The siren wailed, a mournful cry cutting through the night, as Jay rushed into the brightly lit hospital waiting room.
His face was a mask of concern, his usual gruff exterior softened by fear.
He found Mitchell by the reception desk, looking pale and weary, signing a stack of forms.
“Do we know anything?” Jay demanded, his voice strained.
Mitchell ran a hand through his hair.
“Oh, no.
They’re in there now with the doctor.
We’re lucky, though.
The paramedics said it could’ve been a lot worse.” His voice trembled slightly.
“My God, how did this even happen?” Jay asked, shaking his head in disbelief.
A few days earlier.
The Dunphy kitchen was a familiar hive of activity, a constant hum of breakfast preparations and sibling chatter.
Phil, ever the enthusiastic father, spotted Luke walking past, a slightly dazed look on his face.
“There he is,” Phil announced, clapping his hands together.
“Big day’s coming up.
What do you want for your birthday, big dog?”
Luke, ever low-maintenance, merely shrugged.
“It’s okay.
I’m good.”
Phil, determined to spoil his youngest, pressed on.
“Come on.
The sky’s the limit.
Dream big, my boy.”
Luke, after a moment of contemplation, offered, “Well, I guess I could use a belt.”
Claire, who was pouring orange juice, nearly dropped the pitcher.
“A belt?”
“Yeah, you’re right.
I don’t need it,” Luke conceded, pulling up his shirt to reveal a brightly colored extension cord cinched haphazardly around his waist, holding up his pants.
“An extension cord works pretty good.”
Phil sighed, a familiar weariness settling over him.
“Every year, Luke’s birthday falls right around Thanksgiving, and so it gets lost in the holiday shuffle.”
Claire nodded, a sympathetic look on her face.
“Yeah, one year we forgot completely, and we had to improvise a cake out of stuffing.”
Phil chuckled at the memory.
“Which, by the way, he was fine with.
He’s one of those kids, you get him a gift, and all he wants to do is play with the box.”
Claire added, “Yeah, one year we actually just got him a box– a really nice box.”
Phil groaned.
“And we made the mistake of putting it in a gift bag.”
Claire finished his sentence, “So he played with the gift bag.”
“W-we can’t get it right,” Phil admitted, throwing his hands up in exasperation.
Upstairs in his attic room, Ethan was lost in his own world.
The air was thick with the faint scent of old guitar strings and his own concentrated effort.
He sat on his drum stool, a battered notebook open on his knee, a pencil clutched in his hand.
He was freeballing, letting the music flow directly from his mind onto the page, translating the chaotic rhythm of his thoughts into lyrics.
He tapped his foot, a restless energy coursing through him, as he scribbled furiously.
“Do you ever get that fear that you can’t shift the type?” he wrote, then immediately scratched it out, the pencil digging into the paper.
That wasn’t quite right.
He tried again.
“Have you got colour in your cheeks?”
He paused, his head cocked, listening to the unspoken rhythm in his head.
He wrote down “Do you ever get that fear that you can’t shift the type?” as he nodded that ft better.
“That sticks around like summat in your teeth?” He underlined “summat,” a deliberate choice.
He then crumpled the page slightly, not quite satisfied, but not entirely dismissing it either.
He flipped to a new page, a fresh start trying to build it on.
“Are there some aces up your sleeve?
Have you no idea that you’re in deep?” He wrote, the words flowing more easily now, his pen racing across the page.
“I’ve dreamt about you nearly every night this week.” A faint smile touched his lips, a fleeting thought of Regina.
“How many secrets can you keep?
‘Cause there’s this song I found.” He scratched out “song,” replacing it with “tune.”
“That makes me think of you somehow an’ I play it on repeat Until I fall asleep, spillin’ drinks on my settee.” He was in his flow, completely absorbed, the outside world a distant, irrelevant hum.
Just then, the door to his bedroom was opened without a knock, and his mother entered, her face etched with that familiar Dunphy-brand parental determination.
“Ethan, go downstairs and help set up,” Claire commanded, her voice cutting through his creative haze.
Ethan sighed, pulling off his headphones.
“Set up for what?”
“Luke’s party,” Claire replied, hands on her hips.
“Pass,” Ethan said, already shaking his head.
“It wasn’t an invitation,” Claire countered, her voice firm.
“Why do I have to go?” Ethan grumbled, rubbing his temples.
“Because he is your younger brother,” Claire stated simply, as if that were the only justification needed.
“Fine,” Ethan conceded, a plan already forming.
“I will just give him a box or something.”
“No, we’re actually celebrating his birthday,” Claire insisted, her voice surprisingly gentle.
“Why am I being punished?” Ethan asked, his voice dripping with theatrical despair.
“You are not being punished,” Claire said, trying to keep a straight face.
“Then why do I have to go?”
“Because, believe it or not, your younger brother looks up to you,” Claire revealed, a soft smile on her face.
Ethan snorted.
“That is his first mistake.”
“Now,” Claire warned, her tone leaving no room for argument.
Ethan rolled his eyes as he reluctantly got up, stretching his limbs.
“Every single time.” He paused, a hopeful glint in his eye.
“Can I go get Cassie first?”
Claire hesitated, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“Why?”
Ethan merely shrugged, offering no explanation.
“Fine,” Claire finally conceded, knowing arguing with Ethan was often more effort than it was worth.
Haley sat in the sterile waiting room, her face pale, her usual vivacity replaced by a haunted worry.
“It all happened so fast.”
Jay, slumped in a chair next to her, shook his head.
“I keep thinking there was something I could’ve done.”
Mitchell, ever the pragmatic one, tried to offer comfort.
“Oh, don’t blame yourself.
Who could have possibly seen it coming?” His voice was filled with a bewildered sadness.
Ethan was driving Cassandra to Luke’s birthday party.
The van rattled and hummed, filled with the faint scent of old instruments and the lingering, sweet perfume.
“What is that smell?” Cassandra asked, wrinkling her nose, her dark eyes scanning the interior.
“What smell?” Ethan feigned innocence, keeping his eyes on the road.
“Woman’s perfume,” Cassandra stated, her voice flat.
She turned to him, an accusing glint in her eyes.
“Did you have a girl in here?”
“No, I don’t know what you’re on about,” Ethan mumbled, trying to sound convincing, but his cheeks flushed slightly.
“You’re a terrible liar,” Cassandra said, a knowing smirk on her face.
“Who was it?”
“I’m insulted,” Ethan retorted, trying to deflect.
“I’m a great liar.”
“Yeah, but not to me,” Cassandra countered, shaking her head.
“I’ve known you forever.”
Ethan sighed, defeated.
“Regina.”
Cassandra’s jaw dropped.
“You had Regina in here?!
How?
Why?
Did you get lucky?” Her voice was a mixture of shock and genuine curiosity.
“You know that party at Adler’s house?” Ethan began, starting his carefully curated story.
“I thought we weren’t going,” Cassandra interrupted, confused.
“Well, I wasn’t going to,” Ethan explained, “but then I found out Regina was going, so I thought, ‘fuck it, why not?’ Then I got to the party, and I saw her.
The sun c-”
“Eugh,” Cassandra interjected, a look of profound disgust on her face.
“Okay, Romeo, enough about that, what actually happened?”
Ethan rolled his eyes.
“Remember the Kälteen Bars?”
Cassandra shuddered.
“I swear you had to eat them when you were younger because you were underweight or something.”
“Yeah, pretty much,” Ethan confirmed.
“I told her, and then she had some freakout.”
“That doesn’t explain how you got her in the car,” Cassandra pointed out, ever logical.
“People were coming,” Ethan explained, “so I told her to get in, then I drove her home.”
“That was it?” Cassandra asked, clearly disappointed by the lack of dramatic action.
“And we traded insults,” Ethan added, a triumphant smirk on his face.
Cassandra shook her head.
“I don’t get this whole insult thing.
If you did that to me, I would punch you in the face.”
“I don’t know,” Ethan mused, “but it seems to work.
She knows who I am now.”
“Why not just go with a girl who likes you?” Cassandra suggested, giving him a pointed look.
“Like who?” Ethan challenged.
“Roberta,” Cassandra replied, deadpan.
“Who’s that?” Ethan asked, genuinely confused.
“The Volleyball girl,” Cassandra clarified.
“Hell no,” Ethan scoffed, shuddering at the memory.
“She tried to get me to exercise.”
Claire rushed into the waiting room, her face etched with a desperate hope.
Alex, Cassandra, and Mitchell looked up, their eyes wide with concern.
“Are they okay?” Alex asked, her voice barely a whisper.
“Is there any news?” Cassandra inquired, her usual goth stoicism replaced by palpable anxiety.
“Can we see them?” Mitchell pleaded, desperate for information.
Claire ran a hand through her hair, her voice tight with worry.
“They’re in with the doctor right now.
These things happen, right, no matter how careful you are?” She looked at them all, searching for reassurance.
Ethan and Cassandra were upstairs in the attic, a refuge from the chaos of Luke’s party downstairs.
The attic, usually Ethan’s private sanctuary, was now a makeshift escape hatch.
“I can’t believe your dad got a rock climbing thing,” Cassandra said, looking out of the window at the elaborate set-up Phil had created for Luke’s party, which included a small, brightly colored indoor rock-climbing wall.
“I couldn’t care less,” Ethan muttered, taking out his battered notebook and a pencil.
“This is way too good to pass up.” He flipped to a fresh page, ignoring the party sounds from below.
He handed the notebook to Cassandra.
“Cassie, what you think about this?”
Cassandra took the notebook, her dark eyes scanning the handwritten lyrics.
“This is actually good.” She looked up, a hint of surprise in her voice.
“I don’t think I got the vocals for this.”
“Sure, you do,” Ethan insisted, knowing her vocal range better than she did.
“Why can’t you do it?” Cassandra challenged, handing the book back.
“Do you remember the cover?” Ethan replied, a shudder running through him as he brought up the memory of his disastrous attempt at singing Justin Bieber’s “One Less Lonely Girl.” The girl he’d tried to serenade had, in a fit of rage, destroyed all their band equipment, costing him weeks of repair work.
Cassandra chuckled darkly.
“That was just because she called me a bitch.”
Ethan looked at the camera with a mischievous glint in his eye.
“I’m willing to embarrass myself to ruin someone else’s day.”
He paused, then shrugged.
“Why?
Why not?”
A knock echoed on the attic door, startling them both.
Ethan’s eyebrows quirked.
“Who the hell is that?
Nobody knocks in this house.” He sighed.
“The party is downstairs.
Go away!”
“It’s me, Ethan!” Manny’s voice, polite and earnest, came from the other side of the door.
Ethan just sighed, knowing Manny would snitch if he didn’t answer, before reluctantly getting up.
“Who’s that?” Cassandra whispered, intrigued.
Ethan opened the door to reveal Manny, dressed in a surprisingly formal outfit for a birthday party.
“What are you doing here, Baby Hippo?”
Manny walked into the room, his eyes wide as he took in the attic’s controlled chaos.
As he entered, Ethan caught a glimpse of Luke downstairs, looking up as he looked jealous.
Ethan, prioritizing his privacy over his brother’s shenanigans, immediately shut the door, cutting off the party sounds from below.
Manny looked around the attic, his gaze finally landing on Cassandra, who was sitting casually on Ethan’s bed, looking at the lyric book.
Manny visibly shrunk in on himself, intimidated by her goth aesthetic.
“I need your advice,” Manny confessed, his voice small.
“On what?” Ethan asked, leaning against his drum kit.
Manny gestured awkwardly at Cassandra, then at the lyric book.
Ethan, assuming Manny was still on his quest for an older woman, cut him off.
“You got to stop going after girls older than you, it’s just weird.”
“No,” Manny quickly corrected, “it’s about girls my age.”
Cassandra, looking up from the lyrics, a smirk on her face, chimed in, “Oh, Ethan, you should be an expert in this.”
Ethan laughed sarcastically, shaking his head.
“Why are you asking me?”
Manny, oblivious to the sarcasm, replied earnestly, “You seem to be doing well for yourself.” He glanced at Cassandra, then back at Ethan.
Ethan rolled his eyes.
“We’re just friends.”
Cassandra, ever the loyal best friend, quickly added, “Yeah, I find him disgusting.”
“And I’m sure she has diseases,” Ethan retorted, throwing a pillow at her head.
Cassandra, with surprising agility, ducked.
Manny stared at their playful exchange, bewildered.
“You two are weird.”
Ethan turned his attention back to Manny, adopting a serious tone.
“Look, girls dig a bad boy, just do something to get her attention.”
Cassandra, facepalming, offered, “You could insult her.”
“That probably won’t work,” Ethan muttered, thinking of his last encounter with Regina.
Manny looked utterly confused.
“Why would I insult her?”
“Ethan?” Cassandra prodded, raising an eyebrow.
“It’s complex,” Ethan admitted, shrugging.
“I’m not even sure she likes me,” Manny confessed, his voice filled with adolescent angst.
“Has she said that?” Ethan asked.
“No, but I’m sure she doesn’t.”
Ethan sighed, recognizing the familiar pattern of self-doubt.
“Girls act like they’re not into you when they really are.
Tons of girls act like they’re not into me, but they are, I know they are.”
Cassandra immediately interjected, “They’re really not.”
“You’re not helping,” Ethan complained.
“I’m not here to help,” Cassandra stated, a mischievous glint in her eye.
“I’m here to mock.”
Ethan ignored her, turning back to Manny.
“You got to change her perspective of you, just throw a firecracker or something.
Chicks dig bad boys.”
Cassandra buried her face in her hands.
“You could just tell her how you feel,” Cassandra offered, her voice muffled, a genuine attempt at helpful advice.
Manny and Ethan looked at her like she had a second head, their expressions a mixture of confusion and disbelief.
“I’m going to do the bad boy thing,” Manny declared, a newfound determination in his eyes.
“Good on you,” Ethan said, a triumphant smirk on his face.
Manny left the attic, filled with his new, misguided confidence.
Ethan burst into laughter.
“Tell her about your feelings?
Did you hit your head or something?”
Cassandra merely sighed, shaking her head.
“I try to help and this is what happens.” She then turned to Ethan.
“And for the record, you do the same thing, you write love songs.”
Just then, Claire’s voice echoed from the bottom of the attic stairs.
“Ethan!
Cassandra!
Are you coming down?”
“We’re coming down now,” Ethan yelled back, grabbing his notebook.
“I just had to check something.”
“We’re going down there?” Cassandra asked, her eyebrows raised.
“I want to see if he crashes and burns,” Ethan admitted, a malicious glint in his eye.
They went downstairs, merging into the lively atmosphere of the party, but keeping a safe distance from Manny.
They watched from a distance as Manny awkwardly attempted his “bad boy” routine.
As they observed, Ethan spotted a woman across the room – a “zoo chick,” as he mentally dubbed her, with cool, intricate tattoos of animals winding up her arm.
She was laughing with Dylan, Hayley’s boyfriend.
“Oh, great,” Cassandra muttered, her eyes narrowing.
“I know, right?” Ethan replied, sharing her distaste.
“It’s Haley’s boyfriend.”
“You really letting that sleazeball date your sister?” Cassandra asked, her voice laced with judgment.
“I tried getting them to break up, it just wasn’t happening,” Ethan admitted, shrugging in resignation.
“I’m going outside, you coming?”
“No,” Cassandra replied, her gaze fixed on the tattooed woman.
“I’m more interested in the reptile chick.”
“Seriously?” Ethan asked, surprised.
“She’s kind of hot, no?” Cassandra countered, a subtle smirk on her face.
“Not my type,” Ethan said, shaking his head.
He headed outside, needing a break from the indoor chaos.
He stepped into the backyard, a festive scene with balloons and streamers.
But his eyes immediately landed on a figure in the corner – a clown.
Fizbo.
Ethan swallowed, his breath catching in his throat.
He hated clowns.
Ethan kept backing and backing away, his eyes fixed on the painted smile, till he bumped into an arts and crafts table with a loud clatter, sending glitter and beads everywhere
Claire, who was sitting at the table said annoyed.
“Ethan, watch where you’re going!”
“That wasn’t me!
I was pushed!” Ethan insisted, his voice high with fear.
“Seriously?” Claire asked, exasperated.
“It was the clown!” Ethan whimpered, pointing a shaky finger.
“Come on,” Claire sighed, patting the seat next to her, urging him to sit down, knowing his attitude towards clowns.
He reluctantly took the seat, still casting nervous glances at Fizbo.
“Do you want to make a comb sheathe?
Your hair is a mess.”
“No, it’s not,” Ethan mumbled, swatting her hand away as she reached for his hair.
“I don’t know why I have to be here,” Ethan complained, his voice low.
“This is a Luke thing.”
“I told you your younger brother looks up to you,” Claire reminded him.
“That’s not my fault,” Ethan retorted.
“When you were sixteen, did you really want to hang out with an eleven-year-old?”
“No,” Claire admitted, “but you could try just being nice to him.”
“Why would I do that?” Ethan challenged.
“One day, many years from now, you’re going to be uncles to each other’s children,” Claire said, a wistful look on her face.
Ethan started to get up, trying to escape the sentimentality, but just then, Cameron’s voice, booming and excited, cut through the air.
“Scorpion!
Scorpion!
Scorpion!”
Fizbo, came running from the garage, Ethan backed away in pure terror.
“No!”
Phil, seeing the clown, also freaked out.
“Too close!
Too close!” Phil stumbled backwards, bumping into Jay, who was teaching Luke how to use a crossbow.
The crossbow dropped, and the arrow, released by accident, went straight into the bouncy castle where all the kids were still playing.
All the kids started screaming as the bouncy castle slowly deflated, but Ethan was more concerned with staying away from the terrifying clown.
Manny, seeing the deflating bouncy house and the screaming children, decided to play the hero and bravely charged into the bouncy house to rescue the trapped girl.
Ethan, meanwhile, saw Luke, oblivious to the chaos, heading straight for where the scorpion was.
Ethan, overriding his own fear of Fizbo, grabbed Luke by his collar, pulling him back from the imminent danger.
As Ethan pulled Luke back, they both slipped on a pile of decorative beads from the arts and crafts table.
They clutched their arms, a sharp pain shooting through them, as they tumbled to the ground.
Claire and Phil rushed over, their faces pale with panic, checking on their sons.
“What happened?” Claire demanded, her voice tight with fear.
“He went near the scorpion, and I dragged him away,” Ethan explained, wincing.
“And we slipped on those stupid beads,” Luke added, rubbing his arm.
“Oh,” Claire said, a wave of relief mixed with exasperation washing over her.
Gloria and Manny entered the hospital waiting room, their faces etched with concern.
“How are they?” Gloria asked, rushing to Claire.
“Oh, they’re gonna be fine,” Claire said, a tired smile on her face.
“Oh, dios mio,” Gloria murmured, relieved.
Jay, walking over, greeted them.
“Hi, honey.
Hey, Manny.”
Just then, Phil came in, a triumphant grin on his face, followed by Ethan and Luke, both wearing matching casts on their arms.
“Wow, everybody’s here,” Luke said, his eyes wide.
“Of course we are,” Jay said, ruffling Luke’s hair.
“How’s are those busted flipper?”
“Okay,” Luke replied, surprisingly cheerful.
Phil clapped Luke on the shoulder.
“Sorry about today, buddy.
We’ll try again next year, huh?”
“Are you kidding?” Luke exclaimed, beaming.
“This was the best birthday ever.
See?
We’ve got matching casts.” He put up his cast, showing it off next to Ethan’s.
“See?”
Ethan, still wincing, looked at Luke.
“You like the cast?”
“I’ve always wanted one,” Luke admitted, a look of pure joy on his face.
“After a few weeks, they start to smell.”
“You are so weird,” Ethan said, shaking his head.
“You know that?”
Manny, ever eager to be part of the action, asked, “Can I sign it?”
“Sure,” Luke agreed, holding out his cast.
“Hey, me first,” Alex said, pushing Manny aside.
Phil, sitting beside Claire, looked thoughtful.
“If you’d asked me before the party if I wanted there to be a chain reaction of disasters that led to Luke and Ethan breaking their arm, I probably would’ve said no.”
Claire raised an eyebrow.
“Probably?”
“Prob– definit– Definitely not,” Phil corrected quickly, shaking his head.
“Would not want that.”
“But you’re right,” Claire conceded, a small smile playing on her lips.
“Luke got what he wanted, and I would say we all got what we wanted.”
“Exactly,” Phil agreed, a look of profound, if slightly twisted, satisfaction on his face.
Ethan pulled his cast away from Cassandra, who was approaching with a marker.
“You’re not signing my cast, Cassie.”
“Come on,” Cassandra pleaded.
“You make this a whole thing.”
“Not going to happen,” Ethan stated firmly, protecting his virgin cast from her artistic endeavors.
Just then, Fizbo, the clown, appeared, wheeling in a brightly decorated cake.
Cameron, beaming, announced, “Fizbo delivery!
I brought the cake!”
Ethan’s eyes widened in horror.
“I can’t do this.
Okay, I’m out.” Ethan and Phil, united in their fear of clowns, bolted from the waiting room, leaving the others to their cake and chaos.
Claire, ever the manager, called out, “Cake!
Blow– blow the candle, Luke.
Blow the candle.”
Luke, back on the couch, happily scratched his cast with a comb.
“I really like my cast, but it’s starting to itch.
Good thing my mom made me this personal scratcher.” He used the comb, a look of pure bliss on his face.
“Oh, that’s good stuff.”
Ethan, also on the couch, demonstrated the same technique, a similar look of relief on his face.
“I learnt a lot of things that day.”
He paused, scratching vigorously.
“Maybe Luke and I are a lot more alike than I thought.”
He sighed contentedly.
“Uhh, that’s some good stuff.” He then looked directly at the camera, a profound revelation in his eyes.
“The most important one is never leave your room if you physically don’t have to.” He shook his head solemnly.
“There could be an earthquake.
Don’t leave your room.”