'Sup people! Here i'm with another chapter

SECOND TO LAST ONE! We're almost there folks!

Technically, you can also count this as the last chapter, since this is where most of the story end. I added a final chapter, not technically an epilogue, but to expand a little on the other, secondary characters introduced in part two.

So stay tuned for it! I'll try not to take too long, but i'm still job hunting and i'm studying to cram into college. But the last chapter is WAY shorter than this one, so we'll see...

Enjoy!

'Killer' didn't wait up to inspect every inch of his new hideout. He made circles around the bed and tackled every corner, digging his nose into anything remotely interesting. Which included nose-diving inside Steven's bag.

"Careful there." Steven rushed to drag the dog away from his clothes, but not before Killer sneezed over Steven's unmentionables. Steven grumbled. "Well, if you don't like my smells, you shouldn't have come in guns-a-blazing, buddy."

Steven recovered his boxers and zipped the bag close. The dog resumed his inspection, under Steven watchful eye. All that sniffing and smelling put him on the edge. He's always been more of a cat person and his experience with dogs was nearly null.

He lost his patience when the dog hopped over the bed and began to roll over his sheets.

"Alright, that's it." Steven stood at the end of the bed, glaring down at his 'guest'.

The dog dug on the bed like dirt, shaping a tunnel with the sheets. Then he crawled under it like a snake.

Steven spoke to the dog-shaped mass. "Look. You can hide here for a while but you gotta leave. You don't have to go back to Mister Sunshine and Rainbows, but you can't stay."

The dog scooted over, peeping his black and white furry face from under the sheets. He let out a long whine, like a question.

Steven answered: "Because your master is the owner of this place. He'll found you eventually if you stay."

The dog woofed softly.

"No. I can't stay with you. I'm leaving soon."

More whining.

"No! You can't come with me. I'm… I'm a lone wolf, OK? I've got to do this on my own."

Killer barked loudly (too loudly).

"Because I'm on a road of self-discovery, that's why!" Steven flinched at his own voice. His head throbbed too much to get heated up over this. "I know you don't get it. Because you're a dog. But there are certain things a half-human boy must do alone. And it's not your fault! You seem like a very nice, very big dog, but I can't take care of you."

The dog didn't seem to get that part. Or any of it. He rolled over the bed, freeing his body from the sheets.

Steven's stomach got into a knot. Killer was big, but also thin. Too thin; its ribs showing at each side. His fur, pitch black with white patch around his eye, was ragged and dirty, not in a regular dog-way but in an abandoned way. He had a sad expression, but his aura was brighter now than when Steven met him.

Steven rubbed his face, stretching the skin red because he was too drunk for this. "Maybe there's a shelter in Death River I can drop you at?" he suggested.

The dog barked once, loudly and proud. He seemed particularly sensitive to Steven's moods. A refreshing change from Lion, who'd wear the same aloof expression since Steven met him.

"It's decided then," Steven said, feeling lighter.

With that out of the way, the only thing left was to take a shower and leave. Before that, however, he'll have to do something about his headache (he was seeing white dots out of the corner of his eyes, and it was getting worrisome). He went to the bathroom and swallowed the ibuprofen with the antacid. His stomach would hate him for it but his whole body was on a hate strike right now, so it didn't matter. He chugged the pills with some water and walked out.

His body stopped working at the bathroom threshold. The storm he'd been building in his gut had reached hurricane-proportions —and a tsunami was on its way. Steven barely made it to the toilet in time before throwing up.

Vomit burnt his throat and chest. First it came as a long, violent wave ejected out of him; then it turned into short, less abundant waves, preceded by painful spasms. Steven legs gave up, dropping him on the hard floor.

He remained there, head deep inside the toilet, for what felt like forever. Every time he dared to get up, nausea struck again and a few seconds later he was burning his throat again. When the last wave came like foamy water, he stopped. There was nothing left inside for he to throw up.

Steven put the lid down and flushed the toilet. He felt back against the nearest wall. The room was like a rollercoaster build inside a tornado and he felt himself blacking out.

The dog pressed against Steven's face, bringing him back from his snooze. He couldn't have been gone for more than a minute, but it felt like a year in his bones. The dog began to lick down Steven's chin until he reached his shirt. Steven saw why and pushed him away.

"Don't lick that!" he said and pulled his vomit stained shirt off.

That's just great. First my jacket. Now my shirt. At this rate I'll be naked before the day end. Steven huffed. He couldn't deal with that now and just threw the shirt on the floor.

He stumbled to the sink and washed his face off of all trace of sweat, dirt, blood and vomit. With everything that had happened, Steven hasn't even taken a look at himself since he woke up. When he did, he yelped. He looked terrible! Even ignoring the corruption marks. His face had more bags than a supermarket and the complexion of a ghost in winter; and let's not even mention the smell. No wonder people were giving him the stinky eye all morning.

The reflection looking back at him made Steven uneasy. Getting undressed was quite a process now. Steven had always been self-conscious about his plump body; dreaming of being big and strong so he could help the gems on missions. When the figurative cat got out of the bag (no offense, Lion) and Steven dedicated his time to dismantle an intergalactic empire, he put his body issues in the 'to-do-later' list. It stood to reason all those issues would come back after the 'incident'.

Guess I'm ready for that shower, thought Steven, humorously. He was halfway naked anyway.

He took off his bean hat. The horns protruded from each side of his forehead. They were pink and pointy, barely the length of his index but strong as a diamond. Steven had put that to test against the beach house walls several times. His hair was not the same now he wore the hat all the time, having lost most of its mass and shape. He rustled his overlong curls. He'll have to learn to cut his own hair, now that Pearl wasn't around to do it.

The gloves came out next. Yesterday's transformation had ripped holes into them and cut the fingers completely, giving them the look of those fingerless gloves bikers use. Steven was almost used to his hands now, if only because he looked at them daily —he only wore the gloves outside. They were pink, with sharp magenta nails. The skin around his knuckles was hard, covered with a bone plates of the same material as his nails and horns. Down his hands and up to the elbow his skin was completely pink, and the rest of his arms were covered in pink patches. He was still wearing the Cookie Cat watch on his right hand. Would Soledad have still gave it to him if she knew everything he'd done?

(Shatterer. Monster.)

He placed the watch gently on the sink. He took his pants off and put them and his bean hat over the toilet. He glanced at the mirror.

Steven's legs had the same pattern as his arms. Long, razor sharp nails, a bone-like protection over his feet and knees, and pink skin all over up to his tights. His gaze stopped at his belly.

The corruption marks were symmetrical. Connie discovered it. The patches doted his whole skin, either painted as big lakes or as small pink drops, but always in a symmetrical way. A dot on his right shoulder meant a dot on his left shoulder. Getting closer to his belly, the patches flowed from his gem. Like waves. The outer ring was a light pink, and it reached the limit of his belly. The middle ring, circling around his gut, was a deeper shade. The last ring, the inner ring, was barely one inch wide around his gemstone. It was a magenta so deep it was almost black.

Only two people had seen his naked torso.

"Hey, it kinda looks like a painting, you know? It's a bold palette," said his dad, awkward.

"It suits you," said Connie, and she tried really hard to sound honest.

Steven shut his eyes close. He was a freak. They tried their best, and they loved him, but Steven was a freak.

The most deformed part of his body was the one he couldn't see. The first days after the 'incident', Steven couldn't get any sleep, a strong pain hitting his back. Like something hard was pressed against his spine. He also felt heavier, an invisible backpack weighting on him. He'd asked his dad (he first person he'd trusted with his new look) to check if he had something on his back.

And he had. Turns out Steven's spine had overgrown, pushing out of his skin, making it look like Steven had a zipper of bones on his back, head to bottom. They were pink, as hard as his nails and horns, but shallow and flat. They were easy to hide even with just a plain shirt.

When he asked his dad what they looked like, he stuttered. "Well, Schtu-ball they are… They kinda look like little diamonds."

Diamond. Monster. Shatterer. Freak. All words that could be used to Steven; he carried them all into his very being. His skin and bones.

Anxiety crept its ugly head in, and he could sense another panic attack coming.

Breathe Steven.

Shatterer. Killer

The air began to buzz with electricity. On the other room, the dog lifted his ears.

Just breathe.

Monster. Freak. Not human.

The lights flickered in and out, the glass trembled. Steven dug his fingers into his palms. The pain was numbing. In the other room, the dog began to whine.

Breathed, goddamit. Just calm down, you idiot!

Diamond. Like his mother.

The lights flickered wildly. Steven's light filled the room as his body turned pink. In the other room, the dog let out a ear-piercing howl.

Steven felt his head about to explode and screamed. "What do I need for you to be quiet!"

CRACKS and BANGS deafened him. The mirror cracked. The light bulb exploded in a million fragments, sending the room into darkness. The only light came from Steven himself. The explosion scared him enough to threw him to the floor and send him into hysterics. He began to cry his lungs out, pushing out all his frustration.

As he was down on the floor of a motel's bathroom, crying waterfalls, dressed in only in his underwear, and glowing like a pink neon stick, Steven stifled a laugh. Not exactly how he thought this road would go.

A whining not his own caught his attention. Killer paced back and forth in the bathroom threshold, as if a magical barrier pretended him to come in. The dog's whining only increased Steven's headache. He extended a friendly arm. The spell was lifted and the dog came to his side, and let Steven pet him. The dog raggedy fur felt wrong under his fingers, but the company was appreciated.

Steven spoke, struggling with his own tears. "You know what's really weird? When I was young, I wanted nothing more than to be like my mom. Strong, kind. A leader. I mean, it was what everyone expected from me; we all put her into that sort of pedestal. Even Pearl, even though knew better." His hand went up and down the dog's fur. The animal rested its head on Steven's lap. "But then I found out who she was, the things she'd done. And decided she was the last person I wanted to be like." He laughed, almost hysterically. "Hehe, and look what I've been doing on my own. Lying. Keeping secrets. Making a mess out of everything.

"Look at what I did yesterday," his laughed reached a breaking point. "I thought I was getting better but somehow I still became her."

Thoughts loomed over Steven like dark clouds, turning the world empty and colorless. As a kid, her mom was an unreachable pedestal. Now, she was a bottomless grave, filled with the gems of everyone she'd disappointed and tricked. He could try his whole life and Steven could never hide from her; he'll always carry his mom's history with him.

'Why do you need to hide who you are?'

Steven jumped. Killer ran away, startled, and hid under the bed. Someone had spoken, Steven knew that.

He tiptoed around the broken glass and went into the living room. The TV was on. It played a scene he remembered vividly.

''I don't know what you're talking about.'

It was Steven's voice, but it didn't come from him. He couldn't see himself on the TV; which made sense, since this was one of his memories. It was the last session Steven had before he began this trip. He was watching Dr. A. scribble something on her notepad.

'I'm just asking because it's not a cold day, yet you're covered like a mummy. Feels a little excessive, you know?' said Dr. A.

Steven sat in front of the TV. The dog crawled and peeped his head from under the bed, confused about what was exactly happening.

'I just thought I might try a new style, you know?' said TV Steven.

'Right. And this has nothing to do with this road trip you're going on?'

'You know, I don't really see the connection.'

"That's ridiculous. Look at her scribing everything I say. She knows I'm lying," said Steven. The dog looked up at him silently.

After a few seconds of silent waiting, TV Steven sighed. 'Alright. I'll tell you. I'm a little… worried about the trip. About what's gonna happen, a-and how people are going to react because look at me.'

'I understand. People can be cruel. No doubt some people will stare, other will comment or be mean or even try to hurt you. That's how the world is. But you want to be seen, don't you?'

Steven growled. "I didn't ask for this!"

TV Steven scoffed. 'I didn't ask for this.'

'I didn't say that. I said you want to be seen. You've been through a lot more than people give you credit for. You had carried your family, you friends, even the whole world over your shoulders, and you deal with that by putting a strong face and that's a great quality. But after some point, this mask of strength proved too heavy to carry.

'Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying you corrupted on purpose. But our unconscious mind have ways to make us react when we push ourselves to the limit. Ways to get us out of those cycles. What happened to you was tragic, and painful. But in the end, you got everyone to see you were hurting.'

Steven claws clenched at the sheet. He knew his memory self was clawing at Dr. A's couch.

'That's…' TV Steven hesitated. 'Not true.'

'No? Then why didn't you ask your aunt, this… Yellow Diamond? Why didn't you take her offer to heal you? Is it because you want people to see what happened to you?'

TV Steven's breath became ragged. 'OK, fine! I didn't want her to heal me because I want to remember. I want everyone to remember. It feels nice Garnet, Amethyst and Pearl can look at me and see what happened, what I had been pushing down because of them, but I also hate it! I hate I didn't have the guts to deal with this before and It had to come to this. Now I'm trapped in this… this body for the rest of my life. I have to live with that, why should I be the only one? So yeah. Turns out I'm a horrible, resentful person. You figured it out.'

For a while, the only sound was TV Steven's ragged breath, and the dog flapping its tail.

'It's that what you really think? That you're a monster?'

Steven's stomach churned. "No."

'No,' said TV Steven.

Dr. A. checked her notebook. 'This is something we always come back to, you know? Your tendency to split. I am a monster, I am a hero. A good son, a bad son. Freak or normal. Human or Gem. Good or bad. You see the world as is everything belonged to one category or the other.'

TV Steven laughed. 'I'm part gem. We like to categorize.'

Dr. A. chuckled. Steven did too. He still doesn't know how he knew what 'categorize' means.

'And since we already talked about this, you know that's not how the world works. You struggle with your identity because you keep walking in the middle line, and you think that makes you weird. An outsider. But that's how most people live. I can't talk about Gems, but all humans deal with that, some more than others.'

TV Steven sniffled. 'I know. I guess… I guess I just wanted to be worse than my mom. Since, you know, trying to be better than her didn't work.'

Dr. A. hummed thoughtfully and put her notepad down. 'And why do you need to be anything related to your mom?'

'Because… she's my mom?'

'Irrelevant. Whatever your mom did, it was her own doing.'

'Things that I had to deal with.'

'True. But you did it because you had to. You took that responsibility over your shoulders. And you did everything on your own Steven way. She didn't dismantle the Gem Empire. She didn't save the world. She didn't get a cute girlfriend like you did.'

Both the Stevens blushed.

'And I think, Steven,' said Dr. A, serious, 'that it is time you stop using your mom as a measuring bar. Once you stop holding your actions, your thoughts and your whole self against a black and white concept of morality in which you're either a monster or a savior, then Steven, that is when you'll find out is actually easy to be who you are, everyone's feelings about it be damn.'

'You really think that?' TV Steven asked.

'I do. Because honestly, Steven,' Dr. A. smile was warm and sincere, 'I think you're a great kid. It would be a shame to not let the world see.'

The TV flashed in an array of colors and images. Memories reeled inside Steven's head and the TV broadcasted them.

'Dude. You know we don't care about your looks, right?' said Amethyst. 'I mean, look at me! If anyone can tell you a thing or two about style, is this overcooked grunt you are seeing. But that's just the thing: however I look, I'm valid. I'm fine being like this. Being Amethyst. Don't get me wrong; I know it's not the same circumstances or whatever, but however you look like, if you chose it or not, I'll always be by your side. No matter what.'

'I can't help but feel this is my fault,' said Pearl. 'B-but don't worry about me! I won't feel sorry or lament myself over this and I won't take my frustrations on you. I'm sorry if… I'm sorry for all the times I did. But I'll be better! A-and whatever you need me to do, I'll do it. I'll make it happen, if it means you're fine. Because… Because you're the best thing to ever happen to me, Steven. Don't forget that.'

'I'm fascinated by how your molecular structure works,' said Peridot. 'Your body is organic —we know that. An interconnected mass of cells held together by sugar, that require nutrients to fuel its function. But you're also a Gem! The same light that made my physical form courses through your body and combines with your bio-components in ways that we never thought possible. Now; regarding your question: are you a human, or a gem? My answer would be, in a strictly scientific and logical way, that you're both… Which is also what my emotional answer would be.'

'Listen Steven, I don't care what anyone might say,' said Bismuth, 'I've yet to meet someone who is more deserving of being called a Crystal Gem. You showed us a way, the way. I wish I could've been there for more you. Help you carry the weight. Maybe then you… But the past is the past. I'm here now. And for the record, it's been an honor to be a Crystal Gem with you. And it's a daily pleasure to be your friend.'

'I get it, OK?' said Lapis. 'Your form. Why you didn't ask Yellow to fix it. Sometimes you've got to remember the bad stuff you went through so you can feel better about the place you are right now. I understand. Oh, and before I forget, here. It's my number. Peridot finally talked me into getting a phone. Wherever you are, whatever you did, call me and I'll be there. Remember: I have wings —thanks to you.'

'You're wrong,' said Jasper. 'You say you're weak, but we know you're strong. You think you have no control, but we know you do. Everything you think you lack, you have it in spare. Bah! Forget it. I don't get you and I think I never will. But I don't have to. You're my Diamond. You don't owe explanations to anyone.'

'Not gonna lie, Schtu-ball, I'm not entirely thrilled about this trip,' said Greg. 'Don't get me wrong —I absolutely support you. I know you're going to be alright without me. Sorry if I couldn't be the father you needed. But… if when you're out there on the road, living the sixteen year old bachelor life, you decide that you need your old man. Or that the life you want to have is a life with a place for me in … well, you know when to find me. Now, go out there and made a lot of mistakes kiddo —the ones that made funny stories.'

'I know why you're here,' said Garnet. 'You want to talk about your future. In normal circumstances, I'd have an answer for you. The truth is, Steven, I don't know what the future is anymore. I figured out if I stopped giving advice to people, the future would sort itself out. But all I did was to push you away for seeming uncaring. So here are some words about your future, if you want them.

'Yes. You will suffer. You will struggle with your powers, your identity, and your place in this world. There are several paths ahead of you, some of them darker than the void in the sky. And you'll have to travel them alone. This is what I know.

'But if what you want is the truth, then know that none of that matters. You, more than anyone else, know the future is not fixed. Some events are like deep rocks in the river, and we can't change them. But how the current flows, how we navigate those currents; that we can influence.

'And Steven? Just because you have to travel alone, doesn't mean youare alone. We're always one call away.'

'What are you saying? Of course I'll visit you!' said Connie. 'I have a magical lion. I can go whenever I want. Oh Steven. Just think about the places you'll go, the things you'll see! Thanks for letting me be part of that, even if just a little. I'm glad to be part of your Universe. And Steven? I... I love you.'

Static filled the room, its electric buzz cut only by Steven's moaning. This was a good crying, however. It washed his soul clean.

Shame felt over him like an anvil. He spent the two months of his trip worrying about his looks. The last year worrying about if he was a good person or not. Most of his life in fear of being (or not being) like his mother. And even after all these months of therapy, after all the reaffirming words from his loved ones, he still held onto the same toxic thoughts that pushed him over the edge in the first place.

Did it make what he did yesterday better? No. He'd messed up in several ways. If he'd been in a better state of mind, if he'd just remembered that no matter what people thought or if they didn't like him, that he was loved nonetheless, maybe he would have thought twice before making all those questionable choices.

Killer jumped over the bed, sensitive to Steven's distress. The dog nudged him with its nose, and licked the side of Steven's chest. He chuckled and hug the dog close.

"This is why you came running to my car, wasn't it?" said Steven. "You sensed I was having a hard time and needed a friend."

The dog gave him a blank look.

"Or maybe you just wanted to get away from your lousy owner."

The dog made no sound. Its aura gave feelings of calmness —but underneath it, there was a latent anger. Steven got that.

"I guess I'm not as over some stuff as I thought it was," Steven mused. "Maybe my dad and Dr. A. were right. Maybe I rushed this whole road trip business. I wish Connie were here."

But she couldn't be. Steven knew that. For better or for worse he was already here. The thought of spending months on the road alone didn't weight as much now, however. There were people out there who loved him; no matter what. And that was not a small thing.

The static from the TV was getting annoying so Steven turned it off. His reflection on the black screen reminded Steven he was still in his underwear. He got up, wobbling a bit. The headache had receded but it wasn't gone yet.

Steven spoke to the dog, firmly. "I'll see if I can finish that shower. Don't break anything while I'm gone and keep the door closed to strangers, OK?"

The dog barked once.

"Good Killer," said Steven and felt guilty. Seriously: who named their dog Killer, anyway?

Steven opened his travel backpack —next to his bigger, clothing bag— and pulled out his toothbrush, toothpaste, his personal towel (organic material, with little suns in it), his personal soap (chamomile scented) and his shampoo.

He froze at the bathroom door. Glass shards from the mirror and the light bulb littered the floor. Steven cleaned them with a bit of help of his telekinesis. And just to be on the safe side, he put his flip flops on before going into the bathroom.

Steven dared to stop in front of the mirror. The light bulb was gone but enough clearing came from the bathroom window for Steven to take a good look.

He was still the same as before. Same pink patch-worked skin. Same clawed hands. Same horns over a mane of brown hair with pink roots which may, one day, become entirely pink. Same old Steven. He'll never be Rose Quartz, or Pink Diamond. He'll always be Steven.

Now he just had to figure out who the heck Steven was. But that was for later.

He flipped the shower faucet, playing with the cold and warm until it the water was at the right temperature.

The shower itself was nice. It lasted a bit longer than Steven's usual showers. First because Steven senses were still dull, so his movements had to be slow and measured. But he also wanted to enjoy it. He caressed his own hardened skin as he hasn't done in a good while. Like he was rediscovering every inch of his body. He took special care and time to polish his gemstone. He felt at peace.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

Steven jumped at the sudden noise, dropping his toothbrush to the ground. He spit the paste and went into the room, where Killer had woken up from its nap and was barking its heart out.

"Shhhh!" Steven hissed at the animal. Killer went quiet, but remained in attack pose.

Steven spoke to the door. "Who is it?"

"It's me," said the Innkeeper on the other side.

Steven yelped. Killer groaned at hearing his master's voice. Steven commanded him to hide, and the dog jumped mechanically from the mattress and slid under the bed.

Steven inhaled to keep his cool and opened the door. The Innkeeper and Steven both cursed. Steven because of the long rifle attached to the Innkeeper's arm. The Innkeeper because Steven was fresh off the shower, with nothing but a towel around his waist; his pink skin and gemstone and horns showing proudly.

"Kid."

"Sir?"

"May I come in?"

It was a redundant question. Of course he could —he owned the place. But they had to keep things civil. They were both freaking out too much, and things could get real ugly real fast.

The Innkeeper got inside, slamming the door behind. His aura was even more tumultuous than before and he was sweating profusely —and let's not talk about the smell. His rifle was similar to Sheriff Lowe's, if a bit older and less taken care of.

What is it with people and guns? Steven pondered. They hardly solve anything, and just make difficult situations even more tense.

The Innkeeper walked in slow circles around the room, inspecting every corner like a hunter in the jungle. Or a wild animal behind bars.

"Say, I got a complaint from one of the neighbors," said the man calmly. His aura, however, was spinning red with rage.

The Innkeeper approached the bed and Steven held his breath. The man threw the sheets around furiously, revealing nothing.

He pretended like he'd done nothing. "The lady on the 2b. She called to my office before but I was chasing after my dog." He gave Steven a stern look. "Couldn't find it."

"Sorry to hear that," said Steven politely.

The man hummed. "Anyway. She swears she heard screaming and stuff breaking from up here. Does that ring a bell?"

Steven ran several possible excuses inside his head. Looking down, he caught the dog's face peeping form under the bed. The man caught his gaze and moved to see what was underneath. Steven jumped forward and sat on the bed.

"That was me!" he rushed to say. "I… broke the mirror. And I hurt myself so I screamed. That must be what the lady heard."

At the mention of the word 'broke' the Innkeeper aura flickered with poisonous green. He rushed to the bathroom and yelled:

"Are you fucking kidding me!" The man turned towards Steven, red with rage. "What the fuck did you do, punch the cabinet?"

Steven lied smoothly. "I-uh…yes. Yes. That's exactly what I did."

From under the bed, the dog curled awkwardly. Steven wasn't doing so hot either; all that screaming and stress wasn't good for his head, and his gem was getting hotter by the second.

The Innkeeper flickered the light switch. "And you broke the fucking light too," he said, low on patience.

Steven didn't answer. He was too busy blushing to death. The man came back; his face stuck in what seemed to be a permanent frown. His finger dangled dangerously close to the weapon trigger.

He faced Steven and demanded to know: "What is the damage with you?"

Too many to mention. Steven thought but didn't voice it. His gem was burning him, and Steven brought his hands to his belly to cover the glow.

"What's the matter? Can't talk now?" the man kept pushing.

Steven could only stammer. "Look. I-it was an accident. I'll pay you-"

"Oh you can bet your ass you will you fucking freak!"

The Innkeeper shoved a fist into Steven chest. Since he wasn't ready for the aggression, Steven was swiftly pushed against the wall, throwing the bedside lamp to the floor where it loudly broke.

That was the final piece. Killer jumped from under the bed and lunged. The Innkeeper shrieked in pain; the dog's sharp teeth stuck deep into his arm. Steven sprung to his feet and grabbed the dog.

"No! Bad dog! Down, down!" Steven pleaded. He couldn't just drag the animal away, even tho he had the strength —he might rip the man's arm in the process.

Focusing his aura, Steven shouted. "Let him go, now!"

The order was received and swiftly executed. Killer scuttled away from Steven's grasp and hid behind him.

The man felt back, grabbing his hurt arm. It didn't look good: it bled and the teeth marks were deep. The Innkeeper came out of his horror to glance daggers at Steven.

"I knew it," he hissed then shouted. "I knew you've stolen my dog! You're so done kid! And you," the man growled at the dog, "come over here."

Killer, who just a moment ago was making honor to his name, had been reduced to a trembling bony creature. Steven, despite his own fear, didn't move from his spot.

The man lifted the rifle to Steven's face. "Move out or be moved boy."

Steven scoffed, completely dumbfounded. "Are you insane? It's just a dog!"

"I said move!" the man screamed, and it was clear his threat was serious.

At this point, Steven was tired of this back-and-forth. He was angrier than he was scared, and he'd no intention of letting the dog go.

"Ok. I'll move." Steven blinked once and released his aura. His hue changed, as the room was filled with pink light.

Everything was quiet, as it usually was when Steven speeded. The man was stuck in his position, rifle in hand, ready for the shoot. It was the same scenario from yesterday with Sheriff Lowe. The only difference was Steven. He was smarter now. And soberer. He knew what he was doing. And deep inside his heart, a part of him had stopped caring.

He took the rifle from the man's hand, bubbled it and send it away, to land at some point in the middle of the pacific ocean. He picked Killer up and hid him in the bathroom, shutting the door. Then he took position behind the man and stopped speeding.

The Innkeeper made a weird hand fumble, as he was now hugging the air. He scanned the room and jumped when he saw Steven behind him. Without skipping a beat, the Innkeeper lifted his fist and went for Steven's face.

"Stop."

The arm went flaccid at the man's side, and he dropped his head down. Steven briefly panicked and checked the man's pulse. He sighed. Thank the Stars, he lived! He was just paralyzed by Steven's command. Like a wind-up toy with no wind.

Steven felt a little giddy; he didn't think it would work so well!

It occurred to him, as he was at the shower, and later on as he was drying his hair, that he had unnecessarily invaded Sheriff Lowe's mind. Of course, Steven still felt bad things reached that point; but he thought that, should he need to do it again, he didn't have to go that deep. Invading a mind was like invading a house. It was hard and complicated, and there was too much work involved. It occurred to him that, if he could send a thought, implant an idea from afar, maybe he could get the job done without all the gross invasion of property.

That's what he'd done now. He'd sent a mental letter inside the Innkeeper's mind; a cease and desist.

Steven relaxed but something still itched his brain. What was this man's obsession with Killer? He seems to hate him, but he wants him back. Maybe he secretly loves him dearly? It sounded unlikely, but could be.

Curiosity got the best of him and, despite no real need for it, Steven went into the man's mind. Just for a second. Just to look at the memories of the dog…

The Innkeeper loved Killer when he bought it. A dubious breeder sold it to him for a good price. There's lot of money on Dog Shows, the breeder said, and this one is a born champion. The Innkeeper brought the Doberman home. Kept him feed and well cared until it grew enough to compete. Then he had to be told by a judge that the dog was not pure breed. But I got the papers! The Innkeeper said. The judge eyed the documents and offered a weak smile. It's a fine specimen and all, but it's not fit to compete, said the judge. It just doesn't match the standard. The size's all wrong, the ears too large, and that white spot on its face is unacceptable. This dog is defective.

From then on, the Innkeeper felt nothing but hate for the animal that'd cost him a small fortune. He denied him food, tied him up to a tree outside the house and muzzled it so it won't bite him when he took his belt off and…

Steven escaped the Innkeeper's mind. His stomach turned by the sheer hate the man exuded. He didn't need to see more. Steven was not going to let the dog go with this man.

Steven expanded his aura, hoping to carry all of his will into his voice. He let the power build up and grow and, finally, he let it go with a short, simple instruction:

"YOU DON'T HAVE A DOG."

The order flew like a bullet to the man's head. The Innkeeper went rigid as the thought rooted and sprout flowers, hiding any memory of the animal. When it was over, the man relaxed.

"That should do it," said Steven then he remembered something "Oh, and by the way, you won't remember anything I said. You're free now."

The man wheezed and coughed, like he'd been choked down. His aura was a whirlwind of confusion.

"Wha… uh…" the Innkeeper looked around, recognizing where he was. "What just happened?"

Steven gulped and doubted his own powers for a second. Did it really worked? Did the man forget everything?

"Well I-"

The man cut him up. "Wait. I remember now."

Oh crud.

"You broke the fucking bathroom mirror."

Steven's mouth felt down, but he put it up and smiled, trying to look ashamed. "Yep. That's me, that's just what I did. Silly Steven! Bad boy."

The man's face twisted into confusion. He scratched his arm and hissed, only then noticing the bite wound.

"H-how did that got there? Did you bite me?"

Steven gasped offended. "What? I did not do such a thing, sir! You came here with that already there. You chased after your dog, remember?"

It was the moment of truth; to see if Steven's mental mail had been received successfully. The man's face contorted in pain. He grabbed his head, trying to suffocate his burning headache. As soon as it started it was over. The man relaxed and spoke robotically.

"I don't have a dog."

Steven brought a hand up to hide his smile. "Really? Even more mysterious then."

The man stared at his wound, like it could start talking and give him the answers he sought.

"A-nyway," Steven sing-songed, hoping to steer the conversation. "I'm very sorry about your mirror. Soo, how about I pay you for it and we're even?"

At the mention of money, the Innkeeper face lightened up. "Oh, right. I guess it would be a hun-thousand."

"Did you say a hundred?"

"No. A thousand bucks."

"Oh…" said Steven, awkward. "Because I could swear I heard-"

"A thousand bucks," the man insisted.

Steven felt like arguing more, but he let it go. A thousand dollars were a small price for having mess with this man's memories.

He wrote a check the Innkeeper zealously guarded. Then he scanned the room, looking for anything else that required compensation. "Ha-ha! I'm sure this lamp wasn't broke, before."

Steven sighed. After a bit of haggling, they settled for 1500 dollars for all the damage. And Steven had to leave the motel. Immediately.

As he was going out, the Innkeeper looked at his empty hands with a lost expression. "Hey didn't I have a rifle when…" he realized how dumb he sounded and stopped. "No. Never mind."

The Innkeeper left the room. Steven dropped over the bed. Every time he felt his headache was getting better, something else came and hit him like a steel hammer.

A scratching noise made him jump. He rushed to open the bathroom door. Killer jumped right at him, sending him down to the floor as he licked Steven's face. Steven tried to stop the restless attack, but he was powerless against a wet tongue.

"OK, OK I get. You're happy. Now stop it, I already showered."

The dog moved from over Steven, making circles around him instead. Steven sighed sadly. Killer was a good dog, not defective at all —and even if he was, who cares? He was perfect the way he was.

Well, except for the name, of course. But Steven had a few ideas about that already.

Now that Mr. Sunshine and Rainbows was not an issue anymore and the dog was safe, Steven was faced with the problem of what to wear.

Yesterday's clothes were out of the question. Even if Steven haven't stained them with vomit and blood, his transformation had left his shirt, sneakers and gloves all stretched out and full of holes. The shirt could be patch up but Steven didn't dare to try; the left arm has fallen off completely and it looked like the moths had have a feast with it. With much pain, he had to throw it away.

But what really broke Steven's heart was his jacket. The poor thing was beyond recognition. It haven't been stretch by Steven's transformation, but the organic material had soaked so much blood one might believe it was always this shade of red. He could try to fix it, but honestly? He didn't feel like wearing it anymore. It had served its purpose, but Steven was in the mood for a change. Still, the jacket deserved a proper burial. Steven opened his clothing bag and took out an ecologic cotton bag he'd bought on the road. He put his beloved jacket and his t-shirt inside and tied it up on a knot. Later on, when he's travelling, he'll stop on a nice secluded area and bury the 'body of crime'. Then he'll leave. Days later, maybe weeks, the organic material will decompose, helped by Steven's magical blood and spit. The clothing would become part of the soil, and grass and flowers will grow from it, attracting animals and bugs alike. A part of Steven would be permanently linked to that place, just as Beach City was a permanent part of Steven.

Or maybe none of that will happen. But Steven liked to believe it would. With the way his powers worked, everything was possible.

Satisfied with this idea, Steven put the bag aside and searched for something else to wear. He'd packed lightly for this trip. Two clothing bags and one with his personal stuff like his laptop, toothbrush, shampoo, pictures and the like.

He opened his clothing bag and pulled out pair of clean underwear and socks. He looked behind to make sure dog wasn't looking. The animal was comfortably napping over the sheets.

"What do you say buddy? Star T-Shirt or Star T-Shirt?"

The dog lifted its head, unimpressed by Steven's attempt at humor. Steven pulled a pair of blue jeans and a few T-Shirts. Even at his age, he still wore his dad's old rockstar merchandize. It's not like his dad sold them anymore or anything; he'd enough boxes of them to fit a storehouse. Besides, Greg might've designed it, but the Star was Steven's thing. He settled for a long-sleeved white shirt with a black star. He matched it with a pair of white and pink sneakers and a black bean hat with heart designs.

Once he was done, Steven checked his reflection in the TV (since the mirror bathroom was still in smithereens).

He hummed in agreement at his reflection. "Not too shabby, right buddy?" he asked.

The dog yawned loudly.

"Yeah, you're right," said Steven, thoughtfully. "I still need a jacket."

He opened his winter bag and fished thorough his jacket collection. The parkas were too much for this autumn weather. But he found something deep red at the bottom. His heart skipped a beat.

Steven had brought this particular jacket on a thrift store. Buck Dewey went with him as a favor —he might be in the process of becoming a doctor, but he was still the most fashionable man Steven knew of. Steven bought a few shirts, a hoodie and a stack of bean hats. When he was on the way out, however, he spotted, hidden behind a pack of newish leather jackets, something red and shiny.

The denim jacket looked pretty good, except for a missing piece on the shoulder and elbows. Mostly red, shadows of pink and a worn out black showed underneath. It caught Steven's attention immediately, but Buck laughed at his intentions to buy it.

"It's a dyed jacket, that's why it looks like that," Buck said. "An amateur's job. You can see stains all over it. See the armpits? The owner didn't tie it well and used too much dye. They probably dyed it black first, didn't like it and try to dye it red. I wouldn't be caught dead with it, Steven, but it's your call."

The vote of confidence only convinced Steven further and he bought the jacket. Once at home, he'd fixed it up a bit. He cut a pair of old jeans of his and made a patch for the shoulder and the elbows. Then he cut some old sheets overdue for the trash and stitched it to the inside of the jacket. That had been a bit more of work, but in the end it looked great. The jacket was completely patched up, and with a nice and soft pink inner lining. Real nice.

Funny. Steven had forgotten about this jacket until now. Once he decided on the trip, it was the first thing he packed, and so it stayed at the bottom of his traveling bag until today.

But better late than never, right? He put it on and checked himself on the TV. He whistled.

"Its different, that's for sure," he said, trying to sound humble.

For some reason, he was feeling quite happy now. Like everything was finally falling into place and the dark clouds were parting, showing the bright blue sky.

He clapped his hands, startling the dog. "Welp. Guess its time to go, buddy. I'll finish packing up and we'll hit the road. Oh, but we'll make a few stops before, is that right?"

The dog reacted to this, getting on its feet and stretching, as he let out a soft whine. Steven chuckled. Dogs were kinda cute after all.

Before packing everything up, Steven searched for a new pair of gloves. When he was about to put the gloves on, he stopped. He flipped his clawed hands over and over, inspecting them with awe. His heart began to race as he found himself in a mental crossroad.

"Just remember, Steven. Healing is not a curve. It's a climb," said Dr. A. "You're going to have good days and you're going to have bad days. But no matter what happens, you will be fine. And eventually, you'll find yourself at a higher step of the ladder, and you'll discover that your bad days aren't so low, and your high days are higher. That's what recovery is about."

Steven laughed. For the first time in a good while, he'd found his smile again. It was only his second session with Dr. A., but he couldn't help liking her already. She had gentle eyes and a pearly smile. She was supposed to be fifty (or so she said), but she looked much younger.

"Thanks. I… that's what I want," Steven said.

"Good. Can I count on you to keep coming here?"

Steven blushed. "Oh yeah. Yeah! Definitely. I promised my family. And myself. I want to be better." A thought crossed his mind. "I'm sorry, I don't remember but… what did you say your specialty was?"

Dr. A. gave him a wide smile. Her exceptionally large fangs glowed ghostly under the light.

"Paranormal trauma recovery."

Steven considered it for a few seconds and found his smile again.

"Oh… what the heck. Let's do it." Steven threw the gloves in the bag and zipped it close with his naked hands.

Ta dah!

There was a scene i cut for this chapter, in which Steven texted Greg to tell him about what happened... But it felt redundant. All that is important about Steven's growth is here.

Anyway. There is but ONE chapter left, so i'll try to get it soon.

ALSO, I want to et you all know i have a Tumblr, where i crosspost my fics and post other stuff. Find me as: wolfinshipclothing.

See ya soon folks. Remember. ONE chapter left!