"No, just the information." Amos paused. "Yes - in return, I will."

He paused, listening, and the wolf did the same, frozen.

"Hunter Harwell," he said, and Kit stiffened where he stood. "Understood. Thank you."

Hanging up, he slowly lit a cigarette, the butt glowing orange in the black-blue-purple darkness of the alley. He made no move to put it to his lips. 

"Christopher..." he said slowly, sighing. "Kit. How much did you hear?"

Heart hammering, Kit let the door fall closed as he stepped out towards him.

"Enough."

"Hm." Amos glanced at the burning smoke and ground his shoe into the tarmac absentmindedly, as if he was stubbing one out. "Are you planning on sharing it with your uncle?"

"Are you?"

"I wanted to avoid giving the impression that I'm interfering on his behalf."

"Why do it then?" the teen demanded. 

"I've done nothing yet. Only taken steps to ensure that should I ever need to do something, I'll have the upper hand. After all - if you arrive at the battlefield unsure of winning, you have already lost."

"That from Art of War, or some shit?"

Amos hummed again. "I prefer to be prepared. I did not like to see my lover threatened. But I won't presume to take action unless he asks for my assistance."

"I guess that seems...sensible. I don't want to worry him either, but - "

"But?"

"I won't lie to him. You shouldn't either - he's not as fragile as he seems. And Amos - "

Kit looked up at him. He clenched his jaw, glancing away. "Give me a light?"

"You shouldn't smoke."

He raised his arm anyway, ember glowing between his fingers, and Kit leaned forward, tucking the rolled paper cylinder between his lips and inhaling until it caught flame.  

"Some things I can let go," Amos said quietly, as Kit pulled back, eyes on him, and took a deep drag on his cigarette, 

"But somebody hurting my partner like that, I can't forgive."

The boy said nothing. Partner. That sounded serious. It meant Amos wasn't toying with Charlie, and confirmed his observations of the two of them. It wasn't some fling...

"You weren't supposed to find out."

The teenager finished smoking, thinking hard, and then threw the butt down and stubbed it out with his foot, copying Amos's earlier motion. They stood side by side, backs agains the cool wall, watching people pass by the mouth of the alley.

"...I'm behind you, actually."

The taller man looked surprised. "Really?"

"You should tell Charlie the truth. But no matter how forgiving he is - I don't believe that motherfucker deserved to get away unscratched either. If you can get him back - good fucking riddance. But, hey -"

He looked up sharply. " - This won't put my uncle in any danger, will it?"

"No," Amos answered. "This is all on me."

"Never endanger him."

"I swear on my life."

The boy nodded. "...Fine then. But tell him." He paused. "Thanks for the light."

You might be...okay.

And he walked away, sneakers scuffing the pavement, heading back inside towards the dark, warm, bustling bar and his uncle, leaving Amos behind outside.

That guy...it was too early to tell. But Kit was starting to feel that maybe he was someone capable of earning his respect. 

Maybe.

A few steps later, Amos caught up with the teenager, walking back inside next to him. He moved silently for someone of his size, with deliberate care. 

"I wouldn't recommend becoming indebted to Zachary," he commented in an even tone as they moved through the stockroom.

So he heard that bit.

"Wasn't planning on it, to be honest." 

"I'm glad." He paused, and Kit glanced up at him, waiting.

"I care about my nephew, but he's planning to follow in his grandfather's footsteps, and I know the dangers of that better than most. I can't stop him, but I'd like to warn you, if you would listen."

The wolf narrowed his eyes, stopping and rounding on him. "Go for it."

"It's not a line of work I'd want my own child involved in. The cost far outweighs the dubious rewards."

"But your nephew, that's fine?"

"He makes his own decisions, as do you. Just...be on your guard."

"Always am." Well, almost always. Usually. Sometimes.

The bar owner nodded. Breathed out a slow, heavy sigh. "I wish you and I had gotten off to a better start."

"...Don't sweat it. I jumped to conclusions 'bout you."

"As did I. I thought you were bratty - "

"Hey, probably was."

"And disrespectful - "

"Definitely was."

"- And vulnerable."

Kit said nothing.

"But once again, I was wrong. I don't see you that way any longer, and I hope we can get along better in the future."

"Have you ever hit someone - in anger?" he asked the older man, pressing his lips together and leaning back against a rack of steel shelfs to watch him. 

If he can offer advice, I can get away with a few impertinent questions. 

The older man was easily twice as broad as him, had to be three times his weight in muscle alone. But Kit wasn't afraid. Recklessness and bravado had carried him through countless situations previously - but now he felt the faint current of his werewolf strength humming in his veins, almost unnoticeable. He could reach for it, reach for curved canines and sharp reflexes. 

Kit liked being a werewolf.

It made him feel powerful in a way he had never known he didn't.

Was this the way adults - tall, strong guys like Amos or even Hunter - felt all the time? Like he could push someone away and be sure it would work?

Like he could trust his body to recover and heal almost any injury?

Except when I faced those other werewolves... 

But hey, how many could there possibly be? Kit would just have to steer clear of them all in the future.

This was him now - not something to deal with, but something to embrace.

Kit decided there and then that he wouldn't trade being a werewolf even if he could. He had accepted it, learnt it, turned it into an advantage and not a hindrance.

It was a part of him, and he had made it his. 

So even here in a dark storeroom with someone he was still figuring out, someone who was older and bigger and used to find him annoying at the very least (though the boy believed that Amos had changed his mind about that), Kit leaned back casually and stared him down. 

His confidence was no longer even partially an act. He knew he could put up a fight, and win, using his wolf traits and newfound control over them. 

"Never in the way you're referring to, Christopher. I've been in fights - fair ones, that the other party initiated. Beyond that I have only ever struck people who asked me to, and never in anger."

"It's difficult for me to...to trust you with him." The admission came grudgingly.

"I understand. But you're aware, aren't you, that it's not up to you what your uncle and I chose to do together."

"...Yeah. I know. But he - he's kind of," Kit coughed into the crook of his elbow, embarrassed, "precious. And, uh, fragile. I mean - right now."

Amos swept his gaze over him, and the boy realized that he had stopped treating him like a kid. He spoke to him like an equal now - had been doing so all night.

Since that day he drove us to the hospital.

"I'm conscious of how fragile and precious the gift of someone's trust is," he replied at last. 

"And despite how it might have seemed to you before - rest assured I do not receive it lightly. If Charlie has chosen to give me his trust, then I intend to treasure it. And give him mine in return."

"You've gotta practice saying 'No!'" Kit exclaimed, slamming his fist down on the bartop. "I've been telling you!"

"I know - I know!" Charlie laughed, and Kit wondered if he had been drinking too - but no, he didn't smell like it. Just swept up in Kit's mood then, and Amos's presence and attention.

Since he came back his phone call and their talk, the older man had been attentive to Charlie, talking to him, introducing him to a couple of the regulars, stroking his knuckles soothingly, leaving his hand on the small of his back.

Little touches - and Kit watched his uncle glow in response, infatuated, leaning closer.

It was only because Amos had been called away to fix some minor bar emergency that Kit was now commanding his full attention. The teen felt the buzz from the absinthe, not enough to make him drunk, not yet, getting there - but for now, just a bit giddy and relaxed.

At that moment, a very drunk guy swerved up to them then, swaying slightly and looking between the two as if he wasn't sure which to hit on. Kit glanced at Charlie out of the corner of his eye and the corner of his mouth turned up, showing a hint of a pointed canine.

Charlie must have realised what he was thinking and looked guilty for the poor man, hesitating before nodding slightly.

As one, they turned on their stools, faced the guy, and shouted,

"No!!!" into his face, before swirling right back around.

Startled, looking around as if he wasn't quite sure what had happened, the man backed away, and Kit threw back his head and laughed.

"That's what I want to hear! You're getting better!" he guffawed, eyes sparkling.

"Do you ever say no, Kit?"

"That's not the point. I can. And, it's not like a little 'please, no' either, that won't work. You've gotta tell them, like you expect they'll obey. And they will."

He shrugged, draining his glass. "Or, if not, just kick them in the nuts and run away."

"You make it sound so easy."

"Not easy. Simple. Different thing. Gotta keep it simple, or you'll forget. Can't remember complex stuff in a moment like that."

He was feeling properly buzzed now, after a few more spiked sodas courtesy of Zach. Elated, still steady but with a cottony softness around him. It was putting some distance between his actions and their consequences.

The young, extra weekend bartender smiled shyly at him as he came to clear the empty glasses away, batting his eyelashes, and Kit rolled his eyes, leaning briefly sideways to bump his shoulder into Charlie's.

"Don't worry. I've got you back," he said. "We'll hold each other up."

Charles swallowed, trying to ignore the smells around him, the sight of all the drinks passing over the counter, in people's hands.

The alcohol called to him, like a yearning, something he could almost taste on the tip of his tongue. Niggling at the back of his mind, insistent, always present. On a bad night, it would be torture, being so close and trying to resist.

Just one... his mind whispered, but Charles knew that if he had just one, he would have more. Have as many as he could before blacking out.

But tonight was a good night, and even thought he felt the pull, he could manage be here for a little while longer without giving in to temptation.

He knew that it was a bad to be here at all, as and alcoholic aiming to quit.

Still - they needed to say goodbye. On Monday they were moving to another part of town, starting a different life altogether, and Charles had no intention of seeking out this place again as a patron.  Both him and his nephew needed some kind of closure.

They could not afford takeout and binge drinking anymore, but Charles was determined to put that money aside for counselling. He had found a few different local support groups.

This night was important not for his recovery as an alcoholic but his recovery as a person. His ability to start over. Turn his sights on the future. Heal.

Charles looked over at the short boy at his side, dark mahogany curls bouncy and wild, and with a wicked grin playing on his lips.

With my family.

"When I was really small, and she was still, uh, okay, she used to put on these old songs sometimes, turn up the volume real high and dance," Kit said to him, raising his voice over the drumming music, over the people pushing up to the bar around them.

"While she was cleaning or cooking... Tried to get me to help with the chores, make it a game."

The young man smiled a little, eyes sliding away, oil on water. He didn't say he missed her, but her brother felt a painful stab through his heart, as if in sympathy. Charles moved his hand so that it rested next to Kit's on the bartop, skin to skin, offering silent comfort.

"You'll have to sing them to me," he said, leaning close so his nephew could hear him over the background noise.

Just then, an intro that Charles recognized started playing, and Kit perked up.

"Hey, I know this song!" he called out, instantly cheerful again, leaning back in his seat, grabbing his wrist and dragging Charles towards him.

I'm a bitch, I'm a lover,

I'm a child, I'm a mother,

I'm a sinner I'm a saint,

I do not feel ashamed -

He got up on his barstool, balancing on the wobbly high thing so that his head stuck up above the crowd, singing and laughing. He was so short that it drew less attention that it might have done with someone else, but people still turned to stare.

"Kit! What are you doing?!" Charles shouted, laughing and trying to tug him down to seating, grabbing his calves to keep him balanced where he stood.

Is he...a bit drunk? Oh no.

"This is my song!" Kit yelled, trying to drag Charles up by the hand, and starting to sing along, perfectly in tune. The blond managed to remain mostly seated, blushing under the stares and surrounded by people, music loud - 

But after a moment of gazing up at Kit, he opened his mouth to join the song, unable to resist the joy and charisma coming of the teen in waves. 

Unable to resist making him happy. 

Charles's voice was sweet and clear, melodious - something like what Kit's might have been if not for his constant smoking.

They harmonised effortlessly and without conscious thought, voices weaving together and rising above the crowd, intertwined.

He suspected that Zach - or someone - must have gotten permission to play more up-beat music than usual. The playlist wasn't exactly modern, but catchy and loud instead of the more mellow and ambient mix of soul and jazz that usually played in the background, mixing popular new songs with older ones that had the bar guests laughing in recognition.

The crowd tonight was thicker, drunker, and he knew they wouldn't stay long past this. 

I'm a bitch, I'm a tease,

I'm a goddess on my knees -

Charles looked up at his nephew, radiant, shining, looking like he had been made to stand up like this, singing freely to a drunk, cheerful crowd.

When you're hurt, when you suffer,

I'm your angel undercover -

"I been numb, I'm revived,

"Can't say I'm not aaalive -

"You know you wouldn't want it aaany other waaay!!!"

Finally he plonked down, out of breath, taking a long drink of his Sprite.

"Haha...It wasn't really my song. She liked it, though. She liked those songs from the '80s and '90s."

"What do you like?"

"I'll listen to anything, 'specially if it's got a catchy beat. 'M not picky."

Flopping back into his seat, Kit flashed a wide crooked grin for Charles alone, sweat sticking a few curls to his face, feet dangling in the air and knees spread wide, one elbow propped up in the bartop.

The blond leaned forward to speak to him, heart squeezing at the sight of him so carefree and gleeful, even for just a few moments.

"I used to like giving up control over my life," he confided, words flowing freely, hoping the younger man was just tipsy, wondering if he was still able to listen and understand. 

"It made me feel less anxious. Less...untethered, like I'd float away or, or, sink into the depths, be lost at sea, and no-one would notice. If someone held my life in their hands, that person could keep me safe, I thought."

Charles swallowed thickly, throat clicking, Adam's apple bobbing up and then down again. 

"But now, I think I'm ready to face my anxiety. I'd rather face it, than leave my life in the hands of someone else. Sex is one thing but life - life's too important to hand over to someone else. I have to decide what to do with it - by myself."

He startled at the feeling of short warm fingers intertwining with his, looking down at their hands. Kit being so open and unguarded with him was still new, especially in public.

"Or I might just wander into something really bad, like I did - and just shrug my shoulders, as if it wasn't my fault. As if I had no say."

The dark-haired boy squeezed his fingers, watching him steadily.

"But I do. It's my life. I need to take it back. I need to own it. I want to."

He glanced shyly at Kit, voice going suddenly from strong to small.

"And I...want to be an uncle you can be proud of, some day."

Kit stared at him - at his round hopeful eyes - and this time it disarmed him. He'd run out of sarcastic remarks and eye-rolls.

"How do you do that?" he demanded, shaking his head.

"Do what?"

"Use those puppy-dog eyes on me. They're my eyes. I have the exact same ones!"

Charlie laughed. "What are you talking about?"

"You don't even know."

You've got me so wrapped around your little finger, and you've no clue...

Kit sighed, chin propped up on one hand, eyes tracing the line of perspiration up the side of his cold glass, feeling a distinct buzz from the absinthe in his veins.

"Charlie, what you said before... 'while ago, 'bout how we could fight the family curse, together. How it's up to us." Chewing the inside of his cheek, he ducked his head. Mumbling a bit. 

"...Yes?"

"I'd like to try that, I think. I'll see a shrink - get counselling, if you will too. 'S nothing I've ever had time or money to really consider, and...even now, I'm scared of trying it, in case it doesn't work on me. In case nothing works, and - and I'm just...too fucked up.

He huffed, looking up and flashing a grin. "But screw that - let's give it a shot!"

Charlie  gazed at him, eyes big and soft. "Yes. Lets."

"I told you - I'm ready to fight it, if you are. I'm ready, Charlie."

The teen belied his cocksure tone by biting his bottom lip.

"I wanna - take control of my life as much as you do. And as for my share of the family curse... I don't wanna stop having sex. But I wanna do it because I want it, and not just to avoid feeling like shit, you know? 

"I don't wanna stop, but - I'd like there to come a time - sometime in the future, when I'm able to do it just for fun. I used to use sex for - for power. And I don't want to do that anymore. I just want it to be...fun, and pleasurable."

"I'm going to try group therapy," the blond said softly. "A A and maybe see a doctor for something to help me through abstinence. Studies find that a combined approach has a better success rate..."

"'Course you'd go for the scientific approach. Well, 't sounds good but I don't think group is for me. Pouring my heart out to a bunch of strangers..."

"People to share with, who understand and support you..."

"Might jus' try m' new school counsellor."

"That sound like a good idea. I'm so proud of you, Kit."

"...Shut up..."

Amos came back, materialising next to Charlie again in his silent imposing way, patrons and newcomers alike parting before him like the frickin' Red Sea. 

Oblivious to the world around them, Kit's uncle melted into his boyfriend's arms, tilting his face up for a slow, lingering kiss. 

Turning away from the tender display, he found himself face to face with Zach once more, lips twisted into an expression good-humoured exasperation that matched the wolf's own. 

It slipped away as their eye-contact caught and held. Kit felt the same desire to taste him well up again, desire burning in him from their earlier conversation, the drinks, the singing and exertion, putting on a show. 

Screw it -

To avoid thinking about Charlie, and because he just wanted to, had wanted to the whole damn evening -

Letting out a low laugh, he reached out and grabbed the other boy by the front of his hoodie, pulling him close. 

Their lips touched almost lightly, Zach's eyes searching his, and then Kit let his eyelids fall closed and felt arms come up around him, fingers splayed over his lower back, and he parted his lips with a low sound, deepening the kiss.

Kit let himself get lost in it, the sweet bitter taste, the heat as Zach caught his lip and bit down, the slick friction of lips and tongues, hard and insistent. 

He didn't want to think, just feel good - forget about everything - 

Shit.

The boy flinched back, putting some distance between them, and shook his head to clear it. He longed to get lost in Zach - in anyone - but that wasn't what he was going to do any more. Who he was going to be.

Old habits die hard, huh?

It would take a lot of work and effort to break these old patterns, clearly.

A different arm slid around his waist - a gentle, tentative one, and Kit sighed and leaned into it, resting against a thin, bony shoulder.  

He closed his eyes to a sliver and drew in Charlie's clean scent, feeling woozy now with drink. 

"I think we're going to head home," the blond said, looking up at Amos while his cool hand brushed the strands out of Kit's face, feeling his sweaty forehead.

"Kit seems a bit tired."

Charlie could probably tell he had been drinking. No - he definitely could, he wasn't an idiot. Likely he'd been too distracted and lovey-dovey to notice before now. 

Kit huffed softly, letting himself rest against the other man in a way he never would with anyone else - not in public, and not without being way drunker than this. 

He thought back to the last time Charlie had looked after him when he had been inebriated... Kit had felt more dead than alive, unsure if he even wanted to wake up, and his uncle had been reluctant and anxious.

Things were so much better now. Despite everything else going on...they had each other. 

When, soon after that, they headed back together and finally curled up in front of the couch, Kit was already half asleep, head lolling. 

After an evening of socialising, singing, talking, and making out - not to mention the generous amount of absinthe Zach had shared with him - he was knackered.

This time, Charlie had gotten Kit home safe and sound.

"You're so sweet when you're sleepy," the blond told him, brushing a lock out of his forehead with a smile.

A retort - 'M not sweet - sprung to mind, but this was Charlie speaking. Instead of snapping, Kit just rolled his eyes, before another yawn interrupted him.

He curled up tighter, drawing his knees up against his chest, and sighed at the feeling of soft, gentle fingers carding through his hair.

"I need t' cut it," he mumbled, "'S a pain in the ass."

"I think this style suits you. But it's what you like that matters."

Opening his eyes, Kit studied the other man's face carefully.

Without thinking, he reached out to trace his index finger over Charlie's softly arched eyebrows, over his pale cheekbones, down the ridge of his button nose. Lastly, he brushed his finger over the petal-pink lips and let it fall.

These features were familiar, but looking at them didn't hurt anymore. Not like it had before. It was bittersweet to note the resemblance but...

Kit saw Charlie there, now. No-one else. 

I just can't love by halves...

The love welled up in him, washed over him, waves of affection and fondness and warmth.

Kit had loved his mother. Their relationship had been violent and tender in equal amounts, ferocious and codependent. They'd hurt each other and helped each other, hated and loved, too alike to do anything else.

And even though Kit and Charlie also depended on each other, and had hurt each other, the warmth in his chest right now felt different. Softer.

It was something glowing, strong, but -

Charlie's gentle smile, hesitant warm hugs, tentative sweet words. It was being cared for. Precious to someone, without feeling diminished. His uncle sometimes spoke of him as a child, but he'd never spoken to him like one, as if he didn't understand. Never made him feel weak or stupid.

Wrapped up in his scent, with their stuff half packed into boxes and suitcases around the living room, Kit felt himself drifting comfortably towards sleep.

Amos had promised to come and help them move, despite the fact that they didn't have much to carry. Most of the stuff they would be selling or giving away, so a few trips with Charlie's car should do it.

New place, new job, new school. But still the two of them, him and Charlie.

No matter how fast you run, you can't escape yourself... the memory of her voice whispered to him. 

I'm not trying to anymore, mom. I'm not running any longer.  

They - both Kit and Charlie - had only just started facing themselves and each other. There was a long, long way to go. A mountain-size hill to climb - one step at a time, one foot in front of the other - and any number of other vague unhelpful platitudes.

But for the first time in a long time, Kit believed with an burning, absolute conviction:

We can do it.

There was a way forward.

(Meredith Brooks - Bitch)