Warning: Violence involving guns and fairly explicit sexual situations. Also a Stug breakup and references to their relationship - nothing much, just a few lines here and there.

Title ripped straight from the song Home Again by Michael Kiwanuka, his fantastic album was my writing soundtrack on this one.

"Brendan-"

He can hardly process the scene in front of him, doesn't know where to look first, Steven, the gun, Walker, eyes flitting quickly between all three.

He inches closer on his crutches until Walker tells him to stop, tosses them aside and raises his arm in front of Steven - for what good it'll do.

The look in Walker's eyes is intense and unwavering, his demeanor calm and furious; he looks like he was born to do this, born to kill in cold blood. Brendan has no doubts about if anymore, he just hopes he has enough when on his side to come up with some kind of plan.

"Why are you doin' this?"

Walker gaze shifts to Brendan and he dreads those next words.

"He killed my brother."

"No, please," Steven pleads, voice shaking and terrified. The sound of it tears through Brendan, shaking off the last of his numb horror and spurring him into action. He knocks Steven over and lunges for Walker, gets his hands around the gun and pulls it in the opposite direction to the boy lying on the ground.

A shot fires and ricochets off the brick and his heart lurches, the sound piercing and making his head ring. It shocks them both into stillness but Walker recovers half a second before Brendan and spins out of his reach. He does the first thing he can think of and throws himself to the floor in front of Steven, one hand up like it might stop bullets.

"Get out the way, Brendan!" Walker spits, eyes wild, all his composure lost.

Brendan says nothing, doesn't, can't, will not move. Steven trembles beneath him and he wills the bullet to come, ready to take it and finally end everything, to give Steven back everything that Brendan took from him.

Moments pass and they stare at each other, a stalemate, until suddenly Walker lowers the gun and looks down at the ground.

"Always know, all of this is because of what you've done," he says softly, his face full of awe. Brendan thinks, what the Hell is going on, no way, that can't be it, but then he feels it; the warm touch of thick liquid against his hand. He looks down, down at the place Walker's staring at, and sees a pool of red growing under his fingers.

He's frozen, stunned and entranced with the way the blood flows and spreads. He looks up, dazed, to see Walker's retreating figure and it's a choice between chasing after him and making the bastard pay and staying right here by Steven's side.

It's not really a choice at all.

Steven's shaking, violently now, and his breath is wheezing and laboured. Brendan whips out his phone with clumsy hands and quickly calls an ambulance, tosses it to one side and kneels over the prone body.

"A few minutes Steven, it's okay, you just gotta stay with me for a few minutes," he whispers, tucking one hand under Steven's head and gripping one of his hands with the other. He's already so cold and when Brendan presses his lips to Steven's cheek he feels eyelashes flutter against his face.

He leans back and sees that Steven's fading.

"No, no no no no," he moans, shakes him until he opens his eyes again, "don't you dare, not now, not after everything, look at me."

Steven does, eyes glazed with pain and shock but he's focused on Brendan.

"Don't take your eyes off me," he says firmly, shuffling lower so he's practically laid at the side of him.

He feels Steven squeeze his hand weakly. His throat aches with all the things he wants to say right now but can't because it would sound too much like a goodbye. He prays for the time to say them later; prays with the promise that he won't waste anymore if he gets it.

"We've been in this for two years, please, please," he pleads in a broken whisper, "just give me a few more minutes."