A/N: *stumbles out of the Tardis* No, I'm not a Whovian, but I know what the Tardis is. Anywho, this chapter takes place a few weeks after the previous ones…about two months, I'd say, give or take a few days. Be prepared for most/all future updates to involve a time jump, as I am encompassing the majority of a school year, which would be insanely boring to read. Now, onto the story!

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Easton roamed the wide halls of the medical center, scratching at his bandages. The scars below them were mostly healed with just a few ugly scabs holding on where the cuts had been deepest. He couldn't wait until he could get the wrappings off, but for now, he was just happy to be out of his room without nurses and orderlies hovering around waiting to strap him back down. He allowed himself a small smile as he remembered how they had flipped out the morning after Jack's first visit, finding him standing at his window, free of his bonds and watching the sunrise.

Surprisingly, Jack had been one of his most frequent visitors, easily matching St. North and Sandy and placing a close second to Anna. Though if he were being honest, her visits were a bit uncomfortable since they always ended with her fleeing the room and bursting into tears in the hallway. Other classmates came by once or twice or sent cards and flowers, but those four were the main ones.

The other three made sense, but Jack thoroughly confused Easton. They had no ties to each other aside from Jack patching him up at the school (which he had finally figured out by asking a nurse and putting the pieces together), but the other boy seemed to be genuinely interested in his recovery. Every few days he would pop up, always a little after sunset when the hospital's population was reduced to the patients, a handful of night staff, and the random family member keeping a 24/7 vigil over a kid with chicken pox. Jack would then toss around small barbs that would eventually rile him up, and then drop in some sly question or comment that led him to start talking about the things he kept hidden.

It had taken Easton a few times to realize what Jack was doing, but now that he knew, he found that he didn't really care. In a weird way, it was helping. Jack was neutral enough that Easton felt neither judged nor pitied. He was starting to almost enjoy the pale, skinny kid's company.

If only he could get him to stop calling him "Kangaroo."

He turned into a door marked "Psychology Department", a knot twisting in his gut. The doctors had given him a choice between mandatory group therapy and attaining a (still mandatory but less rigid) peer counselor. Since he didn't exactly like the idea of sitting around discussing feelings with a large group of people, he'd chosen the latter. Still, as he pushed the door open, he couldn't help feeling weak.

You are, a voice hissed in the back of his mind, his arms itching again. Weak and scared and hopelessly alone.

Easton pushed the thoughts down and strode into the plush foyer of the department, addressing the small, mousy woman who sat behind a large desk. "I'm suppose'ta meet a peer counselor."

She smiled up at him. "He'll be right out, Mr. Bunnell. It's so nice to see you're feeling better."

Easton didn't get the chance to answer before a small door behind her swung open and an all-too-familiar mop of white hair caught his attention. "You've gotta be kiddin' me."

"Yo, Kangaroo!" Jack smiled at him, laughing at his dumbfounded expression. "Don't look at me like that; I told you I was a peer counselor." He hooked an arm around Easton's shoulders, steering him back out into the hallways, shooting a quick farewell to the receptionist. "See you later, Jenni!"

It didn't take long for Easton to recover from his disbelief, shoving Jack off him and glaring hotly the minute they were out in the corridor. "What the hell is your problem? Why're ya shovin' into my life? I don't need your pity and I don't need ya for a counselor! Rack off, already!"

Jack stood silently, nodding thoughtfully through Easton's rant while examining his fingernails. He shrugged when the other boy fell silent. "Yeah, sure. Fine by me, Kangaroo. After all, I'm sure you'll be much happier with some Goth wannabe who calls himself 'Pitch Black' and 'understands the darkness in your heart' because it is his 'eternal master'." He turned, walking away without another word.

"And you think you understand?"

Jack paused, waiting for Easton to catch up to him. When he did, he pulled up the sleeves of his sweatshirt, holding out his arms to the other boy. "More than most," he answered when Easton's green eyes widened, tracing the stark scars that made the pale skin around them seem tanned. They weren't the thin, shallow remains of casual injuries, inflicted to kindle some feeling. They were long and deep, running from the heel of Jack's hands to just above his elbows.

Serious.

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The pair wandered around the hospital aimlessly, talking casually. Despite the mellow pace and easy, mild conversation, Easton's mind was racing. Suicide just didn't line up with the image Jack presented to the world. Then again, how much did he know? He'd only met Jack a few months ago. That was scarcely enough time to learn anything, let alone the darkest secrets a person kept.

"Jack?"

They paused, the shorter boy glancing up, silently giving Easton permission to ask his questions. It was only then that Easton realized that the sleek, sterile décor had melded into bright colors and patterns, meant to be cheerful to the young eyes that would have to see it every day. Somehow, their stroll had led them to the pediatric ward. And as his gaze fell on the two patients behind the window they'd stopped by, Easton couldn't help but wonder if it was on purpose. All thoughts about the mystery of Jack vanished as he stepped forward, pressing his hand to the glass. Them.

"You alright?"

He barely noticed Jack at his side, looking at him with genuine concern. All he saw were the children; siblings; injured and battered, sleeping soundly. "My fault." He had never met them, never spoken to them, but Easton knew their faces. He knew their names. And he knew that Jamie and Sophie Bennett were alone because of him. "My fault," he repeated.

"Easton, it's not your fault." Jack's hand settled on his shoulder comfortingly, his touch cold.

"It is! Those two are alone and hurt because of me!" He glared at Jack, shaking off his reassuring touch. "Because I wouldn't step up when I knew she was too tired to be driving."

"She who?" Jack asked calmly, though deep down, Easton figured he knew already.

"My…my mother." He stepped away from the window, slouching to the floor along the opposite wall. "About a week before this-" he indicated his wrists "-there was an accident. My mother was pickin' up my dad from the bar; she was so tired, though. She asked me to go. But I wouldn't; I didn't want him home, not when he was drunk. So she went; she always went. And on the way back, she fell asleep and then-" He raised his gaze back up to the window. "Their parents died. Dad died. Mother…she died the day I did this."

"But they lived. Easton, you couldn't have known. It may have happened even if you were driving. You shouldn't feel guilty. And even if you do, hurting yourself won't make it go away." Jack moved back to the window, a faint smile on his face. "And you know, they don't have to be alone. You're here."

Green eyes snapped to blue ones. "Me? I don't think they'd want anything to do with me."

"Kids don't hate, Kangaroo. These ones don't even know that you're connected. They just need someone who understands and who cares. I'd say you fit that bill better than anyone."

"But-"

"Just try it."

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A/N: I know nothing about how long certain injuries take to heal. I also know nothing about peer counseling. And I know less than nothing about Goths, but I would like to point out to any Goth readers that I meant no offense. All fun was poked specifically at Pitch, who I decided deserved this brief cameo.