patient. It had been soon after Ethan had arrived on shift and it had been a stabbing. Abdominal, not thoracic but still. He had pronounced the time of death while elbow deep in blood and then stayed frozen in the spot, staring at his patient and seeing his brother. Not today, he had thought and then felt selfish because losing a patient should be painful every day not just on the 29th April.

But it was one year, almost to the hour, since Cal had been on that same trolley, fighting after someone had brutally attacked him with a knife. It's both the longest and quickest year of Ethan's life. He digs his fingers into his eyes and tries to rid himself of the vision of his brother, unconscious, bloody and grey, a tube sticking out of his throat. The image tortures him, even now.

"Cal was attacked." Dylan's voice had been gravelly and even duller than usual. "We did what we could."

Ethan's nausea had intensified at that. It was a stock phrase, one he had used hundreds of times himself, one which no relative wanted to hear. It told him nothing yet everything. It told him it was bad.

"No, don't go in there. Not yet."

Ethan had heard Charlie's words but ignored them. He needed to get to his big brother. He needed to see for his own eyes that Cal was okay. And so he had pushed open the doors to Resus and seen the worst thing he'd ever laid eyes upon.

Cal was still. His eyes were shut. A ventilation tube obstructed his throat. From the amount of blood staining the white cover, he knew his brother's chest had been carved open. Bile surged into his throat but he had swallowed it down and taken the final few steps to be at his brother's side.

His hands had fallen into place, one linking with his brother's and the other stroking rain drenched hair from his forehead. His hair was still wet and Ethan's first insane thought was how cold his brother must have felt.

He had called his brother's name and been surprised by the anguished sound that escaped his own lips when Cal failed to respond. His body ached with the intensity of his sobs and he had clutched at Cal, wanting to shake him awake but knowing that he mustn't.

He needed the facts and yet dreaded them at the same time. All indications were his brother had been left alone, bleeding in the rain but he couldn't bear that to be the truth. Cal must have been in so much pain. He must have been terrified. He must have wondered where his baby brother had got to when he needed him so badly.

Ethan half-collapsed onto his brother and his lips grazed Cal's forehead as if the display of his love could fix everything. He wished it was that simple. His brother looked worse than terrible. He looked dead.

With more energy than Ethan thought he had left, he pushes himself upright and into the kitchen. He finds what he's after straight away. The bottle of whisky belongs to Cal but Ethan supposes he may as well drink it. He unscrews the lid and brings it to his lips. The alcohol burns on the way down but it doesn't stop him and he cradles the bottle as he returns to the sofa. Perhaps it is right on a day like this that he follows Cal's example and drink until he forgets.

But he had tried that before, after his Huntington's diagnosis, and behaving like Cal had both been exhausting and regretful. He feels the familiar tingle on his leg where his tattoo is hidden beneath his smart trousers. He may not have planned to get it, but he's certainly never getting rid. He can be more Cal in all the ways it counts, being brave, effervescent and self-assured. It was one of the reasons he'd ignored his own reservations and accepted the clinical lead job in the first place.

But he has messed that up just like he has everything else this year. It feels like his brother's stabbing had been the catalyst that spurred him to make mistake after mistake. Because even though he was not injured in the attack, he had certainly been damaged beyond repair. Scott had achieved what he meant to, after all.

As Scott's Doctor, Ethan was forced to remain by his bedside, far closer to the man than he would have otherwise chosen to be. His heart was in his throat every second they spent in the same room. He tried to focus himself by concentrating on updating the patient records but Scott was breathing heavily and Ethan could sense that he was being watched.

"You can't look at me, can you?" Scott said.

Ethan's eyes narrowed. It was true but he hadn't expected to be called out on it, especially by Scott himself. He knew the man was taunting him with the aim of getting a reaction and so he fought with his instincts and headed towards the door.

"Your brother," Scott continued. He suddenly sounded desperate to stop him leaving. "He brought it on himself."

Ethan froze. Even though he had no doubt Scott was guilty, he had always refused to admit it up until now. Ethan wanted a confession but not like this, not with him blaming Cal. Reluctantly he turned to face him. He still looked a mess; pale, bloody and immobilised and if it was anyone else in that position, Ethan would have been full of empathy.

"It only happened because he wouldn't listen-"

"You need to stop talking," Ethan replied.

"He was coming at me. He wouldn't back down."

"Please, stop."

"I never meant to, I swear."

"That is enough!" Ethan shouted

Silence fell. Ethan's words echoed between them. Then slowly a smirk spread across Scott's face.

"I'm telling the truth," Scott said. "I never meant to hurt him. But you know that don't you?"

Ethan shook his head, furiously.

"Yeah, yeah, that's right. It was you I was planning to knife." Scott paused long enough to let his words sink in. "But actually I think it worked out for the best that big brother got in the way. Good old Cal. He took it bravely."

"Stop."

"One hand clutching his chest."

"I said, stop!" Ethan slammed a clenched fist against the bars on the hospital trolley. His knuckles throbbed."

Scott chuckled. "It's killing you, isn't it, treating the guy who stabbed your brother."

Ethan slugs from the whisky bottle but some of the liquid dribbles down his chin and onto his shirt. It'll likely stain but that's the least of his worries. It's not like he needs a crisp white shirt now that he's resigned from his managerial post. It should have been a hard decision to make but it ended up being the easiest one he's made in months.

He thought he had taken the role for both of them; for himself, so he could achieve as much as he could professionally while he was still able to work and, for Cal, to prove that what happened did not mark the end. But now he wonders if he had just wanted to switch one agony for another. He hadn't enjoyed being hated by his colleagues but it was a thousand times preferable to seeing his brother in that state.

He drags his hand across his mouth. The whisky has left a bitter aftertaste. His fingers tighten around the bottle. He was glad Cal didn't know the truth. He would be so disappointed about all the people Ethan had hurt. Because he knows he has hurt people, even if he never meant to. He barely recognises himself any more.

"Ethan. Ethan, can you hear me?"

Ethan had nodded into his arms. He had heard everything they'd said. He even recognised their voices; Charlie first, then Mrs Beauchamp, then finally Alicia's, sounding strangled as she tried to tell him everything would be okay.

He was on the floor in Resus, he knew that. Cal had been taken away and Ethan hadn't been allowed to go with him. His legs had given up on him and he had sunk onto the floor, curled in on himself and wept. It felt like he had been there hours. Maybe he had.

"Ethan, please, it's time to get up."

"I want my brother."

There was silence. Ethan hugged his knees tighter and tried to make himself invisible.

"You can see him soon. Once they've- once they've got him sorted."

Ethan made no effort to respond. They'd either misunderstood him or made a hideously bad attempt at reassurance. He didn't want to see his brother; he wanted to have his brother. He wanted to take hold of Cal and squeeze him tight and punch him in the mouth for scaring him and let him wrap an arm around his shoulders and steer him in the direction of the nearest pub. He wanted to hug Cal and never ever let him go.

"What do we do?" That was Alicia, verging on hysterical. "He can't stay here."

"Give him time," Charlie said. "He'll get there."

"We need to have all of Resus available for patients."

"Connie, please. The lad's in shock."

"I know." Her voice softened. "That's why he needs to get up and get to my office so he can have a sugary drink and some time to breathe."

"He won't move," Alicia said. "Does he need treatment?"

Ethan lifted his head and stared at the three of them. His eyes stung. His vision was blurry. Yet he could still tell they were staring at him with identical expressions of concern.

"I- I need-"

A hand squeezed his shoulder "I know."

"My- my broth-"

Alicia's arms wrapped around him and he buried his head in her shoulder. His body was shaking and his sobs were expelled as painful gasps. The thought of living without his brother was impossible. Without Cal, he had nothing.

Ethan dabs at his eyes. Even during his busiest spells as clinical lead, he'd been unable to stop those memories torturing him so he's not sure why now, a year to the day after Cal's attack, he hadn't anticipated flashbacks.

The first had been when his patient died and he had thought it was a one off, understandable in the circumstances. But the second had come in the middle of breaking the news to the bereaved mother and girlfriend and he'd had to run out of the room to be violently sick. He was grateful to Charlie for taking over with the family but it had been even more proof that he wasn't fit to lead a team. A good manager would remain detached.

The nurse had kept a close eye on him after that, noticing every time Ethan wobbled or got momentarily distracted from a patient. It had been frustrating but necessary. Ethan knows he's lucky no-one else died during that shift. He had always thought himself to be a good medic, but he had thought himself to be a good brother too and that had been proven incorrect. He brings the whisky bottle to his lips but can't bring himself to tip the liquid into his mouth.

"Isn't that my whisky?"

Ethan jumps. He spins to see his brother slumped in the doorway, pyjama clad and bleary eyed, his hair looking like it hadn't been brushed in days. A lump sticks in his throat. He can't speak. He feels like he did this time last year.

Ethan had been so convinced that his brother was going to die from his injuries that, at first, every time he saw him alive he had to touch him, to reassure himself he was really still there. It had started with handholding but while Cal remained in his coma it quickly progressed to shaving him and brushing his overgrown hair. Later, when Cal was conscious but still weak, Ethan was always the first to help him into a sitting position or stabilise him while he transferred himself from the bed to a wheelchair.

And after such an emotional day, he suddenly feels the same urge, but he knows he can't jump up and wrap his arms around his brother without Cal realising something is wrong.

Ethan had taken his brother's motionless hand in his and squeezed it, desperate for some indication that he was getting better.

"It's been five weeks now, Caleb," he had said. "Don't you think it's time you woke up?"

The machine hissed loudly as it breathed for Cal. He didn't respond. He never did.

"Everyone misses you," Ethan said. "They would visit if they could but you know the rules, relatives only." He paused, giving Cal the chance to reply. Silence prevailed. "But I miss you the most," he said. He could hear the wobble in his voice. "The longest ever silent treatment, hey? I suppose I deserve it."

His eyes stung. The sensation had become familiar over the weeks Cal had remained unconscious in Intensive Care. His brother grew blurry through his tears, but he didn't take his eyes off him, just in case he missed something.

"I should have been there," Ethan said. "I should have stopped this happening or- or at least found you and got you the help much quicker. I'm truly sorry, Cal. Just, please, wake up and give me the chance to make it up to you."

Ethan holds the bottle out towards Cal. "Sorry," he says. "Would you like some?"

"Would I like some of my own drink? That's very generous, Nibbles."

Ethan gives a weak smile that grows stronger as Cal comes and sits next to him. His brother accepts the bottle and takes a much longer sip than Ethan could manage.

"What are you doing home so early?"

Ethan shakes his head. He's not answering that one.

"Did something happen, or-"

"Charlie sent me," he manages.

Cal's silent at first. He takes another swig of whisky and then hands the bottle back to Ethan as if to say it's him that will need it now. "Yeah, you were acting weird this morning. You shouldn't have gone in."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Well, I know what day it is."

"Then you're very cavalier about it."

Cal's face twists and he gives a small shake of the head. "Really? Why do you think I'm up at this hour?"

Ethan's heart clenches. "Another nightmare? I thought they'd stopped."

"Yeah. So did I."

It had been much easier to look at Cal after the tube down his throat had been removed. He was still mostly prone and he was still covered in wires and bandages and bruises, looking far from the person he should be, but there were positive signs now and for that, Ethan was beyond grateful.

Cal's head turned as he slept and now that he was facing him, Ethan could see movement beneath his eyelids, and that he was from restful as he'd thought. He leant forwards and gently stroked his brother's hair, hoping to soothe him back to sleep. But a whine escaped Cal's throat and his body twisted in a way Ethan was sure wouldn't aid his recovery.

"Cal," he had whispered. "It's okay now. You're okay."

His brother's eyes suddenly flew open and he'd doubled over, choking, crying out in pain.

"Cal. Caleb." He had taken hold of his brother's arms and helped him back onto the pillows. Cal was still spluttering, his cheeks were damp and he looked at Ethan like he barely recognised him. "You're safe. You're in hospital, remember? I'm here. I'm not leaving you."

"Eth-?"

"Yeah, I'm here."

"You're… okay?"

"I'm fine. You're going to be too."

"I- I thought…"

Ethan perched on the edge of the bed and kept his brother's hand in his. Cal's eyes still flickered with disorientation. A tear snaked its way down Cal's cheek and Ethan gently dabbed at it with a handkerchief.

"I think you had a bad dream," he said softly.

"We were dying," Cal replied.

Ethan has become accustomed to the dark now as so when he looks a Cal, he can see the redness of his brother's eyes and the beads of sweat beneath his hairline. His brother had admitted once, during the only therapy session he'd been persuaded to attend, that it was a recurring dream that haunted him at night.

Ethan had been unable to convince his brother to open up about it since, but he could still remember the vivid description Cal had given of the pair of them lying in the alleyway, cold and bleeding, in pain and scared, as life slowly drained out of them.

He squeezes Cal's knee. "The same dream?"

Cal gives a curt nod.

"I shouldn't have gone in today, you're right." Ethan frowns at his own poor judgement. "I should have considered that an anniversary would be a likely time for your PTSD to flare up."

Cal tuts. "Do you have to bring that up in every conversation?"

Ethan bites back his retort. He hasn't mentioned it in days. "It's nothing to be ashamed of," he replies.

"No? Then why are you so reluctant to get diagnosed?"

"What?"

"Well you've obviously been crying again."

Ethan shakes his head. He doesn't want his own foolish emotions to take precedence over looking after his brother.

"Look, I know you," Cal says, "I know the signs. Your eyes are all squinty."

"Even if I have been, it doesn't mean-"

"Ethan, at least look it up. Seeing something happen to a close relative can trigger PTSD as well as being directly involved."

Ethan stares in to the whisky bottle, debating whether he can bare another sip. He knows Cal is right but that doesn't mean it applies to him. He can't be so selfish as to have acquired an illness as a consequence of not being there for his brother. "I'm fine," he insists.

"That's not what Charlie tells me."

As soon as Ethan slammed his office door shut, it opened again. He whirled around, ready to shout at whoever invaded his privacy, but the look on Charlie's face quelled him.

"What?" he snapped instead.

Charlie calmly shut the door behind him. "Would you like a glass of water?"

"Wh-? No."

"No, thank you," Charlie corrected. "Those manners are not as impeccable as they used to be."

"What do you want, Charlie?" Ethan asked, inwardly cursing that his brusque response had proved the nurse right.

"I wanted to see how you were."

"I'd be a lot better if other people could do their jobs properly."

"The F2s are new," Charlie said. "Your job is to mentor them not destroy their confidence like that." He rubbed the back of his head. "I visited Cal."

Ethan stiffened. It was his job to look after his brother, not Charlie's. "Yes, and?"

"He seems to be progressing well."

"No, no he's got a long way to go," Ethan said. The familiar panic kicked in as he considered all the things that could still go wrong and he clasped his shaking hands behind his back. "The thoracotomy wound has a minor infection, he's still not mobile, barely eating and I'm trying to get him an appointment with a psychologist, I don't think he's coping at all."

"You can relax, Ethan. He's doing okay."

"He's my brother! I'm sorry but I know him much better than you can ever do-"

"It's understandable that you're still shaken. But worrying about him like this is going to make you ill. It's already affecting your work."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"This isn't you, Ethan. Criticising everyone, barking orders-"

"I'm clinical lead. It's my job."

"But there are ways to do it. Get yourself some help first, Ethan, and then you can look after Cal."

Ethan hands the alcohol back to his brother, his own share undrunk. He's surprised when Cal lowers it to the floor rather than drinking it himself.

"I want to hear it from you. What's going on?" Cal says.

"Nothing," he lies. "It's just today. One year on. It reminded me how I let you down that night."

"You didn't-"

"I wasn't there for you when you needed me," Ethan states. He chances a look at his brother. "But as I told you in hospital, that's never going to happen again."

"But you can't be with me every minute of the day. I don't need you to be."

"I just-" Ethan covers his face with his hands and composes himself before he removes them. He's determined not to let his brother see why he's upset. He doesn't deserve Cal's sympathy after all he's been through. "Look, I had a bad shift. I'm tired. That's all."

"Bad half a shift," Cal reminds him. "You got sent home. That must be a first."

Ethan raises his eyebrows but doesn't take the bait.

"Listen, you can talk to me," Cal says, sounding impatient. "Whatever it is, I can cope with it. I'm not that broken."

Ethan swallows. He doesn't really want to talk about it but he doesn't want to belittle his brother by not trusting him with his woes. "We lost a patient," he replies, quietly, staring at his lap. "I- I didn't handle it well."

"Right, so that explains today."

"Yes."

"I heard you resigned."

Ethan's head shoots up to stare at his brother. Cal's watching him expectantly, mouth half open, eyes wide. "Who told you?"

"It doesn't matter who. But you need to stop hiding things from me, okay? I know everything."

Ethan's stomach lurches. His only reassurance is that his brother is prone to exaggeration and probably only knows half of what's been going on.

"Yes, I resigned," he says. "I'm no longer clinical lead."

Ethan ran up the four flights of stairs to the ward Cal was on. He wasn't as fit as he once was; a consequence of spending every spare minute with his brother rather than running or at the gym. But the stairs would give him a few seconds extra thinking time that a communal lift journey would not.

Cal was upright in bed with his laptop discarded by his feet, and he grinned at Ethan as he entered. "Nibbles, have you heard?"

Ethan put his hands on his thighs and puffed. "No, what?"

"I'm getting discharged by the end of the week."

"You-?" He straightened himself. "You are? Are you sure?"

"Providing everything goes to plan."

"That- that's great. Well done."

Cal frowned. "You could at least try to look happy for me."

Ethan moved the laptop so there was room for him to sit at the end of the bed. "I am. Honestly. Of course I'm pleased you're getting better."

"But?"

Ethan shook his head. "Oh. It's nothing."

Cal stiffly leant towards him, one hand flat against his chest, and flicked him in the ear.

"Ow! What was that for?!"

"For lying."

Ethan exhaled deeply. He placed his hands on the mattress and slowly turned to face Cal. "Okay. I've been offered the clinical lead cover."

"What?!"

"I know, I know," he said. "I'm vastly underqualified, have no leadership skills, and besides it's appalling timing. I should turn it down."

"Turn it down, are you insane? Ethan, that's incredible. Think how impressive that will look on your CV."

Ethan hesitated. "But," he said. "But you're coming home. I would rather spend time with you."

"I'll still be here when the post has finished," Cal said. "You're accepting it whether you like it or not."

"You hated the job, didn't you?" Cal says.

Ethan considers. He'd hated the bureaucracy, he'd hated being unable to please either management or staff and he'd hated how it took him away from his patients. "Um, yes," he says. "I was terrible at it."

"Yeah, I heard."

"Caleb!"

"What? You're a good Doctor, Ethan, and a good person but it's sounds as if clinical lead was changing you."

Ethan stares at him. "Who have you been talking to?"

"I have friends, alright?"

"Spies."

Cal chuckles. "Maybe it seems that way to you. But if I can't make it into work then I have to find my own ways of seeing how you're getting on."

Ethan feels his cheeks flush. "Alright, what else do you know?"

"About Alicia."

Ethan groans. "What about her?"

"Well, for a start, it turns out you were in a relationship with her for a bit while I was in the coma, which is not what you told me and is a stupid thing to lie about anyway." Cal fixes him with a stare and shakes his head. "But the interesting bit is that you got back together recently-"

"Hang on, I didn't think anyone knew about that."

"Your office door has windows, Ethan," Cal replies. "But I hear you weren't together for long this time before you had a raging argument." He pauses. "No-one else knows why so you needn't worry, but I think I may have figured it out."

"Caleb, please don't."

Cal shuffles closer to Ethan and puts a hand on his shoulder. "Look, I'll just come out with it. I've read the blog. And- and I used to proof read some of Alicia's portfolio submissions. She writes ridiculously long sentences, doesn't she?"

Ethan can feel his mouth flapping as he gawps at his brother. Despite his best efforts, his eyes begin to fill with tears.

"I thought so," Cal says. "I'm sorry, bro."

Ethan blinks. "It doesn't matter. I've moved on."

"Right, okay," Cal says. "But you should have told me."

"I didn't want to worry you."

"Yeah but what's the point of me still being alive if you never confide in me?"

Ethan squeezed his way among the team of doctors and grasped his brother's hand. Cal was stuck between realms, eyes open, brain struggling to process being back in consciousness, windpipe still assaulted by the ventilation tube.

"It's me, Cal, it's Ethan." His other hand came to rest on his brother's head. "Can you squeeze my hand?"

He waited patiently but there was nothing. His brother's eyes filled with tears but his fingers didn't move.

"Show me that you can hear me."

Cal's hand remain limp but he tried to move his head and made a painful gagging noise as he realised there was something obstructing his throat. He thrashed about on the bed and as he jolted his injuries, he began to whimper. Many hands held him in place and Cal eventually succumbed to stillness.

"It's okay, Caleb, they're about to remove the tube, try to stay calm."

Cal's eyes finally flickered to him. They widened and Ethan could see him struggling to focus. He moaned again but it sounded different this time, as if he was trying to speak.

Before Ethan could have said anything to soothe his brother he was instructed to stand back so the doctors could extubate. He held his breath until the procedure was complete, an oxygen mask was over Cal's mouth and the doctor gave him a permissive nod. He immediately returned to his brother's side. Cal greeted him with a strangled grunt.

Ethan stroked his brother's cheek with his thumb. "You won't be able to talk just yet, Cal. You've been intubated for some time."

Cal's forehead creased and Ethan could see that he was trembling all over his body.

He took his brother's hand again. "Do you remember what happened? Don't try to speak, just shake or nod your head."

Slowly, Cal's head turned from side to side.

"It's okay," Ethan said. "Everything's going to be okay. I'll tell you what happened when you're well enough to hear it but right now you're alive, and that's all that matters."

Ethan slowly climbs to his feet. He remembers the sheer terror he'd felt when he thought he'd lost his brother forever and nearly collapses back onto the sofa.

He would have been all alone in the world.

He would have had no-one left to care for him when the future brings its worst. He would have had no-one to bicker with him, to laugh with him, to wake him up with loud, tuneless singing, or to steal his sandwiches and break his favourite mug.

He would have had no-one to take the opposite side when choosing between action films or historical fiction, no-one or to ruffle his hair and call him Nibbles, or to tease him about his irrational fear of crabs. He would have no-one to hug him, or to cry with him, or to debate with whether he'd been pushed or fallen into the ditch that time.

But he has all those things and, in his bid to be there for Cal, he'd nearly forgotten to appreciate them. He runs a hand through his hair and sighs deeply. He squeezes his eyes shut and when he opens them again, Cal is standing up in front of him.

"I'm so glad you're still alive," Ethan tells him.

Cal gives him a smile, the first genuine one Ethan's seen in a while, and pulls him into an embrace.

It takes a second for Ethan to register that his brother's hand is rubbing soothingly at his back. He wraps his own arms around Cal and relaxes into the hug. He buries his face into his brother's shoulder and lets the material of his pyjama top soak up his tears.

"I love you, Caleb," he says, choked. "But don't take a knife for me again."

"Love you too, Nibbles. We'll see."