The curls on the back of Charlie's head were dark red and sticky with blood.

"Charlie..." Kit swallowed thickly. "What happened?"

"I don't...he pushed me into the counter, but I didn't..."

"Let me see it."

It was a small, deep gash.

"Head wounds can bleed a lot, so that's not the problem...but..."

Kit cursed himself for not checking, for only asking Charlie. With all the adrenaline coursing through him after the fight, his uncle must have become numb to the pain, or misattributed it to something else.

"How do you feel?"

"Um, a bit dizzy now that I'm sitting up..."

"Right. We're going to the hospital so."

"What? Surely it's not that seri-"

"If it was just the cut, I'd clean it and close it and you could go to a clinic tomorrow. But this... You could have a concussion, even a cracked skull."

Intracranial bleeding. Swelling, life-threatening complications...

"We have to go right now. Should I call an ambulance?" Kit balked at the thought, recalling his latest ambulance ride, but he set his mouth in a determined line.

If Charlie needed an ambulance ride, he would not be going alone. Kit would be by his side.

"No, don't, I can drive..."

"No way! And I - haven't got my licence yet. I don't know how. Shit." 

It seemed a stupid, foolish thing not to have. But he hadn't had time since he'd turned sixteen, had never had anyone to teach him.

I should have taken care of it anyway. Sorted it somehow.

His eyes fixed on Charlie's leather wallet, sticking up out of his pocket, and he snatched it without thinking, flipping it open. 

Then he took out his phone.

"What are you..."

The blond spotted the black card in Kit's hand and his eyes widened.

"No!" he grabbed for it and groaned with pain, Kit holding him firmly upright and putting the cell to his ear. "You don't know how it ended between us...I ran out, and I - "

"I know that he works close by and has a car, and that's all I need to know."

"You're so bossy."

The teenager ignored him, still pressing him to his side with one arm, knowing that he would be able to hear the phone conversation clearly.

"Amos Devereux?" he said into the receiver and saw Charlie blush out of the corner of his eye, blood dripping slowly from his hair onto his shirt collar, wetting Kit's already blood-crusted arm.

Aren't we a pair? Kit mused grimly. He needed to press something against that cut as soon as he'd arranged transport.

"This is Kit Callaghan. Where are you right now? Charlie hit his head and we need a ride to the ER ASAP. Look, please - " he forced the last word out through gritted teeth, "Could you drive us?"

A moment later he'd given Amos the address and taped a wad of gauze to Charlie's head to stem the bleeding - it was only temporary, something they would remove at the hospital. He made his uncle lean back against the wall so he could let him go and straighten up. 

Knowing he only had a few minutes before the bar owner showed up, Kit hastily threw a blanket over his own smudged pool of blood - he would have to worry about that later, since his wounds were still there and stinging but cleaned and closed for now - and got changed, only a little bit embarrassed to discover that he was almost naked.  

Oh well. He stuffed his discarded clothes into the trash and moved the knife out of sight. 

When he heard the doorbell ring, the boy hobbled over to it and flung the door open - only to be faced with the same collector that had pressed him up against a wall outside the bar, smirking at him.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me." 

"Miss Callaghan," the man said, and then promptly faltered at the sight of him. "You're...covered in blood?"

"You will be too if you don't piss off."

"Is there a problem here?" A third voice inquired - deep and rumbling and deceptively soft, promising power underneath politeness.

Behind the collector, towering and with impeccable posture and one eyebrow cocked, Amos appeared. 

"And this man is...?" he asked.

Kit needed no more invitation.  

"He's been blackmailing and threatening us. He's armed!"

In fact, he had no idea if the man was carrying or not, and he didn't care - better safe than sorry. He felt in no condition to shape-shift again, not yet. 

The man's eyes widened in alarm and he spun around, half raising his arms in defence but still too late, way too late - as Amos's fist came up underneath his chin in a perfect uppercut, snapping his head back and throwing him up and back in a tumble of limbs. 

He promptly collapsed like a marionette with it's strings cut. A knock-out punch. 

Amos casually dragged him to the side and arranged the decked man in a decent recovery position before stepping in through the door past Kit, who hurried to pick his jaw up from the floor.  

"Where is he?"

"Here. Did you do used to do boxing or something...?"

"Charles. My God - are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Amos. Thank you, you didn't have to - "

"I wanted to."

Kit almost didn't want to interrupt the way they were gazing at each other, the longing near tangible, thick enough to cut through. 

"We gotta move," he said at last, snapping his fingers. "Snap out of it, you two." He picked up his shoulder bag. 

"Mr. Devereux, will you help him to the car? I'll hold open the doors."

The young werewolf looked over at Charlie, leaning back against the dark car seat with his eyes closed, forehead pinched and drawn in silent pain. 

What if he dies?

Kit would not go back into the system. He'd run, he'd disappear on the street like a lot of people he knew, and it would be a dead end, but at least he'd have a say in where he went. At least he'd never fell like this again. Never feel like his heart was splitting into two and he couldn't breathe - 

If they got to the hospital and everything went to shit, he'd sneak out when –

No. Focus.

"Hey. We're almost there."

Amos's voice broke through his thoughts. He met his eyes in the rearview mirror, and Kit got the distinct sense, for a moment, that at least he wasn't the only one that cared about Charlie. Not the only one that would fight for his life. 

Amos cares too. 

Kit noticed that he was shaking slightly and forced himself to stop, counting backwards from ten and gritting his teeth.

In the ER, Kit told the receptionist Charlie had a head injury and they brought him through quickly into an examination room.

After the teenager explained that his uncle had been pushed into a sharp edge and was dizzy and dazed, a nurse checked examined him and took his vitals. A doctor came by and soon they wheeled him away to do an x-ray and possibly a CT-scan of his head.

Kit and Amos were left behind in the waiting room, and Kit had to tense every muscle in his body one by one to keep them from shaking, especially the hand that had gripped Charlie's fingers - his long, elegant, warm, alive fingers.

"Could you tell me what happened?" Amos asked quietly after they'd waited for a while, Kit still standing there, refusing to sit down.

He considered lying - it was his go-to response. But Amos had helped them. Charlie liked him, really liked him. And he seemed to be a decent guy, who deserved to know what he'd gotten mixed up in. 

At least some of it.

"Charlie had this ex - his old boss - who pushed him around, I think. And he came calling, was there when I came back from school, early, I was - uh - never mind. He was there, he was all weird...on something, I think."

"He was high?"

"Maybe. He was acting crazy. Threatened me. Charlie stepped between. He was - looking out for me."

Amos stayed silent, watching him. The boy decided not to say anything about Charlie's former job, or about how Kit had attacked Hunter first...

"That guy - his ex - pushed him into a counter, and he hit his head. Then the guy left - scared I guess, of what he'd done. And then I called you. Because, you know...ambulances can take a while."

I can't lose Charlie. I can't. Whatever it takes, I'll do it -

He was startled out of his focus, his tunnel-vision near-panic, breaths shallow and short, by a hand on his shoulder. It squeezed once, lightly, and then let go. 

Amos.

Kit waited for the other man to tell him not to worry, that it would all be okay, so that he would be able to snap back you don't know that  but he said nothing, just sat there, steady and focused, while the werewolf paced. 

Neither of them picked up a magazine. Finally, what felt like hours later, they were called in from the waiting room. 

Charles was okay. 

He had a linear fracture in his skull, without any splintering, depressions, or internal bleeding. The doctors told him to watch out for symptoms of a concussion over the next week of two, and to rest. 

Then they gave him stitches for the cut in his scalp, and let him go. 

Amos drove them home. 

"I could recommend a good lawyer if you don't already have one," he said on their way back, eyes on the road. 

"Or private security or investigative services. If you need someone quickly a pair of my bouncers also do that sort of thing, occasionally." 

"I-I don't know..." Charles stammered. He still felt a little bit disoriented over everything that had happened. 

"We'll call you if we do," Kit said. "Right now I just want to get him home. Actually, if you know a locksmith?"

"I can have someone over in fifteen minutes, and I'll stay with you until she leaves."

"Thanks, Amos."

"Any time."

Amos called his locksmith while they drove and after he parked, Kit went up first, saying that he wanted fetch something for his uncle, but actually meaning to clean up his own blood before anyone else could see the extent of it, Charles suspected. 

"Amos..." he whispered, shy and tired in the dusky back seat.

"I'm sorry about before. Sorry you had to drive me today..."

"Don't apologize for calling me. I would help you at any time."

Charles heard him take a slow breath. He was suddenly overcome with a fierce need to feel the other man's hand on his skin, comforting, stroking, calming. To hear his irresistible voice in his ear, murmuring sweet nothings while he held him, just held him gently.

"Amos..." his own voice, soft and breathy, held and embarrassing amount of longing. 

Finally, the older man turned to look at him. His expression was inscrutable. 

"I think I warned you against running from me again, if you wanted something more lasting between us. Right before you did exactly that."

"Yes..."

"And long ago, I expressed my hesitation about getting involved with an alcoholic, and a customer."

"And you still came to help me... Here you are."

Amos's eyes softened. "Here I am. And I can assure you that nothing I've seen or heard tonight has changed the way I look at you - or what I'd like us to become."

His gaze was so intense that Charles felt naked, transparent, but so hot that instead of shying away he leaned closer instinctively, as if to warm himself. 

It held his but didn't feel pinned down by it...only strangely electrified, skin tingling despite his soreness and fatigue.

"Why did you come when Kit called?"

"To ask you to think about what you want. You have my number and you know where I live. Make up your mind - I would like you to understand that this isn't casual to me anymore."

Lifting Charles's pale hand slowly, he kissed his knuckles, seemingly oblivious to the flecks of blood still dried into the creases in his skin, where he had washed but not yet been able to scrub his hands clean.

Maybe it should come across as a ridiculously old-fashioned gesture - but when Amos did it, the chaste touch was enough to make his knees go weak.

"You've been through a horrendous experience and I don't expect you to let me know anytime soon. 

"I won't chase after you. You must decide to pursue what you want.

 "If you desire something more than friendship, I'll need you to be honest and tell me as much. Tell me exactly what you want. For me - I don't know about you - this is no mere fling. And it's not just physical." 

"Whatever you ultimately decide to do, I wish you luck." He paused. "I want nothing but health and happiness for you. Of course I came when your nephew called. 

"The ball's in your court, darling. Rest and feel better."

After the locksmith left, Kit cleaned the living room, putting the knife with Hunter's fingerprints in a plastic bag in case they needed it later, and then arranging both their bedclothes on top of cushions in front of the couch. It had become evening. 

"You need supervision tonight. Head wound - I'm not taking any chances."

"Good - I want to keep an eye on you too. Honestly, you should take the couch - "

"Not happening."

"Are you sure your injuries are okay? They looked so serious..."

"I'm fine."

Neither of them were hungry. They'd huddled up instead, Charles craving the reassurance he felt in Kit's presence, and the teenager keeping a watchful eye on the door despite the changed locks. 

"Maybe we should have just stayed at a hotel instead."

"Would you be able to rest in some strange place? Besides, all of our stuff is here."

"True..."

Charles felt like he should ask about what he'd seen his nephew do earlier. About werewolves, about healing, about so many things. But he didn't know where to start. 

Instead he found himself filled with other thoughts, fears swirling around his mind until he shifted around under the blanket, restless, unable to settle. 

"Kit, I - " he made a small sound. "I - you're probably the last person I should be talking to about this. God, you're so young - "

"Thought we settled that I'm not. Go to a therapist if you want. Or just spit it out. I don't mind - really," the boy grumbled. He turned over to face Charles.

"I'm just so confused...one moment I'm clear, the next I'm doubting everything. About Hunter, everything, did I do that, drive him to act that way, how could he - and I - did I lead him on, and I - God, I enjoyed being with him sometimes, I - I agreed and, and I - "

He had to stop because he couldn't breathe, hyperventilating.

"Breathe. Look at me, breathe with me," Kit told him, and let him grip his small strong hands tight, and slowly Charles relaxed enough that his head stopped spinning. It wasn't a panic attack, but it could have become one.

Next time, maybe it will be... What will I do then?

"Look, I know I'm not exactly an - an authority on safe and consensual sex, but..."

Kit massaged his palm absentmindedly, kneading the muscles at the base of his thumb. It was relaxing, a pinpoint to focus his attention on, gather up his frayed thoughts.

"Charlie, even if you got off - it doesn't mean you said yes to everything. Doesn't mean you wanted it, or that it was your fault."

"Do you really believe that?"

"I don't know if I believe it, okay, but it's the truth! Sometimes we gotta repeat the truth to ourselves until we believe it. I know it's true. You're smart - haven't you read about this stuff?"

"I mostly read about chemistry..."

"God, you're hopeless. Sorry - didn't mean that. But I meant what I said before - you are not to blame. You are - you're okay."

"Maybe you should stay home from school tomorrow? Are you sure you're alright?"

"Oh goody, school. No, staying home won't be a problem - I'm suspended, remember?"

"Oh, no! I forgot, but you never told me why. Are you really? What happened?"

"I hurt some people, and I paid for it."

"What do you mean?"

"Naw, it's nothing. They're talking shit and being assholes, spreading rumours about me."

Charles blinked. "What? How - what are they saying?"

"That I'm sleeping with everyone. Well, my classmates and teacher. I suppose it's no lie...just exaggerated. They're trying to shame me. I don't care what those idiots think, but the school might toss me out for it. I've got a bad track record."

You were doing what? But more importantly...

"They can't do that!"

"Other schools have. I'm the problem." 

"We both know that's - that's nonsense!" Charles looked grim and agitated. "We'll see about that! Not if I have anything to say about it..."

He was about as angry and determined as Kit had ever seen him, clenching his fists. When he started to get up the teen made a noise of protest, gently pushing him back down.

"C'mon, rest will you..." He tried to tuck the blankets in around him before giving up and flopping back down.

"First thing tomorrow, we are going to your school."

We'll show them. 

"I'm going to stop being such a crappy uncle and make sure that school knows it  cannot treat you like this."

"You're not such a bad uncle."

"You have no other uncles to compare me with."

"True. I'll give you that. But for what it's worth...I would still pick you. Over anyone else."

Eventually, exhaustion and pain meds won out and they fell asleep, curled up side by side, foreheads almost pressed together, knees drawn up, mirrors of each other, breathing the same air. 

Charles listened to Kit's quiet breaths as they evened out, protectiveness swelling in his chest. He was not alone any more. He had a family - a nephew and a friend - and he was going to look out for him, no matter what.

Kit fell asleep thinking about the future. If there really was a way ahead, where did it lead? If he was going to stick around, try to live a full life - what would he do with it? 

What do you want, Kit?

All his anger and pain, he needed to turn it to something. Into something.

What was that old quote?

What will you do, with your one wild and precious life? 

Ugh, seriously, he'd been studying too much.

If he had a life ahead, even a short one, what did he want to make of it? Kit didn't want to hurt others, like he had before -

I want to help people.

Not just survive day to day. He wanted to make a difference...to save someone, help someone.

Just once. Even just one person, if I could do good, instead of hurting – then I –

He knew – was sure – that nothing could redeem him. But that didn't mean he could give himself a free card not to try.

I don't know if you can ever make up for certain things. But while we're alive, we have to try, right?

Try to help instead of hurt.

If Kit was going to live, going to try and save himself and pull himself out of this hole he'd dug himself into, he might as well have a goal: something to strive for and make it worth it.

One day he would help someone like his mom. Help someone like himself.

One day he would be like the paramedics, doctors, and nurses that had brought her back from the brink of death when he was eleven.

One day he would not be too late.

He was alive, and Charlie was alive, and that was enough. The rest they could deal with. There was a way forward - there had to be. 

Kit sighed, and when the breath left his body, he lowered his last metaphorical walls, letting the defences fall away before the gentle creature resting in front of him, leaving him bare.

Ultimately, he couldn't love by halves.

I love you, he thought to Charlie, curled up in front of him, face young and vulnerable in sleep. 

Coming so close to losing him - holding his hand in the car, his warm sweat-damp hand, seeing Hunter point that knife at him - had made some things crystal clear. Dragged them out into the merciless light. 

There was no going back now, no more running away. Maybe there hadn't been for a while. Maybe that ship had sailed when Kit had decided to return to him after their fight in the laboratory, after he'd found out what Charlie did for a living.

I - 

I love - 

I love you. 

The next morning Charles woke Kit up and nagged him into putting on a school uniform and eating a granola bar before bundling him into the car. 

School problems were something concrete, something he could deal with. Not mystical, not - sinister or deadly. 

His head hurt, his body ached - but his mind was clear and focused today, the haze of yesterday gone. 

But as they drove towards the school, they passed by a street Charles recognized with a jolt. The last time he'd seen it he had been standing on the sidewalk, yelling straight out into the air and scaring passers-by, he recalled. 

And suddenly he knew what he had to do. 

With a screech, he swerved into the street and pulled up on the curb. 

"Kit - um - there's something I've got to do!"

"What, all of a - "

"I'll just be a minute! Please, wait here!"

He ran inside, sprinting heedlessly up the stairs and skidding to a halt outside his front door, bracing his hands on his knees while he pressed the doorbell, heart pounding. 

When no-one answered, he pressed it again, biting his lip. It was early - too early for the bar to be open.

He should be home.

Finally, the door swung open to a very annoyed-looking Amos who must have been up working late the evening before and was now wearing a robe over jewel-tone pyjamas, glare morphing into surprise when he saw who was standing outside his door.

"I'd like to accept your dinner invitation," Charles said breathlessly.

Then he launched himself into Amos's arms and kissed him.