By his third week at Dalton, he's determined to do everything in his power to remain at the school until he graduates. He feels safer here than anywhere he's been in almost a year. And, the safety here came faster and more easily than it ever did in Colorado. No one has called him a freak, yet, or suggested they cut him to see how long he'll bleed. He feels like he can stop running and let down his guard some. Like he can rest from the battle for a bit. He doesn't know if he can trust the others completely; Sarai and Lara took up Mad-Eye Moody's motto with gusto, and he has his own paranoia. But, this is still better than being on the run.

Tuesday evening, after Warbler practice but before curfew, he and Jon wait by the pool. It's a celebration. Today was the first day he managed to walk through the halls of the school with only his light athletic bracing and no crutches or cane. His bulky, rigid AFO is back in his trunk. His fingers still glitter with their rings, but even those are precautionary rather than a response to an injury.

Jon is still on crutches, and sulking a bit. He'd had a reaction to the antifungal cream the doctor had prescribed for his foot. It's only in the last day or so that the clear yellow ooze has let up, and the sole has gone from blood red to a simple blush. It's still too swollen for him to even think about wearing his prosthetic, something Jeff had the gall to point out during practice that afternoon when Sebastian made a snide comment about Jon's dancing. Jon stares longingly at the pool. He has been banned until his foot heals. "I didn't know you were a diver."

He shrugs. "I started when I was about eight. It was a decent no-contact sport that I could actually do."

"What happens when you belly flop?" Jon settles into a deck chair, trying to contain something between a grimace and a smile.

He knows his grin is cocky. "I don't."

"Bullshit." Jon calls. "Even Loche hits wrong sometimes."

His limp is almost invisible and his hesitating barely noticeable as he lowers himself to dip his legs in the cool water of the pool. "I practice somewhere I'm not likely to get hurt before I ever get near the water. And, I'm careful. I know what risks I'm taking."

"I don't exactly know how you can say that." Beatz shifts in his chair to change the way weight is distributed on his injured foot. "I mean, no one knows the future." His voice catches a little.

He doesn't know exactly what's wrong, but he knows Jon well enough to know that it's something beyond dare-devilry on the diving board. "Walk to talk about it?"

Jon shrugs. "Do you ever… Do you think… What if something happens?"

"I'm a hemophiliac with a congenital heart defect and a collagen disorder." He lifts his shirt so Jon can get a good view of his scars. There's the one over his heart, on his right side, the puckered pouch of a feeding tube, and the lines from his liver, appendix and kidneys. "I think I'm at about ten times my expected life span, now." He tries not to think about the last person who got him here. The people who have died to keep him alive. Only, he'd actually known Hunter. His laugh is mirthless. "It's not so much worrying. It's knowing."

Jon shakes his head. He doesn't look shocked. Trent would have been shocked and appalled to hear him say these things. Jeff would worry. Sebastian would probably tell him that if he'd died when he was a baby, it would put the people watching his dancing out of their misery. But, he can tell that Jon sort of understands. "How do you do it? How do you live that way?"

"Do you want the bullshit I tell everyone or the truth?" He walks slowly back to his deck chair and sits on the edge so that only a few inches and an arm rest separate him and the other boy. He could reach out and touch Jon, if he wanted to.

Jon is quiet for a moment. "Both," he decides.

"So, most people just want to hear how lucky I am to be alive. They need me to be inspiration porn or something. The little sick orphan who triumphed over the odds."

"I thought your parents were alive." Jon interrupts. "There was a newspaper article that says your parents are alive."

He gives a half shrug and the lie rolls off his tongue. "Business orphan, than. Do you really think my dad could take time off work with his multinational conglomerate every time I was in the hospital? And my mom was too busy being a Vice President's wife…"

Anger flashes in Jon's eyes, but he doesn't insult Hunter's parents. "And the truth?"

He considers a moment how to phrase it, chewing his lips. "I just, survive. I don't have any other option, I just do it."

Jon nods. "I'm scared I can't keep it up," he admits quietly.

He waits, knowing there's more. He's not going to push, he's going to let the dam break on its own. The words start tickling out in little rivulets.

"I had cancer when I was a kid." Jon motions toward his leg. "Ewing's scaroma. Bone cancer."

Even if he hadn't met Jon when they were children, he would have known that. The kind of amputation, a rotation, isn't something that happens with trauma. If your leg needs to be amputated because of an accident or gangrene, you lose the whole thing, not just your thigh.

"Chemotherapy. Radiation therapy. Amputation. And it worked. I was … clear." It's Jon's turn to fiddle with the towel. "My parents wouldn't have let me come here otherwise…"

He thinks how nice it must be to have family that cares about you, but doesn't say anything. Jon doesn't need to hear his problems right now.

"It hurts, though, you know… It hurts like hell. Deep in your bones." Jon rubs his right thigh. He frowns in concern. "Well, I hurt again."

"Fuck." Hunter summarizes the situation succinctly. "What are you going to do?"

Jon shrugs. "Get the doctors to check for it. … Keep telling myslf that its probably nothing. Try to remember that my bones hurt when I was growing." Jon's laugh is almost guileless.

"Yeah, what's with all the puberty jokes?" He takes the opportunity to distract his friend.

A morose little shrug. "No prosthetic is designed to grow eight inches with its user. And, umm… that happened freshman year." Jon hides his face in the towel. "I also kind of sounded like Kermit for the first three or four months I was here. Until my voice settled."

He laughs. "But, most of those guys have graduated?"

Jon shakes his head. "We've got seventh and eight graders, too, if you haven't noticed. So, current sophomores were in seventh grade during that unfortunate year. And, Trent can't let it go. I completely regret agreeing to play Long Jon Silver in the school production of Treasure Island."

"Trent can be an ass." He agrees. "But, I bet you were an awesome pirate. Stump and everything. … Although I don't know how you found pants to fit."

Jon laughs, a real laugh. "A lot of dress code violations and high water pants. My mom refused to get me new ones more than once a month. The rule still stands. I have to wear them through first."

"They don't let you wear shorts?" He hasn't seen anyone in shorts other than athletes.

Jon shakes his head. "Not without our uniforms. They're sort of sadists that way. And we have to wear out jackets even if it's 90 with 90% humidity."

He winces. He hates humidity. "So, how did you?"

Jon shrugs. "Just did." He looks around the pool. "The teams out, if you want to dive."

He grins, and throws his towel across the chair, and pulls on a pair of goggles. He does a few preliminary stretches, and shakes his limbs. They are, as always, a little looser than he'd like. He slips out of his ring splits and walks slowly and carefully to the diving board. Running on a pool deck was never one of his problems.

He sees Jon's jealous face as he takes a preliminary dive off the low board. He's not in great shape, but he's okay. He could be straighter, more streamlined.

Eventually, he moves up to the high dive. He feels surprisingly free as he flips.

A/N: Again, sorry for the delay. GAH. I feel like I say this every week. Life has been crazy. Possibly even crazier than when I decided to write a term paper in 72 hours on a topic I'd never worked with before and read 42 reserach papers for it. Also, my internet has gone kaputz. So, I promise, I will respond to you. I'm not avoiding because I don't want to, I'm avoiding because I can barely get on to check my email and find pictures of Dr. Who to use to explain science. ... But, I'm also looking forward to more stability and regular updates soon (two more hurdles and then through the worst for a while).

Thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed, followed, or favorite. Shout-outs to Pi-on-a-skateboard, PenMagic, NiffAreForever, YouDontKnowMe06, and B00kw0rm92.

Questions, Comments, Concerns, Critiques, Suggestions, prompts or Magical predictions of where I will end up for the next six years all welcome. –C65