“Take it easy, buddy,” Connor said. “Everything’s okay.”

“Get out of our house! Get out!” Davey screamed, and he shoved past Jessica and launched himself onto Connor.

“Davey! Stop!” she said, trying to grab her brother’s arm. Connor, God bless him, managed to put the puppy on the floor, and Chico fled into the kitchen, barking, but Davey was like a Tasmanian devil, screaming, flailing, hitting, and Jess could barely hold him; he was like a really big, really strong otter, writhing and twisting. Connor stood up, towering over Davey, and was promptly punched in the face. She grabbed Davey’s arm. “No hitting! Just take a breath, Davey. Tell me who’s better, Superman or Batman?”

Connor gave her an incredulous look.

“I hate you! I hate you!” Davey wailed. “You killed my dog! You killed my dog! Run, Chico Three! Run!” He twisted his arm free, sending another punch right to Connor’s eye, hard enough that Connor rocked back.

“That’s enough, Davey. Stop it,” Connor said firmly. It didn’t work.

“Davey, please. You’re scaring Chico Three,” Jessica said, recapturing his arm. The puppy was barking in the kitchen, and the last thing Jess needed was a pit bull learning about violence, and shit, shit, shit.

“He’s scaring Chico Three! He kills dogs!”

“Buddy, calm down, okay?” Connor said. “I’m not killing anyone.”

“I’m not your buddy! I hate you! Get out! Get out!” Spit flew from his lips, and despite her best efforts to hold him, he kicked Connor in the shin, broke free of her and shoved him in the chest.

“Davey, stop,” she said firmly. The doctors told her to be firm, establish parameters and redirect his attention. Too bad they weren’t here to help. “You need to go to your room right now.”

He shoved her, too, and slapped her right across the face.

“Stop!” Connor barked, and he grabbed Davey, turned him so her brother’s back was against his chest, and just held him tight.

Wrong move. Being restrained was the thing Davey hated the most. His screams grew louder, if possible, and he threw his head back, catching Connor square in the face. Connor let him go.

Davey grabbed the bowl of popcorn, smashed it on the floor, kicked the coffee table and then went to the wall and began banging his head against it. “Get out, get out, get out!”

“Davey, please, please stop,” she begged, starting to cry. She forced herself between him and the wall, her shoulder taking the brunt of his blows, but it was too late, damn it; she should’ve had his helmet down here, should’ve prepared for this. His head was bleeding. She managed to get behind him and wrapped her arms around his chest, but he was too strong to take down, even with all her body weight in the effort. “Davey, this is not okay. Stop this right now.”

“Out! Out! Out!”

Shit, hell and baby Jesus. “Connor, can you get him on the floor for me?”

“No! No! No! Don’t touch me!” Davey bucked up against her.

Connor picked up his legs, and Jess sank back on the floor, almost holding Davey in her lap. She wrapped her legs around him and put one arm behind his head so he wouldn’t break her collarbone, and another across his chest. He couldn’t do himself any harm this way, but her ears rang with his screams, and he twisted and flailed.

And sobbed.

He needed his meds.

“Connor, take my place, okay? Just hold him so he doesn’t hurt himself. Be careful not to choke him.” She had to almost shout to be heard over Davey’s wails and Chico Three’s hysterical barking.

Connor obeyed. His eye was already starting to swell. “It’s okay,” he said to Davey, who was struggling wildly, his feet kicking out at nothing. “I’m not gonna hurt you.” Davey screamed in response, and Connor looked a little freaked out. Who could blame him? This wasn’t what most people dealt with.

Jess didn’t have time to think about it. She ran upstairs to the bathroom and grabbed the Xanax, the only thing the doctor would prescribe for Davey’s meltdowns, and liquid Benadryl, hating that it had come to this.

She was drugging her brother.

Davey was still wailing. Kicking, too, from the sound of it. Poor Connor.

Jesus, this was horrible. She ran back downstairs, filled a plastic cup with water. Chico Three was on his little dog bed, chewing a squeaky toy.

She hustled into the living room and knelt down. Her brother was now just breathing wildly, groaning, but still kicking. One time, when their father had missed his birthday, he’d put his fist through a window and needed five stitches.

This was much, much worse.

“I’m going to give you the sleepy medicine, okay, sweetie pie?” she said, feeling idiotic in the face of Davey’s rage. “Then you and Chico Three can take a nice nap. And we’ll watch Batman, okay? The one with the Joker? I love that one. I love the Batmobile.”

She slid two pink pills into his mouth, then held up the cup. He bit it, but it was plastic for a reason. “Drink, honey.”

“I hate you!” He tried to head-butt Connor again.

“Swallow the pills, honey. You’ll feel better.”

“Make him go away.”

“I will, as soon as you swallow the pills, honey.” He obeyed, and she gave him the Benadryl chaser.

She hated herself for medicating him. It was no better than getting him drunk. But it would work. Davey was very sensitive to drugs.

She didn’t look at Connor. Couldn’t bring herself to do that. He said nothing, just held her brother. There was a clear impression of teeth on his arm. Human teeth. Davey had bit him.

It was so fucking unfair that it worked, that she was reduced to this, to medicating her brother into submission. She felt like an evil doctor doing experiments on a kid.

Davey was wearing his Batman pajamas. That made everything worse. “Don’t let him hurt me,” he said, and Jess couldn’t help the tears that slid down her cheeks.

“I won’t. No one will ever hurt you, baby.”

“Don’t let him kill Chico Three.”

“I won’t. Chico Three is safe and sound, chewing on Squeaky Dinosaur.”

He was getting sleepy. His body lost its stiffness, sinking back against Connor. There was popcorn everywhere, not to mention broken ceramic, a broken coffee table and a smear of blood on the wall from Davey’s head.

“I hate you,” Davey murmured, and Jess had to clamp down the tears that gathered in her throat, because she knew that one was meant for her.

Her brother’s eyes closed, his lashes clumped together from tears. She pressed her sleeve against the cut on Davey’s head. It wasn’t bleeding much. He’d had worse.

“Want me to carry him to bed?” Connor asked. He was going to have quite a shiner tomorrow.

“You’re bleeding, too,” she said, and her throat tightened more. She couldn’t look him in the face.

“I own a bar. It’s good practice for being a bouncer.”

“Don’t joke about this.”

“I’m sorry. Let me bring him upstairs.”

“I can do it,” Jess said.

“I’m sure you can, but I’ve already got him, so why don’t you let me do it this time?” He sounded irritable. Who could blame him?