They sat for a long while, just being together, a warm and solid presence by each others' sides, lost in thought or not thinking at all. Then conversing in soft tones about moving, logistics, practicalities. 

Finally they roused enough make some food. The afternoon had slipped away into dinnertime, sun standing low.

Neither were great at cooking, but they managed to boil some pasta and heat up tomato sauce from a jar. Kit pulled out green beans and garlic bread from the freezer, and they prepared the meal together. After eating in front of the TV they cleaned up, all in silence.

"...How did you know?" the teenager asked at last, looking uncharacteristically embarrassed.

"Know...?"

"About...what I meant. And what to say. I mean, I just - er - jumped you like that."

Charles cleared his throat, keeping his gaze on the plates he was putting away, "...I just, um, felt it? Intuitively? I didn't think - I just knew that I loved you like family, and thought that's what I needed to show you, so that you would never think you had to offer me anything in return. 

"I didn't think you didn't really wanted to - kiss me," 

"Well." Kit paused. "You look like my mom. That's not a turn-on. For me."

"Please note that I'm being very kind and making absolutely no references to a certain greek tragedy or the late Sigmund Freud." Charles smiled. "And no offence, but you're not my type. Putting aside...everything."

"Oh, ha-ha."

"I prefer guys who are taller than me."

Kit grinned at that. "How shallow. Also, if we're moving onto mommy issues, I don't think you need to be throwing any stones in that particular glass house."

"You may have a point. I - " Charles stopped. 

"Don't really remember my father either. I suppose Kitty must have. She was older."

His nephew studied him. "Yeah. He was called Christopher, like me, wasn't he?"

"Yes."

"...She told me that she used to run out with you when he was drunk, take you to the playground. Stay for hours, long past bedtime. But then on his good days, he'd put on 80's rock and swing the two of you around, serve sundaes for dinner, laugh and make up games, stuff like that. She'd play me those songs, sometimes."

He paused, shifting. "I'll play them for you, if you like."

The blond's smile turned sad and searching as he looked down at his hands. "That sounds lovely."

By some silent agreement, they both went to bed early, a muted documentary filling the TV screen.

Kit hadn't gotten much sleep the night before. He'd been worried about Charlie, not that he would have ever admitted it - and his nightmares had been worse than usual when he had the apartment to himself. So he'd stayed up watching movies.

He suspected his uncle hadn't gotten much sleep either, but that was another thing he'd refrain from voicing.

When they finally burrowed down for the night, back to back in front of the couch like kids at a slumber party, curtains drawn to shut out the evening light, Kit started talking. 

He was curled up on his side with an arm on top of the blanket, cradling it to his chest. 

"How can you be so forgiving?" he said out loud, speaking into the darkness. "About...what happened with Hunter. When he might have killed you."

The memory alone sent a chill up his spine, made his words hushed with fear about what might have been. 

Tonight, they had made their makeshift bed where they could watch the door and stay close to each other. 

It felt safer that way. No-one could come in unnoticed. 

The boy supposed they would have their own rooms again in their new rental. Charlie had managed to find a place that they could move into quickly - well, actually Kit had found a few online, and instructed his uncle to call the relevant landlords. 

The one they'd settled on was small and in poor repair, but they should be able to afford it for a while even if Charlie couldn't find work right away. 

But while they were still sleeping here, they wanted to stay together. Kit slept better when he could hear his uncle's soft breathing, could fall asleep with his familiar scent in his nostrils. 

When he knew that he was right there, alive and well.

At his words, Charlie turned over, his fingers rising to trace patterns lightly over Kit's shoulder blades - probably formulas, Kit thought drily, knowing him. He hadn't found a job yet, but that interview was promising.

"I mean, when I think of him hurting you, Charlie - " he continued.

"I don't need revenge, not when I have you here," the engineer said gently.  

"You're alive. And I'm fine. I feel so blessed, honestly...just to have this. Another chance, a future... Besides, now the world knows what he did, what his family's company is doing. That's a bit of justice."

Another chance. A future, Kit thought.

"They'll weasel out of it, with their lawyers and stuff," he grumbled. 

"Maybe," Charlie conceded. "But it's something. Pursuing revenge further...would just hurt us too. I feel like, I - I just want to start over. With you...and Amos."

He sighed, and Kit felt the air ruffle the fine hairs at the back of his neck. "Are you looking forward to the farewell party at the bar this weekend?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe yes?"

"Yes, maybe."

I'm especially looking forward to having a chat with a certain bartender.

They had decided to visit the bar one last time before moving out. It wasn't really a party - they were just going to stop by on Saturday to say their goodbyes. 

Visiting a pub when you were trying to quit drinking was objectively a terrible idea, but they both needed the closure. It was worth a quick visit before they sold most of Charlie's possessions and moved across town.

And the werewolf still wanted to confront Zach about why he'd lied earlier. 

Kit was sure his uncle would still see Amos, now that they were apparently dating - and that he might relapse and visit other bars as he struggled to recover. But they would be living far away, so it would be somewhere else. 

The future...their future...

What do you want, Kit?

Drinking and sleeping around until he turned 18 and then taking a minimum wage job somewhere, if he lived that long...

No. 

That had been the plan once, but Kit could do something more than that. He wanted to do something more than that. He wanted to move forward.

I have to decide to make my life worth living through the choices I make from now on, the werewolf thought. 

He wanted to help people if he could, people like his mother and himself.

Not from some naive desire to save the world - or a hopeless bid for atonement - no, just from a need to be useful. To do something worthwhile. Something good for someone. If he could just help one person, maybe he would feel better...

Or maybe not.

But there was only one way to find out. Starting with Charlie - his uncle would need his support while he tried to help himself, while he fought to stay sober. 

Kit had promised to take care of him. They had both made mistakes, tried, failed each other, tried again.

I ran out. I came back. I wasn't too late. Not this time. 

They had met halfway - sort of - on the curb at dawn, stripped of their individual deceptions, lies and disguises. And at last they'd stood together, fought together.

Tomorrow night they were going to Amos's bar for the last time, to say their farewells. Kit would have the chance to confront Zach...and decide whether he wanted to take him up on the offer of help dealing with his unsavoury creditors.

He turned over towards his uncle so that they were face to face, curled up on their sides, foreheads almost touching.

"I... I used to think it was better to hurt others than let them hurt you," Kit admitted.  "But I don't want to be that person anymore, Charlie. I - "

Drawing in a shaky breath, the teen tucked one hand in underneath his face and reached the other out to touch Charlie's, feeling the silky hair over his warm cheek.

"If I was going to live... I mean, I've been thinking. About the future."

"Yes?"

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, he drew back slightly so that he could see Charlie's face more clearly in the half-light. Blinking slowly, Kit could feel his lashes brush the delicate skin underneath his eyes, damp.

"I want to help people, if I can," he whispered, almost like a confession, like letting slip something shameful.

"I don't think I can make up for the stuff I've done. Don't think I can be redeemed, or any shit like that. Just want to...do something good instead of destroying things. For someone, anyone. Become a - a nurse or EMT or something. ...What do you think?"

Charlie smiled a watery smile, and he half-hid his face in the blanket in an attempt to keep Kit from noticing.

"I think that would be wonderful."

Charles let the comfortable silence fan out around them, drifting.

Kit was the one who broke it again, rolling onto his back and tucking his hands in underneath his head, staring up at the dark ceiling as he spoke.

"I said no more secrets."

"...Hm?"

"And you asked 'bout my childhood."

"Oh. Yes."

"You know I used to be in the system, right?"

He nodded, wide awake. "They told me..."

"Showed you the file?"

Another nod.

"I already knew how to keep an eye on people, from growing up with mom. But when I was in care, that's when I learnt how to use it. Not just spot who was interested in me or a threat, but take advantage of it too. Use it to..."

"...Manipulate people?"

Kit scoffed. "As if I could. No, to - survive. Just to...just because when you got very little to work with, you need to work it hard. Use what you have. My looks and - I don't know - shamelessness."

"Fearlessness."

"Well, that's what I had. That's what I used."

"You have more than that. You're kind, I know you are, you're so sweet sometimes - "

"Equally nasty others - "

"And strong and capable and you pick things up quickly and remember them and oh God you're perceptive sometimes, and funny and smart - "

Kit clapped a hand over his uncle's mouth in a sudden movement that surprised them both. His eyes were wide.

"...D-don't," he said, clearing his throat, a little breathless. "Uh, just, stop it will you?" 

They stared at each other for a moment in the gloom and Kit dropped his hand slowly. 

"I had my looks and I used them. So what? You use what you've got. You do what you can. Or you'll sink and drown. No-one is going to..."

Save you, Charles completed Kit's trailed-off sentence in his mind.

I have been waiting, Charles thought. Most of my life. Passive, letting strangers pick him up like a coin off the sidewalk. Anxious, but hopeful. Waiting.

While Kit has been fighting, hasn't he? 

Fighting for himself and Kitty. And all the while - at least for the last few years - Charles could have been by their side. Instead of letting himself be led and doing nothing. 

"In a new family, there were sort of two main strategies. Either become whatever they want - walk the dogs, babysit, clean the house, smile, go to church, whatever. Or...become invisible," Kit went on, speaking in a low, even tone, like a narrator. Like thinking aloud. 

"So they don't even notice you're there, or care - 'cause they get their money anyway. And you get peace."

"That sounds reasonable..." Charles mumbled. 

"Sure, but it's easier said than done. How long can you act perfect before you crack? Or how long can you live like a ghost?"

"I - I suppose."

"Different kids played it differently, more or less on purpose. Some were real obedient, others made trouble. Some were beyond functioning or caring."

He paused, pursing his lips as if pursuing a particular memory. 

"One girl told me her usual thing was to break down her guardians' self-esteem, then offer conditional affection in return for them doing stuff for her. Like, the worse they felt, the more they needed her to love and validate them - and the more power she got, the more security."

"Sounds awful..."

"Lots of things are. But yeah, she was a psycho. Amazing in bed, though."

"Oh, you didn't?"

Kit laughed, then grew serious. 

"...How bad do you think you can be and still be okay?" he whispered. "How broken?"

"You're not br - okay, okay," he held up his hands in a placating gesture, "I...think we can try. We can't ever really know the answer to that question, but we can keep trying. To become okay. To mend.

"And when is someone so bad they can't be redeemed? I think...again, we can try to make amends. We'll never know if it's enough. But we can try."

The werewolf nodded, regarding him. "I tried to go with the second strategy," he said eventually. 

"Be invisible. But I couldn't stand to be...for it to be like I didn't exist, like I might as well be dead and no-one would notice. It would have been smarter to keep my head down but I needed to..."

He sighed, searching for the right words, frowning.

"Exist," Kit hissed. 

"Some kids just sort of drifted," he added with a mirthless twist to his mouth. "Hoping for someone to take them under their wing, searching for an empty space to fill."

He huffed in annoyance. "That's like throwing yourself on the mercy of the world - rarely a good idea. They're easy prey. Vulnerable. You need a strategy to survive."

"And what was your strategy?"

"I wasn't looking for mercy. And I couldn't stand being invisible." He paused again, contemplative. 

"But I couldn't stay golden for long either."

"...What did you do?"

But Charles thought he knew. He both dreaded the confirmation and ached for it.

Their words vibrated between them, hanging in the air in this moment out of time. Night-time often felt that way - a time out of time, a space out of space. With different rules, where things could be said that couldn't be voiced in the daylight.

"I seduced them all."

Kit could feel the hardwood floor underneath them through the mattress and throws, and if was so quiet, as if they were the only two people awake in the world. 

The TV had gone black so the only light was reflected in through the window, the glow of an orange street lamp from below. 

"Did they - " Charlie hesitated, "Did they make you...?"

"No. Not them. I...started it."

"...Why?"

"I didn't want to live with them but I had to, so - I needed some kind of power over them, like they had over me. I needed control, I - "

Needed to carve out a place there, my own place, not the one they'd designated, even if it was ugly and - shameful and illegal and they wanted it but thought it was wrong - I craved that power - that I could make them want and be ashamed - 

"If I could make them want me, need me, or even hate me, then they had to acknowledge that I existed. They had to know I was real, I was there, I had made a dent in their lives. They had to deal with me."

"That's not - I mean, that's not how it w-works though," the blond stammered. "I think, since you were a child, it was their responsibility to - to not do that even if you - not matter what you did - "

"Some were minors like me. The siblings. So called.

"It was important for me to initiate, before they got the chance to. I just wanted to...take something from them. Some control, or - " He snorted mirthlessly. 

"The parents anyway. The older kids, well, that was more to have fun and let off some steam. Forget about everything else for a bit, just feel good."

Kit sighed and flung one arm over his eyes.

"I wasn't, y'know, innocent. Before. It's not like I planned to sleep with them at first, but I just sort of...one after another, I did."

As a distraction, because it felt good and familiar and I wasn't thinking about after, and I didn't care, and also to be - seen, wanted for something -

"I learnt more about how...what worked and what didn't. I already knew how to keep my eyes open and then I tried to understand what I saw, make use of it."

The other man let him talk, stroking his hair in a soothing way that made Kit feel a bit like a cat being petted - but with Charlie, he didn't mind that. It was nice.

"You know, I'd been..."

Swallowing around the bitter burn in his throat, he tried to say it, spit it out, but that one word was lodged in his throat like some physical obstruction, like something he could choke on. Kit couldn't get it out, so he substituted another word.

" – fucked, before. So then, in those families and in the group home, I just used it to...make them need me. It wasn't my first time or anything. But it's when I started to - " he hesitated, glancing sideways at Charlie.

"Use it," he finished. "Like a - weapon. Or tool. For power and leverage."

He paused. "After a while I kinda felt like...if they didn't want me that way, it was because there was something wrong with me. Because I didn't have anything they wanted."

Charlie opened his mouth to speak but Kit made a sharp gesture, a silent plea for him to wait.

"Then I realized that I needed it. That it was my curse. Everyone in our family has something, right? My mom had drugs, your dad had booze - 

"Don't think you can run, baby. It'll find you. No matter where you go or how fast you are, you can't get away from yourself. That's what she used to say."

His uncle made to speak again and Kit stopped him. He had to get this out now.

"Yeah, I know you want us to fight it. I agreed, didn't I? I want to try. I want to be free of it. But back then it felt so ironic.

"That I was using it to get power over them, and all the while, it was gaining power over me. Until I needed sex, craved it, couldn't stay away. Do you know what it's like to enjoy something but hate that you can't resist the pull?" He laughed, voice raspy around the edges. 

"Or...to need something that you know's just gonna leave you feeling worse?"

"Yes," Charlie answered quietly.

"D'you enjoy drinking? Even when you know it's fucking you up?"

"...Yes. It feels good and terrible at the same time. And the pain that comes with it, I...feel like I deserve it."

"I know. I prefer all good things to have a painful edge. Makes them feel more real."

How much of it is pain I enjoy, and how much of it is pain I think I deserve?

"When you were little..." his uncle inquired softly. "Living with Kitty. Someone...hurt you?"

Kit focused on the soft whoosh of breath in and out of his nose. Calm. Slow. I don't care. I don't remember. 

No more secrets...

"Not...often. Wasn't safe at home, but it was hardly better outside at night, where we lived. I was pretty fast, though. Kept my guard up, so. Not often. And most strangers are actually pretty nice, or at least indifferent."

He touched his own face with his fingertips.

"They used to say it was because of my looks. You're so pretty, they'd say, that's why I can't resist, it's your own fault... Bullshit, yeah?"

Charlie nodded mutely.

"But I used to hate my face, when I was a kid. Until I got older and decided, screw it, lets use it then. Let's use it against them. Let's use it to get what I want."

If it's a weapon, let's wield it. If it's going to hurt anyone, it shouldn't be me - it should be them.

Charles couldn't think of what to say. He reached a hand towards Kit's cheek, took one of his wayward curls and wound it around his finger.

"You like touching my hair," the youth observed.

"You touch mine all the time."

"Do I?"

But he immediately stretched out the hand underneath his head and brushed Charles's hair out of his forehead, then pinched one of the silky strands between thumb and forefinger.

"Soft."

"Yours too."

Kit's hair was thicker than his uncle's - less wispy - but just as silky. It felt anchoring to touch it - to hold onto him in some way, feel that he was really there, even if Charles closed his eyes for a moment and couldn't see him.

To know that he was not alone anymore.

Kit rolled onto his back again, staring up at the ceiling, but kept his hand next to Charles's face, almost touching him.

"Was she still using, when you were born?" the chemist asked. "I know she was when...my mother threw her out."

"Uh-huh. She wasn't so bad until I started school, got worse after that. Was clean for a bit after she found out about the cancer and got custody back. She tried. Did you know I was born with abstinence? They had to wean me off it at the hospital."

"Isn't that dangerous...? I mean, can it, um, hurt the baby...?"

"Heroin? Duh, yeah. With other stuff, it varies. But yeah. It can impact development and growth and stuff."

"Is, um, that why you're, well, a bit...?"

"Naw, I don't think that's why I'm small for my age. Malnutrition in childhood can do that, and besides, my mom was short too. I'm about her height. Anyway."

"...I'm sorry."

"And I'm well aware that it could be worse. So no pity now."

"It's not pity. I'm apologising."

"For what?"

"For not being there. I want to - I... I should have been there much earlier. I turned eighteen six years ago, when you were ten. I'm so sorry. And..." he looked down at his hands,

"...These sound like just more empty words, I know. But for what it's worth - I'm sorry."

Kit looked at him sideways, out of the corner of his eye, mulling it over. Finally he smiled, crooked, jagged - but genuine. 

"Better late than never, right? You were a kid back then, and had it rough in your own way."

His eyes slid away, staring into space, and he frowned. 

"I can hold a grudge you know, when someone hurts...somebody I love. Like, I'll never forgive your mom for what she did to mine. Never. But, at the same time..."

He sighed. "I've been thinking over what you told me. I can't keep holding onto grudges on people who've hurt me, 'cause...it's just not worth it. Better to let it rest as long as they do too, and move on, right?

"Charlie, you haven't actively hurt me. Others, yeah, you might have. I'm not saying you're in the clear about that. But now, you're here for me. 

"And when I was a kid, you did nothing wrong - you just weren't there. And it wasn't your job to be, so. I'm not mad."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Life's too short."

Charles recalled what his sister had been like back when he knew her. She had hugged him fiercely sometimes and shoved him away at others, mercurial, sharp, and ruthless like her son, but nastier. 

Kitty was more selfish than Kit is, he thought. From what he remembered, she'd been tough and passionate, playful at times, but without her son's compassion.

"I should have been there. When you grew up. I'm so sorry, Kit. I'm sorry. I was frightened."

"Of your mom?"

"I think... God, I think I was even more afraid of Kitty. That she wouldn't want me.... That she'd blame me for what happened. It's so stupid, but I was paralysed by the thought that I would reach out, and then neither of you would want me in your lives."

He shifted, trying to turn his face away. "She sent me a picture of you, when you were a baby. Like a postcard, and I found it after school and hid it... I thought about you both. All those years. I'm sorry."

Kit nudged his legs with his toes under the blankets, searching for something cheerful to say.

"We would have wanted you. I guess a lot of fears are like that - unrealistic. Like being afraid of showing up to work naked or something - I mean, how often does that actually happen?"

Charles tried to smile. "Or when you dream you're about to fall off a tall building, or being chased by a pack of wolves..."

Kit flinched. "Don't even."

"Oh, right - wait. Have you actually...?"

"Never mind. I, ah - " his nephew paused, staring up at the ceiling and pursing his lips as if he was searching for words to put onto something he'd only ever thought about before.

"When I lived with her. Kitty. I was thinking how every day back then, I would check for the signs. Little things. Just...a wrapper on the floor, maybe. Were the lights on? What did it smell like, what were the sounds? Things like that. Everything meant something."

"I...can relate to that."

Charles remembered pausing to listen every time he came in the door as a child, the way Kit was describing. Remembered watching his mother's – even his sister's – face for any flicker of emotion.

Often that was the only warning. The only hint as to whether you were getting a slap or a hug.

"It's useful now, though," Kit continued. "All that practice reading people."

"Yes," his uncle agreed.

He still used it too, although not nearly as effectively as his nephew seemed to. But he wondered if it had been worth the cost - if acquiring that particular skill had been worth the price they'd paid.

Why had they both had to grow up that way?

What is the way forward? Can we ever really heal? Charles wondered. 

He didn't know.

"I was being a hypocrite when I got so pissed at you for making drugs. Because I bought for my mom. I carried. I hate myself for it and I had this idea - don't know where I got it - that you were better than that. Sheltered, except for you drinking problem... 

"I mean your mom kicked mine out to protect you! You had a job and a degree!

"I just...made an image of you in my head. And I was angry when it shattered. Thought I could see right through you, but I'm the one that was blind. Didn't see myself either, didn't want to face myself - was just angry and numb and full of self-loathing..."

"And...and now?" Charles asked. 

"Now... I'm determined to do something with what I have left. With my life. Something useful. And to hold on to the family I've found - you.

"And maybe... Stop berating myself for what happened when she died. One day. Even though I'll never forget it."

He swallowed. "Because life is just like that."

"Like what?"

"Currents. Pushing us around, throwing us against rocks and cliffs and stuff. Going fast, and we can't always see where we're headed, or steer. One day we'll go under."

"What do we do then?" 

"We hold on. We swim." Kit smiled grimly.

"Together."

After Charlie had fallen asleep in front of the couch, Kit got up again. 

The images of his mom's face were too precent, too close to shut out after talking so much about his childhood - he needed a smoke before he tried to push them away enough to go to bed. 

He walked over to the window, opening up on the bare, urban street. The sun had disappeared beneath the horizon and the air was cooling, the breeze soft as he quietly pushed the window up, leaning against the sill.

Drawing fresh air into his lungs, he noted how it mingled with Charlie's scent, with his own. 

Clean and soft from Charlie, with faint waft of perfume from his hair products, almost lacking the smell of alcohol that used to cling to him much more strongly. 

Kit's own scent was a trace of salt from the sweat on his skin, a hint of cigarette smoke that clung to his clothes and fingers, and something earthy and faintly spicy-sweet underneath...

The only sounds were the soft breeze and Charlie's even softer, even breathing.

No hint of her medicines. Her raspy laugh, her wet, crackling cough. Her harsh words and nimble, gentle hands, or the cloying sickly-sweet scent of smoke and the nutritional shake he fed her...

No trace of her at all.

He remembered holding her in his arms, feeling the breeze on his skin, singing to her as her laboured breaths evened out into sleep.

Looking out the window, and he could almost hear her raspy laugh on the wind. Almost feel her dry, chapped hand in his, where he held a smoke of the brand she favoured. Cheap and unfiltered.

"You were a shitty mom..." Kit told the sky, voice breaking, the faint orange light still visible at the horizon, a memento of the already set sun. 

A thin tendril of smoke curled up from the cigarette hanging from his fingers and dispersed in the air in front of his face.

"I don't know why I miss you so much. God, I would give anything..."

He shut his stinging eyes, and through the closed lids he could still see the light from the sun, as a red, glowing smudge, imprinted on his retinas.

Keeping them pressed shut he started to hum, the sound deep and low in his throat, morphing into a simple melody almost without his permission, all of his twisted emotion, his grief, slipping out as it sometimes did when he sang...

He hadn't meant to sing that song, but as Kit breathed out, the words escaped with the air, soft as a whisper, as he held the image of her - of his mother, of Kitty Callaghan - before his eyes.

Soft and low when the evening comes,

Holding you sleeping in my arms,

I remember, there was a time

When I used to sing for you...

He stood for a while longer, breathing, singing for her.

Then Charlie shifted in his sleep, sighing softly, pawing at the blanket. Kit turned around to watch him, a small, tender smile spreading across his face without his knowledge.

The glow of love washed over him, overwhelmed him, excruciating and healing at the same time, nearly drawing a startled gasp from Kit before he bit it down.

If there had been any remnants of numbness left in him, they were gone now. His entire being felt like one raw nerve, quivering and flayed open, raw.

He felt like he should resent the vulnerability of love and yet...

Kit stood there and let it wash over him. Warm, glowing. A ray of sunshine to bask in, curl up in. After all the pain and anguish, this felt like a healing balm. Just letting himself feel...love. Letting himself feel being loved.

Being cared for. Being family.

He loved Charlie, and he had loved his mother. He didn't have to forgive them everything (sometimes he still felt so angry) but he could love them anyway. No matter what they'd done. 

Nothing was ever going to change that. And it was okay - he was allowed to. 

Kit could love her without following in her footsteps. And he could resent her at the same time, and himself, and still try to forgive them both. 

I remember, there was a time...

When I used to sing for you...

Charles stirred, hearing the last tones of a soft...lullaby? 

He heard the padding of light feet, a rustle of blankets and then a small, warm, and comforting shape was pressed lightly against his back.

Shifting onto his back, Charles turned his head towards the window and noticed Kit's hand lying, palm-up, next to his head. Without thinking he nudged his own palm against it, offering wordless comfort, still half asleep. 

After a long, still moment, Kit's little finger twitched and he moved to wrap it around Charles's, locking their hands together, squeezing.

They lay in silence, connected by blood and pain and this one faint touch, skin against skin.

For the first time since Kitty walked out of his life, Charles didn't feel at all alone with his despair. Instead he felt as if he had someone who truly understood him, shared a mutual past and heritage, and stood by his side - them against the world.

He had looked up to his sister and idealised her, he realised, despite her volatile nature. 

Had looked past her flaws, ignored her sometimes hurtful behaviour because she also had loving moments, times when it felt as if she was the only one in the world who understood him. 

That had been understandable when Charles was just a child, but not since he became an adult. Kitty had left a mark on both of them, one that tied them together.

But her blood and her love was not all that connected them, not anymore.

Kit was Charles's nephew. And possibly his first real friend. His only family - his chosen family, blood or no blood.

From now on, he would stand by him no matter what.

Kit will never be alone again, feel abandoned again, as long as I am alive, Charles vowed to himself, as he slipped back into sleep, the teenager's breathing slowly evening out to match his. 

They fell asleep side by side, stars twinkling into sight outside the open window. 

(Tracy Chapman - Sing For You)