After a lot of rings a bleary voice - so familiar the sound of it made his breath hitch - answered.

"Hello - Kit?"

"Charlie." His own voice sounded scratchy to his ears. "Can you...can you come get me?"

"Where are you?" He heard a yawn. "Another sleepover? Isn't this a-a weeknight?"

"No." Kit swallowed. "Not a sleepover."

The irrational thought If I was there you would not be asleep this time of the morning on a workday crossed his mind and then he took a deep, steadying breath. 

"I don't know exactly where I am.  But I have the road and the direction and...I...could really use a ride."

There was a pause - a loaded pause - and then the other voice came back clear and alert.

"Of course I'll come to get you," he said and Kit hadn't realized how afraid he'd been that Charlie might deny him until he heard him agree.

"Tell me what you know, and I'll head out right now. Just sit tight - I'm on my way."

"Okay," Kit whispered.

He cleared his throat and told him. Then he sat down on the edge of the ditch. 

To help him ignore the way his hands were starting to tremble, he tried to think. 

Everything was catching up to him, adrenaline all used up, dreams fading, all of it replaced with a feeling of just wanting to be out of these woods, far, far away from this spot.

Now that he was out of danger, had a plan - provided Charlie actually did show up - he noticed how tense his muscles were. Tender too. Jerking off had only provided a brief respite. Now he couldn't relax. 

The wounds weren't as bad as they might have been but the shock -

He wiped his nose on his sleeve, got a bit of dried blood on it.

What the hell had happened?

To his life, to the world? Had it been this way all along? How come he'd never known?

And what the fuck was he going to do now that he did?

Well, one thing is for fucking sure.

He would never cross one of those scent markings again, Kit promised himself.

And you're going to stop freaking out because shit happens and whining about it isn't going to help you.

You either survive, or you die, and either way, you don't complain about it.

So get it together.

He started humming to himself as a distraction, but when he recognized the tune, it did little to help, bringing only bittersweet memories.

"Do do do, do do do..."

Forget the chorus - you're the bridge

The words and music to every day I've lived

There's nothing, that I wouldn't give 

For one more time, when I can sing for you...

Before, he had continuously put his feelings aside because no matter how bad he felt, she always felt worse.

No matter how much he hurt, Kitty hurt more.

She'd been sick and there had been no room in their lives for less that life-or-death problems and solutions.

Just survive another day.

So Kit could take a beating. He was no stranger to a fight.

Getting beat up by a bunch of mythological creatures wasn't exactly something he had anticipated when he rolled out of bed that morning, shaking from another nightmare.

But it's what he had gotten.

So what are you planning to do about it?

That was the real question.

Okay, Kit thought. Let's face facts.

I might be a werewolf.

Scratch that - werewolves exist. 

And I'm one. 

Fuck. 

If that was the truth, then there was no point denying it, trying to avoid it, or trying to change it. It was what it was.

But what did it mean for him? What could he do with it? How would it - how did it - affect his life from now on?

He was still deep in thought when a familiar, clean, dove grey car rolled to a stop in front of him well over an hour later, door clicking open, making him look up from his numb feet.

Then his uncle's worried face was peering down at him, and his pale, fine-boned hand patting the seat next to him. Kit watched him.

"You showed up," he stated, voice flat. 

Even though I didn't show up for you.

"Of course. What are family for?" Charlie offered with a wobbly smile. 

The teenager stared at him for a moment longer. 

When he finally pushed to his feet and got into the passenger seat, the blond turned to him, reaching out with his hands and then halting them in the air, letting them drop into his lap, fingers curling together. 

"What happened?" he asked. "Please, tell me, Kit..."

He looked pale, his large eyes wide, bottom lip quivering, voice pleading. Kit swallowed, his throat thick.

I think I turned into a werewolf. And met a bunch of other werewolves and got beat up and -

Not an option.

Nothing happened...

His uncle would never buy that. No-one would, considering the way Kit looked right now.

"I..." he took a deep breath.

"I got drunk. I'm sorry, Charlie, I broke our promise. I'm sorry. I..."

He glanced up, letting the real terror he'd felt the night before shine through his expression for a moment.

"I went drinking and blacked out, woke up here. I don't know what - " he glanced down at his hands, up again. His voice became a whisper, a tremor in it.

"What might have happened to me while I was out. I'm sorry, Charlie."

His uncle looked horrified - good, he's buying it - but not suspicious. His face was open and trusting.

"Oh, Kit... It's okay, it's not your fault, don't worry about the deal - let's get you home."

Kit looked down at his hands again. He should feel relieved that Charlie believed him. Instead he just felt guilty. He closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against the cool window pane.

They drove home in silence, Charlie casting anxious glances at him every few seconds until Kit felt ready to snap at him.

Once they got out of the elevator the older man nudged his nephew over to the couch and awkwardly draped a huge knitted throw over him the way people always did in TV soaps.

Then he insisted on making them both huge cups of tea with milk and sugar.

A sudden sense of de-ja-vu struck the little werewolf, a memory of his mother doing the same once when Kit had come home bloody after getting into a fight in elementary school.

It was a good memory - from way back when she still had good days.

A cup of tea will make you feel better, she'd sworn and stroked his hair.

Charlie didn't try to stroke his hair. He smiled nervously, sank down on the couch next to him, fiddled with the edge of a decorative pillow.

"Feel better?" he asked.

Yeah right. Because tea is all it takes to make something like this go away, he wanted to grumble.

"A bit. Thanks," he said instead, sipping from the steaming mug. The ceramic warmed his hands, almost too hot to touch.

Kit held on to it anyway, focused on the way the heat seared into his palms, stinging.

Charlie swallowed, making the younger man glance up at him sharply. 

"What is it?"

"...I have a confession to make. Um. Don't be mad."

"What do I have to be mad about?" he asked, arching one eyebrow over the edge of the teacup, watching his older relative squirm, grateful for the distraction. 

"We might not be able to go back to the bar anymore..."

"...Why?"

"I. I broke our promise too. I, um, m-met someone."

"Met someone?"

"Slept with some - I mean, uh, 'met' in a biblical sense. I... I, uh, slept with the owner..."

"Oh you did, did you?"

Charles could only nod, head hanging.

"On the night you went drinking without me?"

"You knew?"

"It was obvious!" Kit took a deep breath and forced his voice back under control, curbed the annoyance.

"And now you're telling me about it...because?"

"I don't want you to feel bad about drinking last night - or blame yourself for w-whatever happened. And I..."

"Yes?"

"...R-really sort of want to talk to someone about it," he admitted, eyes downcast, turning pink again.

Kit rolled his eyes, but inside he was smiling. Seriously, God help him.

"Really, Charlie?"

"Don't be mad!"

"I'm not mad. Jesus, but you... Okay, fine. Tell me about him."

Truthfully, Kit couldn't be more anxious to talk about Charlie instead of last night, to act normal instead of being treated like a victim or an invalid.

"Really? Do you mean that...?"

"Yes, really! What's so special about - oh no. It wasn't a one time thing?"

"It was! It was just a one night stand, but...but..."

"But?"

"It was so good, Kit. But I ran out and he never asked me for my number and I can't anyway because Hu - "

He halted. Kit's eyes narrowed.

"Because what?"

"Because I'm such a mess - he would never date someone with a - a drinking problem. He said his brother - had one."

"Ouch."

It was almost absurd to be talking to Charlie about some guy, after the night he'd just had. 

How had they even gotten here from the mutual reserve of yesterday morning? 

But at this moment, Kit didn't want to question why Charlie had decided to open up to him now of all times. 

The last thing he wanted was a serious, solemn conversation. He didn't want the other man fussing over him or looking at him like he was a homeless puppy. Or trying to get details or promises to go to the doctor or police out of him. 

Kit would much rather laugh like this, comfortable on the couch, than be tip-toed around or pressured.

He lifted the corner of his knitted throw so that the blond could have some of it, their arms brushing together as they sat side by side.

And that's when it dawned on him.

I don't hate Charlie.

Oh no. That was bad. That was not allowed, not okay.

In the beginning, he had despised Charlie. For not being there - never once being in his life when he grew up, or in Kitty's life when she was sick. For thinking he could make it all okay suddenly, when Kit knew nothing could ever make things okay ever again.

But now...

Kit might actually...care about him. Like him as a person.

He didn't mind being around Charlie. Didn't mind hanging out with him at the bar. Didn't mind talking to him - the way he blushed so easily, but gave long, intelligent answers to questions about things like homework, always fiddling with a napkin or something.

The way he made hesitant jokes when he thought no-one was listening and smiled small unsure smiles, as if asking if it was okay to be happy. If he was allowed. 

When Kit looked at him, he no longer saw just the 'legal guardian' he had to put up with for the next two years.

And  not just the man with Kitty's face, who Kit felt protective of despite himself, because of her.

Charlie had turned out to be far more sweet and docile than his sister ever was.

Sure, he was a hot mess (but weren't they all?) - cagey, awkward, mostly spineless, and pretty useless at being an adult all around - but also eager to please and well-meaning.

And damn it all, Kit liked him.

You know what you problem is, baby? You care too much.

Yes, Kit had a stupid propensity to care.

He knew and feared that about himself. It always got him into trouble. He had tried and tried again, but always ended up getting attached anyway, loyal like a dog. 

Even in his first few foster homes, he would sometimes get attached to a parent or an older kid. Which would invariably leave him fighting the two warring impulses to simultaneously do whatever it took to gain their approval, and also to tell them to go Fuck Themselves. 

And if someone was nice, fed him home-cooked meals, spoke affectionately, touched casually, asked,

"Is this okay?"

Kit would say - had said -

"Yeah."

Because he was no innocent, he knew how it went. And he never wanted the soft touches to turn into the brutal unpleasant kind he refused to remember - didn't want to ruin everything.

So it was okay. Until it wasn't and they moved him to the next family. And then everything started over.

Kit had gotten better at avoiding getting attached, hardened his heart over time.

But Charlie had come when he called him for help. Even though Kit had refused to do the same for him.

He had held him and cleaned him up that night when he freaked out and got dangerously drunk, had tried to help. He had put him in a good (as far as his uncle knew, anyway) school, had never pushed him to do anything he didn't want. 

Had volunteered to adopt him when his mom died, when Kit had no-one.

So the teenager was finding it difficult to resist caring right now. Now that he was living with someone who actually seemed to... 

Who asked - tipsy at the bar - if he wanted help with his homework (and when was the last time anyone had ever asked him that?) and thanked him for buying groceries, looking grateful.

Who smiled at him for no reason.

Who looked so much like Kitty had years ago , before the worst of her addiction, before child protective services took Kit away, before lung cancer.

It was hard to resist Charlie under those circumstances.

So what if he lied and drank too much and did anything and everything to avoid facing his problems?

Kit was staring to think that there were worse flaws.

He was starting to think it was nice to live with someone who gave a shit whether he lived or died. Charlie, for all his faults...cared.

For once, someone seemed to genuinely give a shit about Kit.

So maybe it would be okay this time - for Kit to care a little bit about him in return.