yeah, i'm doing away with the little "painful memories" thing. i kept writing and realised that almost all his memories are painful and the way i have them sort of jumbled would be confusing.

much, much, much thanks and love to Wyndmir for the review and to my freaky a leannan BabyVic for hers. you guys totally rock! and thanks to all who have been reading! keep at, don't be afraid to drop a word, or a line, or a paragraph...

i'm glad Tawny has gone over well, and hope he will continue to. if not, Vic's gonna tie him up. oh, language warning (majorly, i suppose) for this one.

-----t-o-o---s-o-o-n---t-o---r-e-a-l-i-s-e---t-h-e-i-r---f-a-t-e-----

Chapter Four: "Wolf Moon"

Not all Curt's encounters with Tawny in the woods were rough sexual experiences. No, on the contrary, quite a few were sombre.

"What's wrong with me, Curt? I just wanna go home. I'm not bad, am I? I mean -- you're like me, right? 'Course your pa didn't kick you outta the bloody house. But -- oh, fuck. I dunno." Tawny had cried his eyes out upon Curt's shoulder. They sat in one of the ditches in the woods, underneath a thick tree that had fallen across it. The night was quiet save for the mournful sound of the winds and the lonely cries of the wolves. Curt's fingers idly twirled in Tawny's unkempt hair. Outdoor living hadn't been kind to it, but it still felt soft.

"I get what ya mean, Tawny. Shh," Curt said. He took a last drag off his current cigarette -- second? or third one of the night -- and stamped it out. He watched the smoke trace lazy spirals against the dark background. "You mean, if others feel like ya, then why're ya punished for it?" Curt's voice had deepened over the last few months. It was effective: deeper, it was adult, solid, concrete, not the reassurances in a child's voice that seemed paper-thin.

"Yeah. Yeah, that's it exactly. I mean, I'm not hurtin' anyone. Well, not with the way I feel. But that's how it is, y'know? There are more who aren't like us, mate."

"Yeah, and therefore they make the right and wrong."

"Too right, mate. Too fuckin' right." Tawny's hand turned Curt's face gently toward him and he kissed him softly. Curt liked it when it was like this, too. Dodging blows was exhilarating, but he had to appreciate the simplicity, the stress-free opportunities that these moments held.

Curt fell into the moment; his eyes drifted close as Tawny deepened the kiss and adjusted his position, fingers moving beneath the hem of Curt's shirt to the button and zipper on the flap of his jeans, which was becoming more and more strained.

Everything felt perfect. That's why it was so bad of a shock when it happened.

Tawny was suddenly ripped away from Curt and thrown backwards.

"Who the fuck are you?"

Curt looked up to see Arik illuminated by the full moon. His dark eyes glinted evilly with rage, and jealousy. Who dare touch his brother? That was his right. Curt knew that was what was going through Arik's mind and it made his blood boil. It's not your right! You're my damned brother!

Curt scrambled to his feet, buttoning his pants with one hand as he did, to make sure they wouldn't fall off of him. "Leave him the hell alone, Arik! Don't you dare touch him, you fuck!"

"Shut up, Curt!" Arik turned his attention back to Tawny, who was now also on his feet. Tawny eyed this new person warily, from beneath a fall of his golden hair.

"Who the hell are you?" Arik reiterated.

"I'm a friend -- o' Curt's."

"A friend? Curt doesn't have friends. And you're just a friend? You call that just friends? A friend? My ass!" Arik was incredulous. He whirled around, glaring at Curt. "You're just a little fag whore, aren'tcha, Curt?"

That stung Curt to the core. His smart comment died in his throat with the cold-water shock. And something snapped. Not all the way, but so very near that all it would take would be one little nudge. One tiny thing and he would go berserk.

Arik gave him that little push and more.

"Hey, don't talk to 'im that way, ya bastard! You're his brother, aren't ya? Sadistic perv -- fuckin' around with your own little brother -- screwin' him up when he doesn't understand and keepin' at it till he thinks he's bloody insane! You're one to bloody talk!"

Arik hated to be called out. He hated it even more that Tawny had him pinned to a T. And that meant Curt had been squealing to him. But Arik would deal with his little brother later. This loud-mouth had to go. He lunged at Tawny...and that was what made Curt completely snap. Arik had brought Tawny to the ground and had a fist pulled back for a punch when Curt slammed into him.

"I-said-leave-him-the-fuck-alone-you-stupid-asshole-motherfucker! Leave-the-hell-offa-him!" Curt spat all his words out in two breaths. He fought against Arik with the ferocity of a snowstorm; he was all pounding fists and flailing feet. Arik finally caught Curt a good one in the jaw, sending him reeling as Tawny jumped on Arik's back and put him in a headlock. Tawny might've been smaller than Arik, but he was a determined little bastard. Arik was turning purple in the face and had clawed the hell out of Tawny's arm round his neck. Curt was swaying on his feet -- he'd cracked his head hard on a rock on the ground. Though his vision was blurry, he could tell that Arik was in trouble.

"Tawny! Tawny, stop it! He's my brother!"

Tawny shook his head, but he didn't have much more control as Arik flipped him over his shoulder -- Tawny hit the ground hard, his cry of pain as his back slammed into the rocky terrain tearing Curt's heart. The rustling of leaves was heard about Curt, but there wasn't really any wind. Curt was apathetic to it all.

A howl was the only warning before a large grey wolf charged forward, pouncing upon Arik. Curt stood paralyzed, all he could do was watch. Arik had heard it and whirled to face it. As he did, it had jumped up, its front paws hitting Arik full in the chest, knocking him flat on his back, much like Arik often pushed Curt down upon the bed or couch, or against a wall, or most often, to the floor. Then Arik would yank him up to his knees before him by fisting his hand in Curt's choppily-shorn dark hair, deliberately grabbing a short patch (that hurt the most). But the wolf wasn't pulling Arik up by his shaggy dirty blond hair.

He was having at Arik's throat.

Holy crap. They had always held the warning in the back of their minds, everyone in this tin can trash park: Beware of them damned wolves. Curt had never minded. He had thought of the wolves as protectors. Fricken hell; it was like the wolf knew that -- it acted upon the most immediate danger to Curt: Arik.

They had always held the warning in the back of their minds, everyone in this tin can trash park: Curt had never minded. He had thought of the wolves as protectors. Fricken hell; it was like the wolf knew that -- it acted upon the most immediate danger to Curt: Arik.

Arik's screams had Curt trembling continuously, little pathetic mewls escaping him. Then there was an awful gurgling over the screams; Curt turned paper-white. The wolf looked up at Curt, his yellow eyes shining. Arik lay twitching beside it.

"Bloody hell, Curt."

Curt jumped at the hoarse whisper. It was just Tawny. His lover put a hand upon his shoulder, leaning heavily against him. The wolf took them both into account.

"Your brother. That fuckhead --"

"He's dead."

That was rather obvious, wasn't it? Tawny looked at Curt. The boy -- well, technically he was a "young man," but to hell with formality and in this moment the term fit -- was in total shock. His pale face was ghost-white, his eyes a deep, stormy grey, pupils large pools of black. A subterranean tremor ran through his scrawny frame, shaking him fairly hard. But most stunningly -- pearly tears, fallen-angelic in their tainted innocence, tracked down his cheeks, glinting in the moonlight.

"Curt?"

"Ar -- he...my bro --"

"Curt, he freakin' abused you, mate. Why're ya cryin'?"

"I -- I lov -- Oh, fuck. Hell. He's dead. He's dead." I loved him anyway. Curt was torn. He wanted to jump up and down and do a dance and scream at the top of his lungs in joy; he wanted to fall to his knees and cry until there were no tears left. He'd hated Arik for what he'd done -- he'd loved Arik for being there. Arik had been the only one who had always been there for him. His mother had loved him, till she found him and Arik in the bathroom. Arik might've been an asshole, but he had never cut Curt off. He had always taken what he wanted, but he had always been there for Curt to turn to.

He couldn't go back to the trailer. He knew he'd have to, one more time at least.

"C'mon, Curt. We -- We gotta leave, mate. Before someone shows up."

Curt nodded numbly. He didn't even look back, but he could feel the golden eyes of the wolf upon him.

(The lyric in the page break is from "Bitter's End" by Paul Kimble)