Samuel wasn’t a great fan of reading.

He wasn't a fan of writing, either. In fact, he wasn’t a fan of anything that required him to sit still for long periods of time. Both his parents and his exasperated school teachers could testify to this fact.

It had never mattered. Toby had done the paperwork for both of them. Forms, letters, emails, homework essays- A couple times, he had even sat exams for him.

But since Toby wasn’t here anymore. And Sam had had to take up the spaces he had left in their investigation. Reading, writing, researching. Giving up was not an option, because no matter what they said, police, grief therapists, fire demons in the middle of the forest, as long as there was no body to bury, Toby was still out there, alive, alone. Sam had to bring him home.

How could he live with himself, if he didn’t?

In the dim lamplight of his room, he ran his fingers over the sheets of paper notes, messy and scattered across his bed like leaves. His desk stood next to it, cluttered in specimen jars and candy bar wrappers, overlooked by his corkboard of red string.

On the other side of the room, Toby’s room, the bed was square and neat as a button. The desk was clean, belonging sorted into containers and labeled bins, just the way he liked it. It was so familiar, like any second now, he would walk up the stairs and burst in, arms laden with some boring book that Sam would pretend to care about when he gushed about it to him.

Only, now a faint layer of dust lined everything. His things were sacred, ancient artefacts of a lost boy, not to be touched, not to be disturbed.

All his things were still there, and it was essentially still Toby Rutherford’s room, but it was absent of Toby Rutherford himself, a temple devoid of any worshippers, a ghost town.

He rolled over on his pillow and stared at the ceiling. Reading made his head hurt. But a lot of things made his head hurt these days. The sound of his mother crying in the kitchen when she thought no could hear her, glimpses of his father staring wistfully at the family photos he had stuck to the fridge. The flowers and cards outside of Toby’s locker at school.

He did not tell June or Lewis or Eden about the Crow man, or how Toby had walked into the mist of his own accord. It would be easier, to share those burdens of his.

But he had only ever trusted one other person in his life. Even now, that hadn’t changed.

“I’m afraid he’s nowhere you can find him now.”

“No.” He said to the ceiling, “No. You’re wrong.”

As always, there was no reply.

_________________________________________________

Bit of a mini episode here! But I thought it'd be nice to have some in Sam's POV.  I feel really bad for him, making his brother disappear n' all that but angst is just so much fun to write. Sorry Sammy!