"I know about you and Mr. Dawson."

The werewolf turned around.

"What did you say?"

You care too much. Get out before they can screw you over...

He hated that his mother had been right.

"If you step out that door, I'll make sure the whole school, including the principal, board, and all the parents, know you seduced a teacher. Maybe more than one teacher. And us."

Kit gritted his teeth. You?

"Maybe I'll tell everyone about tonight then."

"It'll be your word against ours. And compare the two rumours – which one will the school care about? A couple of classmates fighting, or a teacher sleeping with his male, underage student?"

Oliver smiled. 

"It will just seem like you're trying to discredit our story. And you're new, a troublemaker, absent half the time – I've been here since kindergarten, get straight A's. Corey's dad is on the board."

"You've no proof."

"I was in that classroom when he came in – and I know you went to meet him after that. Did you go to his home?"

Good guess.

"That's a completely baseless accusation. He walked in on us, he was worried, he wanted to chat with me about it. That's all."

"I think you're lying. But it doesn't really matter if it's true, does it? Not once it starts spreading around the school."

Well aren't you clever and evil.

He levelled his gaze at the shorter boy. "Come back here, or we'll ruin you."

Kit glared right back at him.

This is what I get for hooking up in a school restroom.

"You know what? I used to think Oliver deserved better than you shits but now I guess I don't know."

He gripped the broken doorknob again, harder, metal creaking. 

"So say whatever the Hell you want." Kit met his former friend's eyes squarely and held them.

"Because I won't be fucking blackmailed."

Right then, he wanted nothing more than to tear them apart. But the faint sounds of the party downstairs, and the urgency he remembered hearing in Charlie's voice, stopped him from trying. 

Besides, it was three against one, and Kit had been shit at fighting in his other shape last time he attempted it. 

Flinging the door open, he took a step out into the hallway. Then something made him pause, bitterness boiling in his gut.

Baby, your problem is, you care too much...

"Why don't you finish what you were doing when I first met you?" he said, back still turned, tossing the comment over his shoulder. 

"And fuck that little traitor. Or take Corey instead – he seemed to love having my fingers up his ass."

Flipping them off, he left.

Kit had an uncle to find.

Sharp like broken glass. 

He needed to be sharp like that, have edges like that. So that anyone who touched him would cut themselves.

Kit had needed a focus. Lashing out aimlessly at himself, at others, the way he'd been doing - that was useless.

He'd thought he hated Charlie. He'd been wrong. Before, he had hated himself - still did sometimes, when he thought about some of the shit he'd done - but not right now. He was too busy hating those three. 

Odd how he could realise that he might love Charlie and that he loathed his classmates at the same time.

In the middle of a foursome.

Awesome timing. As always.

Stalking down the hallway, he opened the door to another two bedrooms - occupied - and a supply closet, before finding the upstairs bathroom, blessedly empty.

Locking the door, he spun around and faced himself in the mirror. 

Kit had been numb, and somewhere along the line – he couldn't even say when exactly – the fog had cleared. He had felt disconnected for weeks - months - after his mom died. 

But lately, around Charlie, around Zach, around Oliver - he hadn't had to fight to lift the numbing fog. It was gone.

For years, he'd put himself aside to care for his mom the best he could. And after her passing, he'd tried to stay focused, but without her to ground him, to need him, he'd spiralled out of control. Like he had during those years in foster care. 

Looking back on his behaviour over the last couple of months, Kit barely recognized himself.

It was time for that to stop.

It was time now. Time to face everything that he had been avoiding and running from. For him to accept who he was, what he was, and own it. Starting with one thing. 

Focusing on the mirror, he delved into what he was feeling. The blazing rage, the wild excitement - that specific sensation, that electric current through his limbs - 

Through the last lingering haze of alcohol, he felt his gaze sharpen. His senses became more alert, that rush of power filling him, crystal clarity, just like the full moon.

Kit watched his pupils dilate, irises swirling and bleeding out into the whites, hazel tuning a bright yellow-green. He felt a sudden certainty that he could ride this wave, urge it on, let it sweep him away. It was very, very tempting. 

Instead he halted it, a low growl escaping as he battled to hold back, controlling it, staying as he was.

Holding his own wolf-gaze in the mirror, full of purpose, intent, and power, Kit reaffirmed his decision. 

I'll find my uncle. I'll fix this.

Twice more he called forth that thrilling current, watched his eyes swirl and shift, felt the painful morphing of claws -

Shit! That hurts.

- Felt the ache and sting when his teeth started changing, even seeing something strange and fuzzy around his ears -

O-kay. That's enough for now...

Shaking his head to clear it and taking a deep breath, he pulled out his phone. Seven missed calls from Charlie. 

And one from the bar. 

Huh, Kit thought. 

Zach had called him that time when Charlie was there passed out...could his uncle have gone back to the bar from work, to see Amos? Or fought with his boyfriend over what Kit said, and then decided to get drunk? 

It was possible. 

Kit tried dialling his uncle - voicemail - and then the bar - no answer.  Writing out a quick text to Charlie, he chewed his lip as he waited, staring at the screen.

'Are you alright?' 

No answer.

Well shit.

Running his hand through his hair with a frustrated growl, Kit looked up and met his own eyes in the mirror again. His shirt was torn, his hair sticking out, hickeys peppering his neck and shoulders and he'd lost his trousers. 

Now what? School on Monday... And what about Charlie?

Everything might be fine. But his voice over the phone...was he just upset about their fight? Or was he in some kind of trouble? Was he still with that man? 

The bar. The missed call. There was a straw there, the beginnings of a plan, and the werewolf grasped for it. 

Find some clothes. Get back. Find my uncle.

And if Charlie wasn't home, then Kit would call Zach again to check if he was at the bar. If no-one answered, he would go down there himself to look. If he wasn't there, call again. If he hadn't answered by morning, get that colleague slash boyfriend's contact info from his uncle's workplace and track him down. 

Ok. Decided.

But first, he needed some pants.

Kit had his shoes and a change of underwear and socks, which he put on just to feel more like himself. 

Searching through the bathroom, he found that someone had crammed in a laundry basket in the bottom of a cabinet full of fluffy towels and hair products, likely while tidying up for the party. 

Jackpot.

Rummaging around in it, he swore aloud. There was almost nothing here - all he found was crumpled two girls' school uniforms on top, and some tees and tank tops at the bottom. 

"Dammit..." he couldn't take the buss back in just his underwear, and if he tried to search through the other bedrooms Kit would lose time and risk getting caught by his classmates again.

"I suppose it's not the first time..." he murmured as he grabbed one of the uniform skirts, dark grey and green with chequered stripes, and wiggled into it - bit tight, must be a petite girl - then looked down at his ripped shirt in distaste.

I don't suppose their shirts would fit...

They didn't, the crisp cotton refusing to close over his slightly broader shoulders, so he sighed and looked at the tops. There was a black strappy one, a yellow one with frills (ugh), and a dark pink tee that seemed to have long sleeves and be a size bigger...

He tugged it out of they basket and almost laughed at the picture on the front.

Yes.

After that he turned to eye up the shelves of make-up surrounding the sink.

Since I'm doing this, I might as well do it properly.

Five minutes later, Kit slung his hoodie on and threw open the bathroom door, stalking out with his head held high, skirt swishing around his slim thighs, messy curls framing his face. 

You just had to own it.

The blaring electronic music had been replaced by a more nostalgic mix of 80's and 90's music by the time he got downstairs. People were more sedate, collapsed in laughing, drunk, half-asleep piles on the couches, at the table, in front of the fireplace.

He half-recognized the next song that started playing, letting it flow through his ears as he wove through the crowds, stepping over and around teenagers.

The girl he'd made out with earlier brushed past him, laughing, not recognising him, and two of his classmates called out, trying to catch him about the waist, loud and drunk as he side-stepped them.

I was bruised and battered,

I couldn't tell what I felt...

Kit had been avoiding that memory for three months, since the night Kitty died. He had been refusing to think about it, forced himself to think about the future - or nothing at all, when the future seemed useless to dwell on, empty of promise.

I was unrecognisable, to myself...

And now he had walked out on Charlie. Slammed the door on his only family. Again.

Saw my reflection in a window,

And didn't know my own face -

He caught sight of himself in a dark window, and for a moment he thought he saw his mother there, as she had been when she was his age. A girl at a loud party, eyeliner thick around hazel eyes, turning them feline and seductive, clothes mis-matched, hair ruffled, gaze daring. 

She'd been blond, her features more delicate and less striking, but otherwise she might have looked just like this.

Oh brother, gonna leave me

Wastin' away -

On the streets of Philadelphia...

He was going to find his uncle. What he would say when he did – well, Kit wasn't sure. Maybe he would yell some more.

But he had to go back. If he had a chance, if he wasn't too late this time – he had to go back and check that his uncle was okay.

Because whatever he'd done...Charlie was family.

And you didn't leave your family behind like that. Or, if you did...you had better swallow your pride, turn right back around, and start sprinting back.

They looked alike, but her little brother was nothing like Kitty had been, Kit realised. Charlie wasn't sharp like broken glass or cruel.

I'm more like her than he is. I'm her son. 

His uncle...trying to please everyone. Not contacting them until his own mother had died, being an obedient son.

I killed her. I loved her.

Then trying to take Kit in, help him without any real clue how. Melting like butter when Amos paid attention to him and now this boyfriend, who he'd let shush him and kick Kit out.

He never really said no - he just tried to make everyone happy, as if that was the only way they'd like him.

Dammit.

I should have seen that.

Kit had known kids like that, but he'd thought that his uncle, an adult - someone who'd always had a parent by his side growing up - wouldn't be like that...

Charlie had called him. And he had refused to answer because he was filled with fury. How many times had they failed each other?

I'm going to find you. 

No more. Not even one more time. Whatever Charlie had done, might do in the future – Kit wouldn't shy away any more. He would find him, and do what he'd offered to do in the first place.

Look after him.

Please, Charlie had said on the phone, pleaded, I need you to - 

Kit had been so angry. But anger was...not what he felt anymore. Not towards Charlie. It wasn't going to help him find his uncle, find a way out of this. It was time to let that go.

Anger wasn't the way forward.

As much as it hurt, he was glad he was alive. Glad his mother had kept him. Glad he had someone who had taken him in and cared for him, even if that person was flawed and cowardly and -

And - 

Sweet and kind and trusting -

Charlie might not be a good person. Kit might not be a good person. Maybe there were no good people in the world!

But it didn't matter, because he could love someone anyway. No matter how flawed. 

How could he have forgotten that?

Family could be difficult, ugly, infuriating. Remembering his mom's final hours had reminded him of that, slapped it in his face.

But the memory also struck home that Kit only had one family member left, one he'd been given like a gift after losing Kitty.

One more chance.

And he wasn't going to let it slip away.

That man – Hunter – whoever he was, if he thought he could take Charlie away, convince Kit to leave him, then he had another thing coming. 

Because this wolf was not letting his uncle go without a fight.

It took him a while to catch a buss back to Charlie's place. 

At the door, he paused, feeling his phone buzz with an incoming message. Pulling it out, he saw a text bubble popping up in answer to the question he'd sent to his uncle's phone earlier.

Are you alright?

Yup,  the reply said.

The teenager frowned. Seemed a bit abrupt and informal for Charlie, who never used slang... But then again, Kit had never texted with him before. And it was pretty late - maybe he'd been asleep?

Just as the teenager fished his keys out, a man stepped out from the landing next to the elevator and walked towards him.

The man smiled. Dressed in dark, nondescript clothes, and with a conservative haircut, there should be nothing about him to set off the teenager's alarm bells.

Except the way he held himself. The way he was built - muscled, but moving like a fighter. That ease, that stance. 

The fact that he came into view only once the boy had stopped in front of his uncle's door, and the way his eyes swept over him...with a look that made the fine hairs on Kit's arms stand straight up.

And finally the cheap plastic phone he held in his gloved hand - gloved, even though it was summer - and the answering buzz in Kit's own pocket.

I knew I should have gotten rid of this phone...

"Miss Callaghan, is it?" the man asked in a low, pleasant voice.

Kit turned on his heels and ran.

(Streets of Philadelphia - Bruce Springsteen)