When Charles saw him, all he could think about was how much better it was with Amos.

How in all the time he'd known Hunter, he'd only ever used him. How he'd been so dependant, so in love...

But love wasn't about giving up control in return for affection. It wasn't. Love was about...

Love was about...

Stretching out your hand in reconciliation, like Kit had done. Offering forgiveness in exchange for nothing. Acceptance not of his actions, but of who he was. 

That he was good enough to call family.

Something unconditional, wordless, that he'd never felt except from his sister, and now, from her son.

Kit was offering him that. Amos might have been, before Charles had messed everything up.

Hunter had never.

And Charles thought for the first time beyond a doubt, that whatever he may deserve, whatever he'd done, he did not have to accept what that man had done.

If there are good people in the world, how come I've stayed around those that aren't? How come I've let them walk all over me for so long?

Maybe...maybe I shouldn't.

His nephew was brave. And it was beyond time Charles took a leaf from his book, no matter how frightening the prospect.

It was time he did more than promise to try.

Hunter reached for him and Charles slapped his hand away.

"No, Hunter!"

The other man looked almost comically surprised, eyes widening, chiseled chin dropping. Charles was breathing hard, trembling, but he had made up his mind.

"No, Hunter," he repeated, tasting the words, rolling them on his tongue. 

"I'm leaving. And I don't want you either - not anymore." He took a deep, shuddering breath.

"You're a - you're an asshole. You never said we were dating. But despite that, if you had asked me, I would have said yes. So many times. I would have said yes."

He swallowed.

"But not anymore. I'm quitting - I'm done. I don't want to date you now or ever. I want you out of my life."

His breath rushed out of him in a whoosh.

"That's my resignation, and it is final."

Charles had felt alone for so long. Clung onto Hunter and his job where he was useful, wanted. Repressed his anxiety and let Hunter swallow it, swallow him whole. 

But now, he realized there could be more to life than hanging on. There could be other types of relationships than ones where he gave everything he had in return for scraps of affection. 

Kit had accepted him the way he was.

Amos had liked him despite knowing his flaws...

Charles breathed loudly, like he'd been running, fear filling him to the brim. But he stood there, Kit at his side.

He felt a brief brush against his skin - the back of the boy's hand against his, offering silent support, his eyes still fixed on Hunter. Letting Charles deal with him. A rush of warmth swept through him.

"This is because of him, isn't it?" His former boss hissed. "You've changed since you took in that urchin."

Kit shouldn't be a comforting presence, but he was. He looked disdainful and unafraid, openly sneering at the much larger man, knees bent slightly and hands out of his pockets, clenched.

Hunter's eyes snapped over to the teenager, narrowing, lips pulling back over his teeth in a snarl.

"You little shit - "

Charles took half a step forward, in front of his nephew, heart pounding. 

"Don't you dare threaten him." The words came out breathless and wavering, but he said them.

"Don't you dare, Hunter. You can keep my final pay check - I'm not returning on Monday. I'm never returning. Come on, Kit."

Taking hold of his nephew's wrist, he grabbed the shopping bag and tugged him towards the car, glancing back over his shoulder.

Hunter was watching them go, deathly still, with his fists clenched, face cast in shadow. 

The look on his face left Charles with an uneasy, sinking feeling in his stomach.

"I've never heard you talk like that, Charlie. I must be having a bad influence on you," Kit said, clicking his seat belt in place as Charles pulled out of the other side of the parking lot.

"A good influence." But he was shaking again, not quite sure what he had done.

What did I just do? Did I...just call Hunter an asshole? 

As if he could read his mind, Kit leaned over just enough to press their shoulders together, warm and steady. It should be annoying - he was driving - but it wasn't. 

"It'll be alright," the young man said, eyes on the road. 

Charles felt himself relax and wondered when that had happened - when had Kit figured out just how to read him, calm and reassure him? Had he always know how, and just not wanted to before?

"It felt - good," he admitted. "Before, when I tried to make him stop and he didn't listen - "

"He didn't listen when you said no. That's fucked up."

"I didn't... I couldn't say no. Not outright. I just froze. And...gave in."

Kit looked at him, evaluating.

"Okay. Not your fault. Happens to people when they're scared, unprepared, sometimes. Fight, flight, freeze, submit, you know?"

"Unprepared?"

"I mean, if you know how to react in a situation, you're less likely to freeze. I can still happen though - practice isn't like reality."

He squinted at him.

"But I think I'm going to have to teach you how to tell people to fuck off. You did pretty well today, though. With a bit more practice..."

"I just don't want to disappoint anyone..."

"You're worrying about disappointing them. 'Course you are." Kit shook his head.

"Their opinions don't matter. Only the people you care about matter. So ask yourself - who do you care about?"

"...You. And...um..." Charles fought to repress a blush and failed miserably.

"Okay, so, me. You'll disappoint me if you cave and go all doe-eyed at everyone who flirts with you. I'll help you. I'll teach you how to say no - we'll practice. We'll go around flipping off people in cars, and yelling at strangers in bars!"

"Um, I don't know if I - "

"Point is, I got your back."

"Kit?"

"Yeah?"

"...Thanks."

"Just one more stop and then we can go home," his nephew promised him. "Should we buy you a coffee?"

The blond took a deep breath, focusing past his anxiety, his sore, exhausted body, and just as bruised and weary mind. 

Kit was right - they had one last thing to do before going home. Time was of an essence, and they couldn't keep some of these files on hand. As soon as he entered the lab, Hunter would see what they had done. 

They drove to the nearest public library and gulped down a coffee each (black with lots of sugar for Kit, and a latte for Charles) as they waited outside for it to open.

"People might have died because of the things I did at work," he told the teenager, staring into the murky liquid in his paper To Go cup.  

"Yeah, they might have. You're just going to have to live with that."

"How can you come back from some things? How can you ever redeem yourself?"

He cast Kit's question back at him, offering it like he was asking for benediction. For a way to atone.

"Not sure you can, from some things. But while you're alive, you gotta try, right? We're starting now."

Charles copied a few of the papers he had and printed out some choice documents from the flash drive. Then they put the copies into four different envelopes and dropped them in a mailbox, addressed to three local newspapers and one national publication. 

At a later point, maybe they would be able to send out more information electronically. But this way, at least it couldn't be traced to their home. The information was out there. It was a start. 

"Hunter will find out about this..."

"Cross that bridge when we get to it. You regretting it?" 

"No."

"Good."

Kit ran into a large convenience store and bought a blank sim card and a 20 dollar cheap plastic phone. He broke his old phone apart and thew the pieces into a dumpster. 

"I'll tell you later," he said in reply to his uncle's questioning look.

Finally, they could go home. Stumbling in through the door, cross-eyed with exhaustion, Charles more or less fell face-first into the couch. Despite the caffeine, his eyes wouldn't stay open. 

"Helluva night," Kit muttered, sliding to the floor in front of the couch, his head tipping back onto the seat cushions so that it almost rested against Charles's ribs. 

"Tell me about it..." 

There was something more Charles needed to say. Something that Hunter's appearance in the window, and then their dash to the lab, had interrupted.

Maybe it could wait until tomorrow...

He made a vain effort to lift his head off of the cushions, before giving up. 

"Look, Kit... What you said about...a-about Kitty... Please don't lash out at me now, but - but I think you're being - being too h-harsh on yourself..."

"I know she loved me. I know what happened was partly my fault."

His nephew sighed, and Charles thought his eyes must be closed, his knees drawn up and arms rested upon them, like he had been when he was seated on the curb next to him. But he couldn't bring himself to look over and confirm it. 

"I was so sick of her...now I miss her so much. Sometimes I feel...numb and it feels shitty, but then I feel everything and it's unbearable...

"So don't tell what happened wasn't my fault. Some love is unconditional. Even if I blame her sometimes, myself always, I'll never not love her. But I think - " he stopped, and everything was quiet for a moment.

"I think if I can forgive you, Charlie, maybe I could forgive myself too..." There was a pause. 

"One day."

Charles thought that was probably as good of an answer as he was going to get.

He wasn't aware of falling asleep until he startled awake, drool stuck to his face and mussed hair hanging into his eyes. 

"You up? Great."

"Gah!" Charles slapped his hands over his ears as an unholy noise tore through his combined kitchen/dining/living area. 

That damn blender. He needed to throw it out as soon as possible. 

"I don't need a hangover cure," he whined, sounding every bit as pathetic as he felt, bruises and cuts even worse the day after, curled up in two days old, disgusting clothes on top of his sofa.

His back was killing him.

"It's not just for you. I've been drinking tequila."

Cracking a crusty eye open, Charles peered over the back of the couch at his nephew, standing at the kitchen island. He didn't look that much worse for wear...

How quickly teenagers recover. 

"I'll make tea, then," the blond tried, and whimpered as he attempted to sit up.

"Stay put. I'll bring you some."

"How can you possibly be so perky?"

"Ssh. Lay back down, you look like shit."

Charles flopped back down and didn't move until he felt a cool glass and a teacup pressed into his hands, too weary to protest. He drank, handed them back, and burrowed down in blankets that Kit must have brought him, because he was pretty sure they hadn't been there when he fell asleep.

"I'm so tired..."

"We can deal with everything later. Rest, I'm here. You're safe."

That Sunday and Monday, they slept.

After staying awake for over 24 hours, fighting each other, reconciling, facing off against Hunter, and walking across half the city (or at least that's what it felt like), they had both collapsed without so much as a 'good night'.

Kit had jerked awake in the early afternoon and instead of going to his bed, he'd fetched Charlie's duvet and pillows for the couch, and rolled out his own blankets on the floor next to it, between his uncle and the door. He just felt better that way.

The werewolf woke again in the evening from his usual nightmare, Kitty's voice pleading with him to help her, her face scrunched up in agony.

Stumbling to his feet, he found his uncle sitting at the kitchen counter with his knees up, chewing on his nails and searching for jobs on his laptop.

"It'll be okay," the teenager told him in a gravelly voice, then cleared his throat. "We'll figure it out."

Charlie tried to smile. "You should try to get some more rest before school tomorrow."

"Naw, I'm already awake. I'll..." He looked around. "...Run to that all-night supermarket. I think we need some more coffee. You want anything?"

He tried to stay home from school on Tuesday too, but Charlie wasn't having it. 

"I'll be fine, you have to go to school, Kit. What would your teachers say?" he argued. 

You have no idea...

 "Go on, please. Don't worry about me."

"Fine, but look - don't open the door for anyone, Charlie. And I mean anyone - not just your ex-boss. I - argh! I need to tell you something."

He tugged the jersey that went with his school uniform over his head. His hoodie reeked too much to wear right now - he really should throw on a wash...

"What is it? You look a bit - "

"Look, a guy came here, looking for me. A - a bad one. There might be others. The thing is - "

Kit threw up his hands, discarding the green tie and dusting off his canvas bag. 

" - Before my mom died, she was sick."

"They - um, they told me..."

"She was bad, and we needed money." He took a deep breath. 

"Look, I was thirteen and I - I was stupid about it, used her name at first, her real name. I was desperate. Took me a while to figure out a system for it. It took me a few tries - a bit of careful asking around - before I figured out a system for it."

Charlie watched him from the couch, hands clasped together, listening. 

"At first, I used her driver's licence and social security to get loans and credit cards - text message, payday, sharks - whatever money they would lend me at any interest rate. That's the shit that's coming back to haunt me now. I got smarter later on."

"What? How - how did you...?"

"Bought hijacked identities online. Real ones - knew a guy who showed me how. Credit card details, passwords, addresses, whatever you want. Used the money to get more identities, her medicines, and to pay whatever rent I couldn't cover from what I made at my weekend job."

He closed his eyes.

"I knew if I got too greedy and drew attention to us, everything could blow up in an instant."

"The rates on those loans..." Charlie interjected, voice soft, eyes big. 

"Extortionate, I know. But only if they found me. And my mom wasn't going to be around to pay, was she?"

"That sounds so dangerous..."

"So is dealing, tricking, and scamming people. Can you think of any legal, safe way to make that kind of money quickly without letting the authorities know about it? I could barely even get a job because I look too young. But I managed.

"I'm not saying it was right - trust me, I know it wasn't, but -" He sighed. "Where else do you think you can get tens of thousands of dollars in a rush?"

His uncle paled. "Tens of thousands?"

"More like a hundred thousand, probably."

"You stole a hundred thousand - !?"

"Borrowed under false pretences, technically... And then the identity theft and - "

"My God," Charlie said, burying his face in his hands.

"It could have come to three times that, easy. What do you think hospitals and expensive treatments - for several years - cost if you've no insurance?" Kit paused, looking grim.

"But by the time I'd figured out how to get that kind of money it wouldn't've made a difference. Cancer'd spread everywhere. Borrowing more would only have brought more people breathing down our necks. So I - stopped."

"So - " He gulped. "S-so the person that came here, looking for you...?"

"A collector sent by one the first loan sharks, I think."

"But there were later ones, too?"

"The later ones...can't find me, I'm pretty sure. Confident. They won't be able to track it to me."

The boy sighed again, running a hand through his hair and picking up his bag. 

"Just don't open the door, okay? Focus on finding a job, and somewhere cheap for us to live. Honestly, I don't feel - "

" - Safe here?"

Kit shuffled his feet, uncomfortable at the thought that Charlie could read him, at how much he'd let his guard down. But his voice softened anyway, it's sharp edge falling away. 

"Yeah. Just take of yourself, okay?" 

The minute he arrived at school - fashionably late as usual - Kit noticed the looks. Glances. Whispers. 

Now what?

He ignored the looks, putting some extra sway in his steps as he walked down the hallways, meeting everyone's stares head on.

His new, cheap temporary phone didn't have internet. So instead, he snatched one out of the hands of one of his tittering classmates and danced away from the guy, glancing down at the screen.

"Hey!"

"Uh-oh," Kit said, scrolling down, scanning the messages.

Pictures of him. Speculation, insults. He continued down, checked the other open pages. Looked like it was all over the school...

Shit. 

The classmate whose phone he'd hijacked had stopped, red in the face, watching him with a malicious expression.

"Is it true?" he asked.

"Sure," Kit answered distractedly, "Everything anybody says about me is true."

There was only one person - one troublesome trio - that could be behind this. 

"Give me back my phone, you - "

"Ah-ah now, patience is a vir-tue - "

Kit checked the boy's social media, visited a few chatrooms he knew his classmates used, and sure enough - rumours about him were dominating each one. Accusations were flying between classmates, to other classes, other schools.

Pictures from the party, one of him in the skirt, but nothing with Oliver, Tyson, or Corey - and a picture of Mr. Dawson, but none of them together.

Not great. Could be worse, though. 

Another allegation paired him with the English teacher, Mrs. Lebowski - Kit snorted when he saw it. More worrying were the comments from a few students who said he'd come on to them, which he hadn't.

Damn, that spread fast.

Well, fuck them all. Let them talk.

Kit hoped this wouldn't get around to Charlie... He could put up with it until they moved and he transferred.

But that turned out to be a vain hope.

"Mr. Callaghan!" A cool, clipped voice called out, cutting through the teenagers' murmurs, silencing the buzz around him.

Kit let the other boy tug the mobile out of his hand, let him hide the pictures, the slurs, the lies. 

The students parted to reveal the cutting, stark figure of the vice principal. She stopped in front of him, arms crossed. Behind her, in the crowd, he could spot Oliver's sleek blond hair, Tyson's bulk, and he vowed to get to them later. 

"Christopher Callaghan," the vice principal said. "Principal's office, now."