So the bleeding wasn't stopping.
That's not good, Alex thought to himself miserably, even as he felt more blood seep through his shirt. A shiver wracked his body and he grit his teeth and forced his feet to keep walking.
It was freezing outside— not literally, but it was pretty close. It was about 11 or 12, he couldn't be sure which, and he just couldn't stop shuddering.
It's the adrenaline, he reminded himself. Not just the cold.
It was also the remnants of fear and the continued presence of rising panic, but he didn't have time to entertain those emotions, so he smothered them with a brutality he hadn't needed to use in a long time. He could not afford to panic. He could not.
The bleeding wasn't stopping, he refocused. That was the most serious problem at hand.
His right hand was still wrapped around the long, jagged cut on his forearm, which was the only warm part on his body. Blood was slicking his fingers and the feeling of it leaching out of his body made him sick.
He shuddered again and hunched in on himself. He hadn't thought to grab his jacket on the way out, so focused on getting away.
Fuck. What was he going to do? He couldn't go to the hospital. He couldn't. Because then Jones would know. She'd know that, despite how hard he'd tried, he'd driven away another guardian. His last.
'Alex, if you can't help yourself, I don't know if we can help you either.'
The words hovered in the forefront of his mind like a fog of poison, threatening to choke out his rationality.
She couldn't find out. She couldn't. She'd take him and use him and he wouldn't be able to survive it if he had to plunge back into that world of terror and horror and blood. He could feel his body tensing further, breath stuttering in the back of his throat in gasps, white puffs of condensation spilling from his mouth like smoke. No she couldn't find out she couldn't find out she couldn't he'd die before she took him he was never going back he wasn't he wasn't—
His right hand convulsed in a rough squeeze around the laceration on his arm, and his gasp morphed from panic to pain.
Shut the fuck up, he told his inner fear, tears pricking his eyes. Just shut up.
He gulped a struggling breath into his lungs and forced his legs to keep walking. The streets were emptier at this time of night, but it wasn't empty enough. If any one of the passing people stopped to look at him just a little closer, to look through the dusk to the dark stain spreading across his stomach, he was in trouble. But the cold was both a curse and a blessing, and the passerby bustling past in their coats and scarves were too focused on getting somewhere warm to pay too close attention to the bloodied teenager in their midst.
The blood. Right. The blood.
He couldn't go to the hospital, so that only left Tom. His hand shook as it slipped into his pocket and pulled out his cellphone. Tom would be upset that he'd gotten hurt, in that sad, disappointed way he always got, but Tom would be able to stitch him up. Jerry had taught him first-aid years ago, and Tom would know how to sew his skin closed. Tom would know what to do. Tom would—
Tome would not answer, he suddenly remembered, with ice in his chest. Tom was up in the mountains rock-climbing with Jerry and Jerry's friends. There's likely not going to be any cell service, Tom had said cheerfully during lunch that very day. It already seemed so long ago. So if you need me, you'll have to send a raven.
Is this some sort of nerd reference? He'd answered. Tom, you know I don't speak the language.
Oh you're hilarious, Tom had said with a scowl that made him laugh.
He didn't feel like laughing now.
The shaking in his hand worsened and he stumbled to a lampost and leaned against it heavily. Fuck. He had supplies at his house, but he couldn't go back there. Who else could he call? James? No. James had no experience, and likely no supplies to help him with.
There's another option, his mind hissed quietly. And there was. But calling would mean going against every single ounce of reasoning he had just worked through literally yesterday, and the thought made his stomach squirm unpleasantly. Calling wouldn't be fair. It wouldn't be a good idea.
Maybe he could just go to the hospital. Maybe if he gave a fake name and didn't look at any cameras and made sure not to bleed anywhere and thought up some story for why he has a giant gouge in his arm and blood all over his face and—
He had to wipe the slick red off of his fingers and onto his pants to get his phone to swipe open. He couldn't go to the hospital. He couldn't take that risk.
The shaking was almost overwhelming as he lifted his phone to his ear. Maybe he wouldn't even answer, he thought to himself. Maybe—
The line didn't even ring once before it was clicking open, cutting his anxious thoughts off abruptly, and Day's voice was abruptly there, rough and low with sleep. "Alex?"
He swallowed and forced his own voice into a facsimile of neutrality. "Hey Day. I'm sorry, did I wake you up?"
"Don't apologize." There was a sound that could have been a yawn and Alex winced. "I would prefer to talk to you than sleep anyway."
Oh.
"Um. Thanks."
"Just the truth. What's going on, Alex?" Day sounded much more receptive to having a conversation with Alex then he'd expected him to be. It was nearly midnight, after an afternoon of awkwardness and distancing perpetrated by Alex. Why did he sound so pleased to hear from him?
"It's… Well…" He bit his lip as he hesitated, and then promptly winced as his teeth dug into the cut on his lip. But the pain helped him screw up his courage and he said, "I'm calling to ask for a favour."
"Ask," Day said immediately.
He hesitated again. "I'm reminding you though, you can say no. It won't hurt my feelings or anything. I'll totally understand—"
"Alex. Just ask."
"It's…" Without his hand wrapped around the cut on his arm, his blood was flowing freely, dripping onto the pavement. He stared down at it helplessly. "Okay. So— how extensive is your first aid kit, exactly?"
A split second's pause, then— "What's wrong?" There was a rustling on the other end of the line. Day's voice came over, deadly serious. "Alex, what's going on, are you okay?"
"Well, sort of."
"Sort of? Where are you? What can I do?"
"Do you have any butterfly stitches? Or just— the ability to give me regular stitches?"
"Fuck," Day hissed. It was the first time Alex had ever heard him swear. "Alex where are you?"
"I just need a few stitches," he hedged. "Can you help me, do you think?"
"I can and of course I will. Alex please. Where are you? I'll come get you."
"No—"
"Tell me." Day said.
His voice was so commanding, that Alex immediately rattled off his location without the conscious thought of doing so.
There was another brief moment of silence, and then Day said, voice sounding a little distant. "Okay. There should be a gas station one block over. Can you go and wait inside for us?"
"For us?"
"I'm going to go get my mother."
"No—"
"I'm going to go get my mother," Day repeated firmly. "She has actual experience with injuries, and I couldn't take the car without her noticing anyway. We will come get you, and then we'll help you."
"Day, I can't— your mother—"
"Please trust me, Alex. We're going to help you."
Tears pricked at his eyes. How long had he waited for someone to say that to him? With seriousness and intent and ability. Because oh— Day had all three and he would. He would help, and Alex did trust him, despite the fear he felt and the way his knees went weak at that thought. Alex trusted him.
"Okay," he said, and he knew that Day would not miss the way his voice cracked on the word. "Okay, I'll wait there for you."
He started walking numbly, distantly hearing over the phone the muffled voices of Day and his mother, and the sounds of rustling and doors slamming. He got to the gas station and carefully made his way to the bench off the side of the building and sat heavily, huffing out a little groan as he lowered himself down.
"Alex?" Day said anxiously. "You're still there?"
"Yeah. Still here."
"Good. Don't hang up, okay? We're on our way. We'll be there in 12 minutes."
"Okay."
"Are you inside the gas station?"
"No, I don't uh— want to get any blood on the.. you know... floor."
"Fuck," Day repeated softly. "Alex, how badly are you hurt?"
"Just need some stitches, Day, that's all." He was glad Day hadn't asked him how he'd been hurt, but he knew those questions would come later.
There were more minutes of silence, just him and Day breathing quietly in each others' ears. Alex was shivering even worse now, breath clouding the air in front of him. Sitting made the cold worse, but he'd told Day he would wait for him at the gas station, and that's what he was going to do. At some point in time he realized that he needed to staunch the flow of blood from his arm, so he clicked on the speakerphone and carefully placed his phone on the bench beside him.
He must have spaced out, because suddenly Day's voice was jolting him out of his thoughts.
"Alex, we're here. Is that you on the bench?"
He raised his head and blinked into focus. A blue sedan had pulled up into the parking lot and was idling in the cold.
"Yeah. That's me." He picked up his phone with stiff fingers and began to walk over to the car. The passenger side door popped open before he'd even taken two steps, and Day was suddenly there, striding across the pavement with long legs. He was dressed in checkered pajama bottoms and a soft t-shirt, at odds with the black Vans he was wearing on his feet.
"Alex." A strong hand gripped the elbow of his un-injured arm, and then Day's tall, hard body was pressed into his side protectively, and it was all he could do not to melt into the sudden heat. "Thank god."
He was pulled to the car. Day opened the back door and carefully maneuvered him inside, sliding in behind him. The door slammed shut and then Day was immediately sliding one hand over where Alex's was pressed over his wound, adding his own gentle pressure. His other hand went to Alex's thigh and spread just above his knee. Alex felt absurdly grounded. Absurdly safe. He stared wide eyed up at Day, who wasn't even caring that he was getting Alex's blood on his hand.
"Sweetie, you've both got to buckle," Rosemary's voice said gently from the front seat. She'd twisted her upper body around and was watching them both with worry, her analyzing gaze darting over every one of Alex's visible injuries.
Day huffed an impatient breath and removed his hands to pull on his seatbelt. He left a bloody mark on the polyester. Then he leaned across Alex's body and pulled the other seatbelt over Alex's body, being careful to draw the upper belt in a way that wouldn't agitate Alex's injuries.
And then he slid his hands right back into place. His long fingers tangled with Alex's own, and Alex swallowed hard. He felt light-headed but he wasn't so sure anymore that it was just from the blood loss.
"Thanks for picking me up," he said, voice uneven. "I didn't know what else to do."
"Of course, sweetheart," Rosemary said, pulling away from the gas station. Her own voice was level, but her eyes darted back to him in the rear-view mirror every few seconds. "We're going to get you fixed right up, okay? You did a good job calling someone to help you. How long have you been bleeding?"
"30 minutes?" He guessed. "I'm going to need stitches."
"Day told me. So you haven't stopped bleeding?"
"No. The laceration is probably about two centimeters deep, maybe five centimeters long. I haven't checked the wound for any glass, but I don't think there's any in it. I've kept pressure on the wound constantly, except for the few minutes when I called Day and couldn't put it on speakerphone."
Rosemary was quiet for a moment. Day swallowed audibly next to him, and while the hand laid over his own stayed light, his other hand tightened slightly. Not enough to hurt him— nowhere close— but enough that he glanced over at the other boy. Day looked pained, but quirked his lips back at him quietly when they made eye contact.
"You did a good job," Rosemary said. "You handled things very professionally and calmly."
"Thanks. I tried. Will you be able to help me?"
"Yes," Rosemary said. "Yes, we'll be able to help you. But sweetie I just have to say once before we continue— I really think you should go to the hospital."
"No."
"You wouldn't have to give your name, and it could remain private from your guardian—"
"No," Alex said tightly. "And if you're going to push me on this you might as well stop the car right now. I'm not going to the hospital." His hand twitched against his arm as he thought about reaching out for the car door, but Day's hand pressed down more firmly on his, stopping that motion before it could begin.
"It's okay," Day said quietly, leaning in even closer.
"We won't press," Rosemary put in, and she sounded, to his surprise, sincere. "The most important thing right now is keeping you safe, love."
"Right. Well. Thanks."
He remained silent the rest of the way to the Webster house, despite the looks Rosemary flicked at him in the rear-view mirror, and the way Day never took his eyes off him.
He felt overwhelmed and exhausted and also horrified with the fact that an adult he had met once was being inserted into the most painful parts of his life. In a few hours, when his initial surface emotions had subsided again, back into the sack where he stuffed all his feelings, he was sure that he would feel humiliated.
Luckily, that hadn't happened yet, and when they pulled up into the driveway of Day's house, he followed them quietly, and didn't protest at the way Day stuck to his side like glue.
He kicked off his shoes and then followed Day to the kitchen while Rosemary hurried off to get her medical supplies.
"Sierra is still asleep but Robin woke up when we left," Day said quietly, pulling out a kitchen chair and steering Alex into it. "She's in her room with Molly. They know not to come out."
"Okay." Alex reached out and caught Day's wrist, and pulled him closer. "Look," he said, somewhat awkwardly. He was covered in blood and bruises and his knees still had the grass stains from the park earlier that day. And Day, of course, looked as good in pajamas as he did in his leather jacket. The kitchen was white and clean and the cookies from that evening were placed in a neat tupperware. He didn't fit in here, and it was obvious. "Thank you. For helping me. You didn't have to get involved and you did. Again."
Day dragged the other chair closer and sat in it. "You're my friend," he said simply. "And speaking of friends, Tom…?"
"Away with Jerry, his brother. They won't be back until Sunday." The thought made him miserable. What was he going to do?
"You can stay here."
"What?"
"If you want." Day bit his lip. "I get maybe this might be a little awkward and you'd prefer to go somewhere else, but. I already asked my mother if it'd be okay and she said yes."
Alex stared.
"Look, you don't have to. Just— it's an option."
He nodded numbly. He was shocked that Day would be okay with that, but his train of disbelief was derailed by Rosemary's reentry into the kitchen. She had a massively large white medical box in her arms, a ziplock bag filled with small tubes, a bunch of rags, and a folded up blanket.
"Day, give him the blanket then wash your hands."
The blanket was wrapped around his shoulders carefully, and Alex shuddered at the new feeling of warmth.
"I'll get blood on it," he protested weakly.
"It's just a blanket," Rosemary dismissed, dumping the rest of her supplies on the table. "Can you stand, love?"
He got to his feet, and allowed her to steer him, blanket wrapped around his shoulders like a cape, to the kitchen sink. Unprompted, he held his arm out over the sink, and watched as red droplets dribbled into the damp basin, mingling with the remnants of water left behind.
"Oh that's a lot of blood," Day muttered, face white as he finally got a good look at the amount of blood soaking through Alex's shirt. "Jesus Christ."
"It looks worse than it is," Alex told him, peeling his hand off his wound and trying to ignore the way Day's face turned— somehow— even whiter. "I'll probably only need seven or eight stitches max, I think."
"I think I agree, but I'll need to see the wound to know for sure," Rosemary said. "Alex, sweetheart, can you pull up your sleeve or do you want one of us to do it?"
He reached out and carefully peeled the sleeve up his arm in answer, wincing at the sharp tug on the wound. There must be some frayed threads caught inside the edges of the open flesh. In the bright lights of the kitchen, the laceration didn't look so bad. Yes, he was bleeding all over the place like a stuck pig, and yes, the laceration was painfully laid over the bruises from his fight with Abrams, Pritchard, and Smith, but honestly— no chunks were missing from him, it wasn't infected, and it looked like a pretty smooth cut. Definitely could be worse.
Rosemary turned on the tap to a gentle stream and carefully took his wrist. "This is going to hurt," she warned.
He nodded and stayed silent as she rinsed his arm off, wincing only a little at the sting of cold water in his cut. Next she pulled his arm back, twisted the water to warm, and soaked one of the rags. His skin was wiped clean and the tattoos of semi-dried blood were scrubbed away. It turned out there was no broken glass caught inside the wound— which was great because what a thing he didn't need— and then it was time for stitches.
"I've never actually seen this happen," Day told him, sitting next to him in the chair. He was holding a warm rag tightly in his clenched fists, and watching like a hawk as his mother tugged a needle through Alex's arm. "It looks horrible."
"You don't have to watch if you don't want to," Alex said. "I can wipe away the blood on my own."
"My son is stubborn as hell," Rosemary said as she poked the needle into his flesh. "You don't need to keep asking him if he wants to go. I guarantee you he won't."
Day smirked at him and he rolled his eyes back, lips twitching up in a reluctant smile.
"Anyway," Rosemary continued. "This entire arm is going to be out of commission for a while. This cut's going to make stretching for things problematic, and I don't even know what's happened to your hand, but it probably won't help."
Oh. His eyes shot to the hand in question. It was still bandaged, although the white fabric was now stained with blood and sweat. Definitely not sanitary.
"Alex and I can take care of that later," Day said quickly.
"The face is going to need looking at as well," Rosemary told them. "There's a lot of blood near your hairline, Alex, and something up there might need stitches as well."
"Fine."
"And Alex…" She didn't look away from where she was stitching him up, but Alex felt the tension in the room ratchet up a few knots. "I would like to give you a brief physical."
He tensed. "What?"
"A physical. Please. I know you won't go to the hospital, but this needs to be done. If you're hurt anywhere else—"
"I'm pretty sure I'd know if I were hurt anywhere else."
"But would you tell me?" Her thumb brushed softly over a deep purple bruise a few inches from his wound. "You look like you've gone through the wringer, and that's just from this arm."
"Considering the fact that I called you, surely you can trust that I know when things are serious," he said coolly.
"The adrenaline might have covered up the pain—"
"What you see are the only wounds from today." As soon as she finished tying off her last stitch and stuck on a bandage, he pulled his arm from her, barely resisting the urge to shove his sleeve back down. "I know how this is going to sound Ms. Rosie, I really do, but the bruises you see are from a fight. With students," he continued quickly when she opened her mouth to interrupt. "And they smacked me around a little, but it was nothing serious."
"It really was a fight with some other kids," Day told his mother, hand coming up to rest on Alex's back. The touch made his shoulders relax and some of the tension bleed out of his body.
"Right," she said, frowning. "Well… I guess we should take a look at the cuts on your face, then, before we decide anything else. Alex, if you could just—"
"Mum?" A voice said, and all three of their heads whipped to the door.
A short preteen girl was standing in the doorway, eyes wide and intrigued. She had on light blue pajamas with Care Bears on them, and her hair was short, cut to her shoulders. Her gaze darted from Alex to Day to Rosemary and back to Alex. "Hi," she told him loudly, giving a wave. She had some sort of lisp that altered her speech a bit. "I'm Robin. Are you Alex?"
"Er." He said.
"Robin!" Rosemary hurried over to her. "What are you doing out here! I thought I told you to stay in your room!"
"I wanted to see what was going on," she protested. "You left in the middle of the night like some sort of vagabond, it's super weird—"
"Vagabond?" Day said, sounding put out. "Seriously?"
"A person who wanders from place to place," she said firmly. "Like you guys were doing."
"We were picking up Alex, who needs some privacy right now," Rosemary said, taking her daughter by the hand.
"So you are Alex!"
"And you're Robin," he responded.
"Yes! Has Day talked about me? He's talked about you—"
"Okay time for bed!" Day interrupted loudly. "Mum, if you could just take Robin back to her room, I'm sure Alex and I could figure things out here. We'll come get you if anything needs stitches."
Alex prodded at the deepest cut on his forehead and said "They don't, though."
"They might," Rosemary said, and he shook his head.
"Ms. Rosie. They don't. I'm pretty sure you know it too."
She looked at him for a long moment, and he did his best to level his gaze back at her. He felt exhausted, physically and mentally, and although he'd stopped shaking, all he wanted to do was huddle back into his blanket and cry. Which, of course, he wouldn't do.
Cry, that is.
The huddling was definitely still happening.
Robin tugged on her mother's hand. "Molly was sniffing at Fruity Pebbles, I think she's going to eat him. You should come look."
"Oh that's not desirable at all," Rosemary groaned, and finally came to her decision. "Okay. I'm taking Robin to bed. But I'll be back out in thirty minutes tops, okay boys? Day, there are band-aids in the box— you make sure every single cut is looked at, alright?"
"I will."
"Okay." She gave Alex one last lingering look and then allowed herself to be tugged away by Robin, who gave Alex a wave before disappearing down the hallway with her mother.
"Who's Fruity Pebbles?" He blurted as soon as they were alone— and then cringed because that was not at all what he wanted to say.
"The hamster." Day picked up a clean rag and then stood. "He's so loud. I'm surprised you can't hear him from here."
There was quiet for a moment, except for the slow rush of water from the sink.
"What does your mum know about me?" Alex asked as Day came and sat back down next to him.
"Nothing invasive. We have class together. You used to play football. Your uncle died recently and you're currently in foster care. Nothing more detailed than that." Day handed him the rag. "You can wipe your face with this."
Alex did so carefully and then looked up at Day.
"Here." Day tapped a spot on his own cheek.
Alex dutifully rubbed at that spot.
"Also here."
He rubbed.
"Er— also here."
He rubbed.
"Also— you know what, can I just—? Maybe you could just let me—?" He held out his hand for the cloth and Alex only hesitated a moment before handing it over.
"I'm going to hold your chin," Day warned, scooting his chair closer. "Is that okay?"
Alex nodded and then Day reached out and carefully took Alex's chin between his thumb and forefinger. He tilted Alex's face to the right and then reached out and wiped gently at his cheek with the rag. Alex flushed at the close attention.
"Will you tell me what happened?" Day asked, pushing the tip of the rag over another spot on Alex's cheek. "You're really cut up."
"It's honestly not a big deal."
"My mother just gave you eight stitches, seems like kind of a big deal to me."
"It was my fault, really," he said with a sigh. "And anyway, I wouldn't even be here if I had just ducked. Christ, I used to be faster."
Day's fingers stilled. "You used to be faster."
"I mean… yeah?"
Day's eyes closed. He took a deep breath.
"Day?"
"That's not okay." He opened his eyes and looked at him seriously, hand manipulating his face back so they could see each other eye to eye. "Alex, that's not okay at all."
"Well I was." He shrugged awkwardly, feeling flushed at the way Day was watching him. "I've gotten a lot slower in my old age. It's kind of embarrassing."
"You shouldn't have to duck things thrown at you. Things shouldn't be thrown at you at all."
"This was the first time," he explained. "I mean, second time, really, but it's not like I didn't deserve it." Day froze and he hurried to continue. "Like, I seriously did, Day. I said some really horrible things about his brother yesterday, and I mean— it was really awful. The things I said were absolutely vile." Just thinking about what he'd spat at Alil brought a rush of white-hot shame, guilt, and humiliation.
"So he waited for you to come home today and he threw something at you in retaliation," Day said neutrally.
"No! Just— I was trying to apologize, so I made some food and waited for him to get back— but he was really messed up, emotionally I mean, and just… talking made it worse."
"So you were trying to apologize to him, and then fucking Alil, the man who is supposed to be taking care of you, threw something at your face. You had to have eight stitches, Alex. Eight." Day's voice had left the realm of neutrality and was stiff with fury. His eyes flashed and Alex's breath hitched because in all the time Alex had known him, he had never seen Day lose his temper. He'd never even seen him irritated.
"I mean," he stammered, eyes wide. "Day really— he just threw something. He was angry, rightfully so, and he let his anger get away from him which he totally shouldn't have, but—"
"There are no excuses for what he did," Day said tightly. "He should never have hurt you, no matter what you said to him—"
"I insinuated his brother's murder was his fault," he blurted.
Day reared back.
Alex's lips twisted up in a dismal smile and he leaned his body back as well. "Yeah. Pretty disgusting, huh? I said what I knew would hurt him the most, because he scared me— and it wasn't even his fault that he scared me— and I freaked out on him. It's what I do, Day. You seem to think that I'm nice and 'well-adjusted despite everything', but I'm not. I'm bad. To people who don't even deserve it. And I swear I'm trying to get better Day, I really am, but I'm not there yet. And I don't think I'll be there for a long time. So just… trust me on this one, okay? I really really deserved it."
Day stared at him for a long moment, eyes darting over his face in silence. Then he sighed. Leaned forward. And enunciated clearly, "You are very wrong."
"What—"
"Alex. Look at me. Listen to me. You are so very very wrong. I don't give a shit what you said to Alil. I mean, yeah insinuating he was to blame for his brother's murder is absolutely awful, but Aex. You were apologizing to him. You took the time to swallow your pride and actually planned out an apology— you made him food, right?"
"Right," Alex said, voice small.
"You're 16 years old. No adult, especially your guardian, should ever raise their hand against you. They should never hurt you like this, no matter what you say to them. You have eight stitches in your arm! Eight!"
"Yeah, only eight—"
"Alex," Day groaned out and then reached out and took his hand— the uninjured one— and held it tightly between his own. "Any amount of stitches given to you by your guardian is going to be a bad thing. And for the record, eight is a lot."
"I got 18 once. Eight's not so bad in comparison."
Day's lips pressed together and that flash of fury appeared briefly in his eyes once again. But, to Alex's curious gaze, it looked as if Day were struggling to force down his anger. And he was doing a pretty decent job, but the burning spark still remained.
"Day?"
"I need to say something to you. Look, can I just—? It may come over kind of callous. Probably kind of insensitive. But I'd really like to say it."
"I can deal with callous." Alex gave Day's hand an awkward squeeze. Day was still holding his, and he wasn't exactly sure why. But he liked it. At the squeeze, Day's grip tightened. "Just say what you want."
"I think you're used to people hurting you." Alex stilled, but Day forced the conversation on, looking determined. "I think you've had a lot of bad things happen to you in the past, and now you're afraid of other people turning on you, so you push them away before they can push you away first. I think you're trying your best and you're a kind person, but you've been involved with a lot of violence. I think you have a difficult time trusting people, so you have a difficult time opening up and leaning on other people."
Alex remained perfectly still. "That's a pretty strong opinion to have," he said slowly. "Considering you don't know very much about me at all."
Day reached out and placed his fingertips over a particularly long scar on Alex's exposed forearm. His other thumb dipped into Alex's palm and pressed down.
It was only when Alex looked down did he realize that Day's thumb was tracing over the long scar on his palm from the Poison Dome in Greenfields two years ago. The poisonous spider-web had seared a clean white line on his skin that had never gone away.
He pulled his hands away quickly, face burning. His entire body was such a mess. Christ, he was such a mess— and a more obvious one than he'd thought, if Day could just look at him and tell. Jesus. He'd thought he'd been doing well hiding what he was from Day, but obviously not.
"It's not your fault," Day said lowly but fiercely, hands clenching on his knees like he wanted to reach back out to Alex. "All these people who've hurt you, Alex, they should never have done any of it to you. And Alil— you were pretty mean to him, definitely, but he's your foster parent, and he's been trained for situations like these."
Alex frowned.
"I did some Googling," Day told him. "About foster care. You have to get certified to foster, and you've got to pass a test from CPS, and you've got to go to mandatory training before you can get your certificate. Alil should know better."
Oh. Oh. Shit. Alex swallowed and avoided Day's gaze. Had Alil ever been certified? Had he gone through mandatory training? Fuck. Probably not. He must have the certificate, because surely Jones wouldn't be that sloppy, but training? A test from CPS? Alex couldn't see that happening. Honestly, he had no idea where Jones was dragging his guardians up from. Ava Scott had been a worker at the Ministry of Defense. Jerred Paul was Army. The trend was pretty clear— military, with some degree of clearance— but how was she choosing? None of them had been what he'd expected a standard foster parent to be like— which he hadn't minded (he hadn't) because he wasn't a standard foster child— but the more he thought about it, the less good he felt.
He squirmed in his seat, still not looking at Day. "My situation is… special."
"It's not."
"It is."
"Then it shouldn't be." Day ducked his head to force eye contact with Alex. "You're a 16 year old kid. You've been in foster care since you were 14. If someone's not treating you right that's on them. They signed up to be a foster parent. Literally all of them."
"I'm really a special case though, Day." He bit his lip. "I can't explain to you why but— but Day there's a lot that's messed up about me, okay? Like, a lot, and I don't think they did sign up to be a foster parent. Not to someone like me, I mean."
A hand came off of Day's knee and then a thumb was gently tugging his lip from between his teeth. "You're going to hurt yourself," Day said, voice rough. He kept his thumb there for a brief moment, and Alex swallowed loudly, face heating, as the pad of Day's thumb rubbed gently against the swell of his bottom lip— and then the hand was gone, although the light-headed feeling stayed. "You're special, Alex, but not because you deserve to get hurt, or because the adults in your life aren't doing their jobs properly."
Alex sat, stunned, as Day picked up the wet rag and slowly, carefully reached out and took his chin once more between his fingers. Day was diligent in rubbing the rest of the blood off of Alex's skin, and didn't even blink at the barbed wire scar near his hairline, just wiped the cut on his forehead and dabbed a bit of Neosporin on it.
In the end, only two cuts on his face needed band-aids, and with numb amusement, Alex settled on the Disney Princess ones. Care Bears weren't quite his style.
"Tom told me he suspected I liked boys because I had a crush on Prince Erik from the Little Mermaid," he told Day, watching the concentration on Day's face as he plastered a band-aid with Sebastian the yellow fish on it across his forehead. Day's face was so close, he could feel his soft exhales. His breath was still minty. He must have brushed his teeth shortly before Alex had called.
Day's lips twitched. "You liked Prince Erik? That's kind of cute." His fingers smoothed across the band-aid and then he was leaning back, and Alex could breathe again.
"According to Tom, yeah. I always thought I had a crush on Shang from Mulan, but what do I know about myself, right?"
Days brows raised and his lips settled in a soft smirk. "So you like brunettes?"
And so of course his face was just turning bright red when Rosemary finally bustled back into the kitchen.
"Sorry that took so long," she said. "Robin had a lot of questions. You boys behaved without me?" She arched a brow at Day, who turned pink.
"Mum come on, Alex just had stitches. We're not going to go crazy or anything in the kitchen at—" He checked the stove clock. "12:34."
Alex's mouth fell open. "It's 12:34? God, I'm so sorry. I didn't realize it was so late."
"It's okay, Alex," Rosemary told him. "We're not worried about the time. But I am worried about getting you clean. You need a shower and some clean clothes. Are you staying here for the night, or is there somewhere else you'd like to be dropped off?"
"Um. I mean— can I? Stay, I mean?"
"Of course, sweetie."
"You can sleep in my bed," Day said. His mother immediately shot him a look and he sighed and gave her an exasperated look back. "And I would take the couch Mum, obviously."
Alex looked between the two of them uncertainly. Did Rosemary know that he liked boys? Was that— was that why she was being so—?
"I wanted to talk to you about something else before you shower though," Rosemary interrupted his train of thought. "It's about your guardian."
He immediately tensed and she held up a soothing hand.
"Nothing invasive love, I promise. I was just wondering if he was going to report your absence. That could cause some potential problems."
The blood drained from Alex's face. "Oh god, I didn't even think about that." His hands scrambled for his phone. "God, I need to call him, can I— can I please call him?" Oh god.
"We'll give you some privacy." Rosemary took Day's shoulder and steered him out of the room. "We'll be in the living room when you're done."
"Mum—"
"Give him some space, sweetheart," Rosemary muttered, tugging him away.
Alex's breath was unsteady as he found Alil's number, and it was with shaking hands that he held the phone up to his ear.
Please don't have called Jones, fuck pleasepleaseplease don't have called Jones—
Alil answered almost immediately. "Alex?" His voice was trembling and he sounded wide awake. "Fucking hell, Alex are you okay?"
"Did you call Jones?" He blurted.
"Alex, I'm so fucking sorry, I should never have thrown that bowl at you, I should never have lost my temper, I'm so fucking sorry—"
"Did you call Jones?" He interrupted, and now his own voice was trembling. "I don't care that you threw the bowl at me, Alil, it's fine or whatever, just tell me, please— did you call Jones or not?"
Alil breathed heavily on the other side of the line. "I… I didn't. Fuck. I should have called her, I should have—"
"No!" Alex hissed loudly. "No, fuck, Alil, please. Don't call her. Don't call Jones, Alil, please, I'm begging you—"
"Alex—"
"Look, it wouldn't be good for you either, right? And I forgive you! I do. I said some shit, you gave me eight stitches—"
"Eight stitches?" Alil sucked in a huge breath and when he spoke he sounded horrified. "Oh my God—"
"The stitches aren't the point though! We're even, is what I'm saying. We can put this past us. No need to get anyone else involved—"
"Where are you? Did you go to the hospital?"
"No, I'm with a friend—"
"You need to go to a hospital—"
"I don't! That wouldn't be great for you either, Alil, why are you telling me to do that?"
"Because you're seriously fucking hurt," he bit out. "And someone not a professional gave you stitches which is so fucking dangerous—"
"She used to be a nurse, it's fine. Look, can we not do this? I'm just calling you to tell you— everything's fine. You don't need to call Jones. It's handled. I'll be back tomorrow. And if I'm not back tomorrow, I'll let you know beforehand. I'm somewhere safe, I'm not roaming the streets bleeding out or anything. Seriously. Just…"
"Don't call Jones," Alil finished for him slowly. "Rider. You really… You seem really against me talking to her."
"I am," he said tightly. "Because it's not necessary."
There was a moment of silence. It carried the sounds of confusion and concern and suspicion.
Alex sighed. "Look. I know that this has kind of been the start of a couple of our fights, but I'm going to say it again, with utter sincerity: you really don't know anything about me. Or about my relationship with Jones, or why things between you and I are set up the way they are. And I said we're even, but honestly, you've literally disfigured me for life, so I think you kind of owe me, just a little."
He heard Alil swallow heavily over the line. "Perhaps," Alil muttered quietly.
"Right. So just— do me this favour. Don't call Jones. Don't tell her anything about what happened between us. And I'll do the same, okay? I'll be back tomorrow."
"Okay—" Alil began, and Alex hung up.
Okay. Okay. He should have thought about this sooner, but at least it was taken care of. Hopefully Alil would learn for the future, that Alex never wanted him to report anything.
He stood on shaky legs and shuffled to the living room—
And nearly bumped into Rosemary.
"Whoa!" She reached out to steady him, and asked, "Everything good?"
"Good enough," he said. He felt exhausted by the entire day, weighted down by invisible rocks and sludge and filthy mud. He couldn't believe it had just been that morning that he had fished the chicken out of the freezer to set in the sink. It felt like ages ago.
He looked down at his hands. They were still covered in blood.
"You'll feel better after a shower," Rosemary said softly. "Day, can you show him where everything is?"
Alex followed Day down the hallway robotically. His joints felt stiff and his entire body was numb. The blanket was still wrapped around his shoulders, and he clung to it like a life vest, shivering in the warmth of the house.
"It's just here," Day said softly, pulling him gently into the bathroom. "You can use anything you find. If you need anything else, I'll be just in my room. What kind of pajamas do you want?"
"Long sleeved. If you can."
"Definitely." He disappeared for a minute and then reappeared with a bundle of soft looking clothes. "Er— there's no um—" He turned pink and coughed awkwardly, and Alex raised a brow at the uncharacteristic embarrassment on the other boy. "I didn't bring any underwear because I thought that might be weird?"
Oh.
Alex turned pink too.
"Right, right. No, that's, uh, that's fine. Thanks." He took the clothes quickly.
"Okay." Day was still flushed. "Well. There are towels in the closet. And a spare toothbrush in the cupboard under the sink. Just… yell if you need me or anything." He backed out of the bathroom and shut the door.
The bandage Rosemary had pasted over his cut did end up keeping the water off of it, but the nicks on his face all stung badly under the warm spray. His split knuckles were free to sting too, as he'd tugged the bandage off as soon as the door was closed. It was a familiar sight, his blood spiralling down the shower drain. It sloughed off of him like he was shedding his skin. It took more effort to scrub the dried blood off his stomach, but soon all that was left to clean was his hair.
The first bottle he picked up was dark blue and when he popped the cap, a spicy, earthy scent met his nose. He recognized Day's scent immediately. Alex was too tired to consider the pros and cons of using the shampoo of the boy he had a crush on, so he didn't think any further about squeezing a big blob onto his hands and running his fingers through his hair.
15 minutes later he was fresh and clean and pushing open Day's door. Day jumped off his bed. "Hey! All good?"
"Yeah, thanks. And uh— thanks for the clothes." He plucked at the edge of the t-shirt he was wearing. It was soft and black and had sleeves that fell over his hands. He'd had to roll the cuffs up twice.
"It's my only long-sleeved sleep shirt," Day said. His eyes darted over Alex's body. "Sorry it's a little… big."
Alex shrugged and the shirt slipped a hare's breadth off his shoulder. "It's more comfortable than my blood soaked shirt. Speaking of, I didn't really want to get blood anywhere else, so I left my clothes and the blanket in the bathroom. Is that okay?"
"Yeah. You want me to throw your clothes in the wash?"
"I'm just going to trash them, probably," he sighed. "That much blood is never going to come out, unfortunately."
"Oh." Day swallowed. "Well. You need anything else?"
"Honestly Day, I just… I just want to sleep." Day was probably tired as well, he realized. Alex had, after all, woken him up with his call. He bit his lip guiltily— and then quickly stopped at the way Day's eyes narrowed. "You can sleep in your own bed, Day," he said. "I can take the couch."
But Day was already shaking his head. "No. Absolutely not."
"Day—"
"Seriously Alex, no. You've lost a lot of blood. You need to sleep somewhere comfortable."
"You can't stop me from taking the couch."
"If you sleep on the couch I'll sleep on the floor."
Alex stared.
Day smirked.
"You're a very frustrating boy," Alex told him, although he couldn't stop himself from smiling back.
"Oh for sure." Day peeled back the covers on his bed and patted the mattress. "Come here."
Alex went. When he sat down cautiously next to Day, the other boy immediately took hold of his wrist and pulled his hand closer for inspection. It seemed like somewhere during this whole debacle, the invisible line of defensive distance between them had been crossed. And crossed deeply, Alex thought, thinking of the tangle of their fingers in the car, blood slicking the contact between them. He wasn't sure he could backtrack if he tried.
Day looked carefully at his knuckles. "You want me to bandage your hand back up?" He reached for a package of bandages on the bed-side dresser. He must have set it there while Alex was in the shower. There was also a pair of scissors, a bottle of Tylenol, and a small tube of Bengay. Alex stopped him quickly with a grip on his sleeve.
"Honestly, it probably needs to breathe a little." Alex said. "It's fine. Maybe tomorrow." He tried once more. "Day, are you sure you don't want—?"
"Yes. Alex, I'm sure."
"Well… I mean… If you really won't change your mind."
And then Day smiled at him. Softly. Fondly.
"I won't."
A/N: So here's a relatively quick new chapter (in comparison to my other updates, lol). I was writing this chapter and I was like 'oh wow, it's getting kind of long but I'm sure it'll be fine' and then I realized it absolutely wasn't fine lol. So I decided to split it into two chapters instead. So if you were wondering 'hey where's Alex's breakdown, I was so looking forward to seeing this kid absolutely lose it' don't worry! It's coming in the next chapter lol! So yeah some things I want to note:
yes, Rosemary was absolutely eavesdropping on Alex when he was on the phone with Alil lol
no she's not homophobic, she's just like 'hey my son seems kind of into this kid, I need to be a responsible adult with that'
things with Alil are going to get interesting soon
and finally, Alex is going to majorly let some kind of yikes things slip next chapter, and Day will definitely be like 'hey man you good?' so stay tuned for that!
Guest #1, thank you so much! You're so sweet!
LoveRider, thank you! I hope this chapter took care of the cliffhanger lol, and I hope you can stay healthy too
Guest #2, thank you! It's so nice to hear that you're invested! I hope you continue to be lol
Guest #3, I hope this lived up to your hopes! The next update should be kind of quick too!
Guest #4, LOL yeah I kind of have a hard time with updating, but I'm definitely working on that! I will never abandon this story though, even if it takes me years to finish. Thanks for the encouraging words lol!
Guest #5, thanks so much! Here is an update for you!
BritishBookWorm, lol thank you, I am not British so I did a lot of Googling! Although I totally forgot about the uniforms somehow until one reviewer (AsDoI) was like 'hey heads up about that' so yeah haha. Thanks for letting me know about how to say the grades! I had no idea! Will change that in the future :)
DemiDorkII, thank you so much! I love to hear that you like it!