"What?" No way--no possible way. He's not thinking of shared histories here, he's still thinking when are you from? and trying to figure out how the hell Costa Rica factors into this. That was decades ago, a world where his little brother's hair didn't have a single fleck of hair to it. He's not coming out of Costa Rica, if that'd even be possible. He's nearly forty, for God's sake. "Nathan, punch me."

He can't lay here much longer without looking like he's given up for no goddamn reason. Another breath or two, and wriggling like he's making an attempt won't be enough anymore. He'll have to get up, have to knock his little brother around some more.

Unless Nathan smashes his fist into his face a couple times. That'll get them out of this. Why the hell is he hesitating?