She takes care of them while he's asleep; pulls them out to take showers (she's fervently grateful for the bathroom inside, it's close enough that they don't need any persuation to do their business), shoves food in their faces and chatters inconsistently when the IV drip is too loud. They care little about their own health and hygiene; fretting and waiting and grieving at his bed despite his stable condition and steady breaths.

(But she would be lying if she didn't check the rise and fall of his chest to see it wasn't just her own breathing she was hearing.)

She drags them out in pairs; knowing they need support in their own home yet not willing to leave their brother alone. It takes her three trips daily between the hospital and their apartment, but makes no comment as she drives at speed limit. She stands in wait outside as they shower and change (it's never long, but they clean themselves properly and that's all that matters), and she drops them off at the hospital as she takes the next pair. It's never easy, always hesitating and dragging their feet across the floor (it's just been three days, but it's already been three days), but they are more or less obedient in understanding.

Once, one of them snaps and snatches his wrist out of her grip; screaming she hasn't cried since his accident, tries to act normal when it clearly wasn't, calling her cruel and cold-hearted and just screaming. He untangles his sadness and frustration and chokes her with it, ignoring the other patients in the hallway and his brother's jaw drops beside him. And she waits, letting his words wrap around her neck until all that's left is the sharp inhale of his lungs and needles of regret and shame and self-loathing.

She stares at him long enough to know, silently taking back his wrist and continuing their walk. He's a step behind her and weeps onto his sleeves as he stares at her small back.

It is on the fifth morning (after four long, poisonous days), when the patient finally opens his eyes. It takes a minute for his brothers to realize before they burst into tears and wail words of relief. Having just arrived from her second trip to their apartment, she stood stunned at the doorway when her two companions rushed to his bedside and cried with the others. She felt compelled to turn around and shut the door behind her, but he laid his waiting eyes on her and she felt the strings holding her up snap.

("Strong. I have to be strong for them.")

She fell to her knees like a puppet and broke.