Bill had followed Charlie at a slow pace, hanging back, not sure what he was going to say or do. He held back behind the kitchen door as Charlie opened the door to their father. He expected to hear a voice, a greeting, but when he instead heard sobs, he felt any lingering stoicness trickle away, and his heart seemed to be constricted painfully.
Unable to bear it any longer, he came out of the kitchen and walked towards them, staring at the man crying into Charlie's shoulder. He seemed much much older than any of Bill's memories of him. But then, he supposed he wouldn't exactly resemble his sixteen-year-old self, either.