Blood.

Vince pricked his forefinger and pressed it to E's when they were six years old, entwining their fates for the rest of their lives.

They were sitting on the floor of the bedroom Vince shared with three of his older brothers, huddled in the darkness away from the fighting. Rita had been going for at least three rounds with his father, and neither of them showed any signs of giving up soon. Vince hated when his parents fought, but Eric always tried to distract him. He'd been doing that a lot lately, entertaining him when they yelling got to be too loud.

"You can't tell anybody, E," Vince pleaded, his eyes wild and desperate. No one could know that his father had pushed him. It was his job to be a man and keep it a secret. If anyone knew, they could come and take him away from his parents. "Please, you have to promise me. You can't even tell your ma. You have to keep my secret."

Even at the ripe age of six, Eric knew that this wasn't the kind of thing you were supposed to keep a secret. Mrs. Pollock had talked about what they were supposed to do if they thought their friend was being abused, and if the bruise on Vince's arm was any sign, his best friend was in trouble. "Maybe if we told my parents, you could come live with us," Eric suggested. He always wanted a brother, and Vince was already his best friend. They shared everything, and Eric's parents loved Vince. "You wouldn't even have to share a room. I bet Ma would let you stay in the guest room."

"Ma would be sad if I left, E," Vince reminded him. He didn't want to admit that he would be sad if he has to leave his mother. He wanted to protect her from his father. She kept promising someday that he would escape all this. Sometimes he dreamt of being an actor in movies like Paul Newman in that one he'd seen one time on cable at E's house. "Besides, you'd get sick of me if I was around all the time."

"Nah, you're my best friend," Eric shrugged. He couldn't imagine ever getting tired of Vince being around. He could spend a whole week's worth of nights there before Mrs. Murphy thought about sending him home. Vince seemed to thrive on the attention his parents gave him. It was hard to get lost in the shuffle around Eric's house, while it seemed to be an everyday occurrence in the Chase household. "Look, I'll promise you that I won't tell anyone, but I still want us to be brothers."

Vince looked around his room and wondered what was so good about siblings. He had a lot of them and didn't really care much for most of them. They just seemed to get in the way and were always making fun of him for being a pretty boy. He was also the baby in the family, which meant that he got blamed for everything. "Well, I already have a lot of those, E," Vince decided. "We can be blood brothers, instead! Those are even better because we get to pick those. It just means that you're my best friend and stuff. It connects us for life. Bobby Harper asked me to be his blood brother, but I said no 'cause I only wanted to do that with you. Besides, his mom buys the cheap candy."

Eric did always have the best sweets at his house, with the expensive name brand candy and homemade desserts. His mom always had warm cookies or sweet pudding or something equally yummy waiting when they got home from school. He didn't really see a need to be Vince's blood brother, but it was fine with him. He had never had a friend like Vince before. "Alright, so what do we do?"

Scrambling across the floor, Vince headed for the bulletin board bolted to the back of his door and stole one of the tacks currently keeping up his older brother's car calendar. "I think we're supposed to poke ourselves and mix our blood or something." It sounded stupid when he said it aloud, but Bobby had assured him that was how it was done.

Eric took the pin and stabbed his index first before handing it over to Vince. He'd never been a fan of needles. His mom still had to bribe him like a baby with ice cream when he had to get a shot at the doctor. His hand was shaking as he pressed the piece of metal against his skin. "Vince, we don't have to," Eric assured him. He knew about Vince's fear. "Let's just forget it. We can still be brothers."

"No," Vince insisted admently. He pressed the tack against his pointer finger again. Eric sensed his need to do this, instinctive about Vince's needs even at six. He moved a little closer and rested his knee against Vince's just to remind him he was there. Vince smiled bravely before piercing his skin. Red bubbled to the surface as E reached for his hand and pressed their fingers together. "See, now we're brothers."

Eric laughed and nodded as he examined their entwined fingers. "Do you got any bandages?"

"Yeah, I think my mom got some G.I. Joe ones at Safeway," Vince said, dropping his hand before scampering off to the bathroom.

More than twenty-five years later, they are sitting side by side in Vince's bedroom again, this one much larger and 3,000 miles away on the Pacific Ocean. Eric's hand is bloody from punching a guy at a club who wouldn't let up on Vince, flesh-tone bandages across his knuckles. The guy had been in Vince's personal space all night and had pushed him a little hard by the bar. Eric might not have been able to protect him when they were six, but he sure as hell wasn't going to let anyone hurt him now. He had carried that secret for too long, and now that he could fight back, no one was going to hurt his boy.