"Throw a stone at the lake of time and you will surely do more damage than good. Each ripple effects everything differently."

Tyler snorts as something rings next to his ear. In his sleepy and unaware state, he slams his hand down on it and chucks it away from him. He pays it no more mind as he nestles comfortably under the covers again.

"Sìo—!" he scrambles out of bed, knocking himself flat as he fumbles for the phone.

Luckily for him, it's still ringing.

"Halò!" he curses himself. "Hello."

"Hey, Tyler," a tired and worn out voice answers him, making him frown.

"Barbara?" he questions, hissing as he jostles his fractured shoulder. "What happened? What time is it?"

"It's sometime around midnight," she replies softly. "I'm not sure. I haven't looked at the clock yet."

"Is everythin' alright?" the boy yawns as he sits up.

"No, no it's not," the woman admits, and he can hear her getting into the car. "Jim and Toby got themselves arrested."

"What?!" there's no doubt that he's awake now, his concern overriding his need to sleep.

"They broke into the museum," her voice is strained and he can't imagine the affect this is having on her. "I don't know what they thought they were doing, but they broke into the museum and got arrested."

Tyler sighs, cracking his neck to relieve the stiffness in his spine. "I suppose ye want me to be ready for when ye get back with 'em?"

"Please," she asks, her tone so close to a beg that he nearly whimpers.

"It'll be no problem," he assures, smiling slightly in hopes that it will affect the tense atmosphere. It doesn't.

"Thank you, Tyler."

He shakes his head despite knowing that she can't see him. "Don't thank me, Barbara. Just let me know when ye pick 'em up."

"I will," she promises. And just like that, the dial follows.

The boy puts down the phone on his lap and rubs his eyes with his massive nightshirt sleeve. What in the world have they got themselves into? And why won't anybody tell him why?

《《》》

A warm mug of cocoa rests in his hand as he curls up on the sofa, awaiting the arrival of his small family. Steam rises slowly from his drink, though he finds it more of an item of grounding than of comfort.

The clock on the wall keeps ticking, telling the time as it was designed to always do. Two-twenty in the morning. More than an hour has passed since he last spoke to Barbara, and that was when she had picked them up. Now he's more than anxious.

Actually, maybe anxious isn't the right word. Anticipating. Impatient. Possibly annoyance. They rattle around in his head like church bells, echoing forever and growing louder.

Headlights light up the road and Tyler nearly ignores it, thinking it to belong to a neighbour. Oh, how quickly he places that mug on the coffee table when he realises it's not.

He opens the door before he can actually see anyone and waits for them to come through the door. His eyes light up when he sees that Jim's physically okay.

"Jim!" his foster-brother doesn't respond and walks past him with his eyes cast downward. "Jim?"

Barbara steps in behind them and locks the door, having no words left at all after the car ride. She doesn't know what will transpire between the two boys, and she prays that it ends better than her talk with Jim.

"Come on, mate, answer me!" Tyler grabs the boy's arm and tries to make him turn around.

Jim rips his arm out of his grip and glares. "You didn't answer me for over a week, so why should I?"

The boy visibly recoils, the hurt on his face raw with stripped emotion. "What?"

"You heard me!"

The hurt reshapes into outrage just as easily as clay can be modeled. "I wanted answers, Jim!"

"Don't we all," Jim mutters, his disappointment at himself being redirected at his housemate.

"I was worried!" Tyler roars, voice cracking as he confronts the younger boy. "I was concerned and I wanted ye to tell me what was goin' on!"

"I didn't ask for you to worry about me, Reynolds!" 

That snaps it. 

Maybe it's the use of his last name, or just the final straw, but it ends the same either way. The pain in the forgetting boy's eyes is raw enough to make anyone hurt, and the expression he wears is just heartbreaking.

Jim regrets every word.

"Tyler, I—" he's interrupted by a threatening growl that leaves the lips of his elder.

"I get it," he snarls, averting his eyes to glare at the ground. "Just be sure to tell a feller next time."

With the resounding bang that echoes through the whole house, Jim sighs into his hands, wondering what in the world he has done. 

Apologies for the shorter chapter, but I think this ended where it needed to.

@Silver-Ashley, and look! I'm still winning!