*A/N: And now, the update you've all been waiting for. Enjoy!*

Sully and Sam looked at each other. That crash from the kitchen did not sound good, and Rafe's statement was even more disquieting.

The elder Drake was the first to react. He shot up from the couch and was in the kitchen before Sully even made it out of his chair. Sam quickly glanced around to assess the situation; the kitchen entrance to the house was wide open, but nothing else was obviously out of place. He took a deep breath and forced himself to look around more slowly and carefully, taking a mental inventory. Then his eyes swept over the stove, and he got the nagging feeling in his gut that something wasn't right.

Something definitely wasn't right. The nagging feeling clenched into a knot the moment he realized exactly what was wrong, and his jaw tensed involuntarily. Rafe wouldn't dare.

"Sam?" Sully had finally joined the other man in the kitchen. He didn't know if it was his age catching up to him, or the fact that he really didn't want to know what happened even if it was his job to, but it had been a struggle to get to his feet. Next time, he'd choose a less comfortable chair for himself.

It was clear from Sam's body language that he had figured it out, but for the life of him, Sully couldn't see anything wrong. Especially not anything that would have the other man's temper rising so quickly. There were very few things in the world that could make Sam react like that. Yelling and pacing and complaining was one thing, but freezing up was something completely different. "What in the goddamn hell did he do?"

Instead of answering, Sam shook his head and walked over to the doorway. He didn't trust himself to speak right now, not if his suspicions were correct. Victor cursed under his breath and started to follow behind him, but Sam barely registered it. All he cared about was what he would see outside.

He strode out onto the porch, then stopped abruptly; so quickly that Sully bumped into his back and cursed again, but he didn't even feel it. All of his focus was on the object he saw lying on the pathway that led up to the porch; his prized stainless-steel-lined copper cooking pan, now rendered completely useless. The handle had snapped off entirely and was sitting haphazardly on the porch by a large score in the wood where it had made impact, which was what caused the first sound they had heard. The second sound was evident in center of the pan itself where it had caved in from another blow.

Sully looked over Sam's shoulder and took in the scene. "Oh, goddamnit," he muttered under his breath.

Sam's hands clenched and unclenched reflexively. Both his palms and his knuckles were itching to inflict some damage, and he honestly wasn't sure which urge would win. "That brat…"

"Sam…"

"Victor, I'm going to kill him!"

"Sam, you need to calm down." Sully put his hand on Sam's shoulder to get his attention, but Sam immediately shrugged it off. He wasn't going to be placated that easily.

"I was being nice, Victor! I could have swatted him for that whole interrupting nonsense, and this is what he does?" Sam ground his teeth. "This is what I get for doing things your way."

"Don't try to put this one me. You've been fighting doing things my way from the beginning, and you're the one he did this to," Sully said evenly. He stepped in front of Sam to block his view of the pan and force the younger man to look at him. "I know you're angry. I know why you're angry. You really need to calm down, though, before you do something you'll regret. Go take a walk, have a cigarette, relax. Don't come back until you've sorted out your priorities."

Sam narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. "A smoke won't be enough, Victor. That pan was seasoned."

Sully looked him over, weighing out a decision, then finally gave in and reached in his pocket, producing a cigar. "This will be enough, then. You know Rafe is going to be punished, you're just not the right person to do it right now. That pan can be replaced, and you don't even have to worry about the cost. Whatever you do to the kid when you're like this can't be easily fixed, though. So, go, take a nice, long walk, and I will have a talk with him while you're out."

That caused Sam to snap out of it. He could remember all of three times in his life when Victor had given him one of his cigars. Once was out of celebration when they finished a particularly difficult job with a high payoff, and the other two were after times Victor had helped him get rid of a lot of guilt, and the cigars were the only acts of comfort his younger self would accept from the man.

Sully's offer was enough to make his temper drop, and he took a deep breath before nodding. "You know, it's kinda hard to remember we have money at our disposal now," he said quietly as he took the cigar from Victor's hand. As his brain kicked back into gear and everything sunk in, he was starting to feel a little embarrassed that he had let himself get that angry in the first place. "Fine. I'll let you know what I want as a replacement when I get back."

"Good," Sully said, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "You do that."

Sam glanced at the pan again. Even if he was calmer, he still didn't like what the brat had done. He really needed to learn his lesson this time, and Sam wanted to make sure Victor was on the same page as he was. He turned and walked back into the kitchen, despite Sully's protests that he was heading the wrong way. He was back on the porch a few seconds later with the wooden spoon in hand, giving Victor a pointed look.

Sully looked at the spoon and nodded as he took it, agreeing to the unspoken request. Sam wordlessly take off down the path, apparently satisfied, and Sully went back into the house, closing the door behind him.

Rafe was sitting on his bed, his back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. He could admit that he may have let his temper get the best of him for a moment, and destroying that pan wasn't the smartest thing to do in his circumstances, but he didn't think anyone could blame him for losing control after what happened.

Well, no one sane could. He was sure Drake and the old man would have no problem finding fault with his actions.

Whatever. Let them do what they wanted to; he wasn't going to beg for mercy, or make excuses for himself. He had made his bed while knowing the rules of this house, so he'd lie in it without a fuss. Whatever Sam did in retaliation would just get added to the long list of grievances he had been keeping in his head, and he'd correct it all once he got out of this fucking place.

His leg ached, making his mood that much worse. It hadn't been his brightest idea to stomp on the metal pan with no more shock protection than the sock on his foot, but thankfully he didn't think he broke anything. He didn't want to imagine what it would be like hobbling around with a broken leg for the next few months; it would only add to the indignity.

A knock at the door brought him out of his thoughts, and he couldn't deny feeling a bit relieved when he saw Sullivan standing there. He hadn't been able to listen in on the conversation between the two other men, but he had been fully expecting Samuel to come barging in on him.

Then he saw what the old man had in his hand. Rafe furrowed his brows in confusion. "What the hell are you holding, Sully? Did Sam put you up to that?"

"He did," Sully confirmed as he stepped in and closed the door behind him, "But I probably would have used it anyway. You really poked the bear with this one, kid."

Rafe shook that mental image out of his head. "It's a spoon. I can understand Sam being stupid enough to wave it around, but I don't know how he could have convinced you to go along with it too."

Sully resisted the urge to smirk, knowing Rafe would not take that lightly. "I guess you'll find out what the big deal is, won't you?" He set the object in question down on Rafe's nightstand. The kid could focus on worrying over that in a few minutes, but right now he wanted to talk. "You want to tell me what was going through your head to make you pull that stunt out there?"

Rafe eyed the spoon distrustfully. "No," he answered shortly.

Sully nodded and sat down next to him on the bed. That was the answer he was expecting, but he had to ask anyway. He saw Rafe tense up, but the kid made no effort to move. "You didn't hurt yourself, did you?"

That question caught Rafe off guard. He took his eyes off the spoon long enough to glance sideways at the older man. "Nothing beyond a bruise or two and some minor swelling. It should go away by tomorrow."

Sully reached for Rafe's hands to check for himself. The kid had already banged them up pretty badly with the wall and then the punching bag, after all, and he wanted to make sure there wasn't any further damage. "Let me see."

Rafe leaned away and tightened his arms across his chest, giving Sully a reproving look. "It's on my leg, and I'm not letting you see it, so don't even try."

"Your leg?" Sully frowned, then it dawned on him. "You stomped on it?"

"You thought I punched it?"

"Of all the goddamn idiotic…" Sully pinched the bridge of his nose. "You probably fractured your tibia, Rafe."

"I didn't," Rafe stated, "And I fail to see how that's worse than punching it with my hand. You know, the part that has smaller, more crack-able bones in it."

Sully gave him a look. "I didn't think you punched it, I thought you were swinging it at the ground, and the handle flew up and hit you or something. You're gonna need to get some X-Rays done- I'll have to tell Nadine to bring a machine over."

"I can put my full weight on my leg, and there's no sharp pain," Rafe insisted. "I didn't have any trouble coming from the porch to my room, either. I don't need anyone coming here to look at me." Especially not after what he knew was coming in a few minutes.

Sully didn't like it, but he gave in. "Fine. Keep an eye on it, though. If your leg starts to swell then I'm getting a doctor here to come look at you. And don't even think about trying to hide it from me, either. If I catch you having trouble walking because of your leg and you didn't tell me, you'll be lucky if I only use the spoon on you."

Rafe looked at him, trying to discern if that was an empty threat. He didn't have any frame of reference for the spoon, but the old man seemed completely serious. But how? "If anything happens, I'll tell you," he said begrudgingly, "But nothing will happen. I'm fine."

"Right," Sully sighed. "Well, if you're sure you're alright, and you don't want your leg looked at, then I guess we can move on." He sat up straight and put his hand on Rafe's shoulder to hold his attention, ignoring how stiff the kid became at the touch.

"Look, kid, part of this is my fault. I can accept that. Even if I said I wouldn't stop him if you kept it up, I should have made Sam let you go. I know you hate being touched by most people and I should have known how stressed you'd get from the hug. Hell, I probably should have stopped you from pissing Sam off so much in the first place. I was trying to be fair to you, kid, and I didn't want you to feel like I'm nit-picking everything you do, but I let it go too far. I failed you, and I'm sorry for that."

Rafe looked at him sharply. He never would have expected anything close to that to come from either of the other men's mouths, especially not when he was in trouble. No, it couldn't be genuine. This was all just a guilt tactic to make him feel like he deserved what was coming, that had to be it.

He felt a little surge of satisfaction that he was able to see through it, and he held onto that feeling. "Is this the part where I'm supposed to jump in and say you did nothing wrong, and that it was all my fault? Because that's not going to happen."

"I was never going to ask you to," Sully shook his head. "Neither of us want any empty words right now. All I'm saying is that I'm sorry for what happened. But, that doesn't excuse what you did after you were hugged."

Rafe scowled. "Don't use that word," he said flatly, "And I never asked for you to excuse me from anything. If you feel like it's your duty to have a 'talk' with me, then go ahead and get it over with. Don't patronize me by telling me why I'm in trouble right now. I know what I did."

Sully nodded. "Alright, I can respect that. Are you going to make me fight you to get you over my lap again, or are you going to be nice to an old man and cooperate?"

Rafe looked away and stared at the wall for a long moment in thought. "You already know that I could get away if I felt the need to," he mused, "I don't need to waste the effort just to prove it again."

"Of course," Sully agreed, humoring him. "Not to mention that the longer you drag it out, the better the chance that Sam will be back from his walk before we're done here."

Rafe clenched his jaw, then nodded. That settled it. "I'm not just going to roll over for you, though." He couldn't just lay down over the old man's lap like a dog.

"That's fine, I'm not asking you to," Sully replied, gently taking Rafe by his arm, "All I want is for you not to fight me. I can do the rest."

Rafe nodded again and, to his credit, didn't resist. He let Sully lay him down across his lap and position him however he wanted, even going so far as to voluntarily scoot forward when Sully began to hoist him up by his hips. When he was settled, he crossed his arms on the bed in front of him and rested his chin on top. He wasn't going to make a scene or Sully was going to start thinking that he was scared of this whole process, and he couldn't have that. Besides, if the last talk with Sully was anything to go by, he needed to save his energy to make it through this one.

"I hope you're planning on getting a new spoon, because I'm not going to eat anything that gets cooked with that one after this," he said wryly.

Sully squeezed his shoulder for encouragement, appreciating how compliant he was being. "You do know you can't get back at an inanimate object like that, right?"

Rafe scoffed. "Not because I'm mad, Sully, because of the germs."

Oh, right. Of course. "It's not like it won't get washed," Sully smirked. "And the cooking'll sterilize it." At the glare Rafe sent over his shoulder, he relented. "Alright, alright. I'll tell them to get us a new one when they send over the new pan."

That seemed to settle Rafe, and Sully didn't want to prolong it any further. He put his arm around the kid's waist to help him keep in place; he didn't think Rafe would try to jump up, but he knew he wouldn't be able to stop himself from moving completely, and it was easier for both of them if Sully helped keep him in place.

When everything was ready, he lifted his hand and brought it down hard across the center of the Rafe's bottom.

Rafe flinched, but it was more from the unfamiliar contact than from pain. As far as he could tell, what he thought was the spoon didn't seem any different than anything else he'd received. It certainly wasn't holding up to the status Sam and Sully had given it. He was suddenly a lot less worried about his ability to keep his composure throughout this punishment.

Sully continued warming him with his hand. It had been over a week since he'd had to do this last, which was a lot better than he was initially expecting, so at least there was a positive in all this. Unfortunately, that also meant that Rafe had a chance to heal fully and that it would take longer to get him to the breaking point. He wanted to give the kid a reminder of how bad his hand could hurt before he started using the spoon, then maybe Rafe wouldn't try to bottle everything up for so long.

Besides, the wooden spoon always had a chance of bruising when it was being used, and with how stubborn Rafe was, that became a high possibility. Giving him a warm-up would diminish that chance, and Sully wanted to avoid it if he could. The poor kid had banged himself up enough as it was.

Rafe, for his part, was doing a fair job of keeping his body under control. He dug his fingernails into his arms and held his breath, tensing up, and was able to get through it with minimal movement, even though his ass was already beginning to feel the heat. The last time this had happened, he was still fairly fresh out of Nadine's prison cell. Now he'd had plenty of time to rebuild his strength and health, and dammit, he was going to make it through this one without making a fool of himself.

Sullivan wasn't taking it easy on him, though. Right off the bat, he began targeting his upper thighs, which was the spot Rafe felt it the most. He had to concentrate on the pain of his fingernails just to keep himself from flinching from the pain in his ass, and his eyes inexplicably began to mist up even though he was willing them not too, but he managed to keep mostly still, and to keep actual tears from forming.

After a few minutes, when Sully could feel the kid moving more and more with each hit, and when his hand was throbbing with a decent amount of heat, Sully decided that was enough of a reminder. He stopped and rested his hand on Rafe's back, absent-mindedly rubbing circles to soothe the sting in his palm.

Rafe lifted his head, confused. He knew the old man wouldn't be ending it that early. What was he playing at? False hope?

"I know you're a smart kid," Sully said, breaking the silence, "And I know you said you know why you're here right now, but, just to be fair, I'll ask you anyway. Is there any confusion as to why you're being punished?"

He stopped it to talk. Rafe thought he made it pretty clear he was done talking by now. "Not at all," he answered, making no effort to hide the annoyance in his voice. "It's because you're a hypocrite."

Sully snorted, partly from surprise and partly from amusement. "Oh really? Care to elaborate on that?"

Rafe shifted a little, readjusting himself so that Sully's leg wasn't digging into his ribcage. "Last time I broke something instead of someone, you told me I did the right thing. This time, I'm in trouble."

"Punching the wall is a bit different," Sully explained, "Smashing that pan because you knew it was Sam's favorite wasn't you re-directing your anger. It was retaliation, and you know that I won't stand for that in this house. That's the exact reason I got you that punching bag."

Rafe shrugged. "What can I say? It was more satisfying than the bag."

"I'm sure it was," Sully said, reaching for the spoon, "It also riled Sam up quite a bit. He didn't grow up in a home where broken things could be replaced instantly. He saw that pan and his first instinct was to think about the cost, and how long he'd have to work to be able to afford another one. I had to talk him down from coming in here and throttling you, so I hope it was worth it. But, you must have already decided it was, because you knew what would happen before you even did it. You chose this instead of being able to sit comfortably over the next few days."

"Yeah, you always say that," Rafe rolled his eyes. "I get it, I make bad decisions. I know you're not done yet, so stop talking to me and get it over with. I have better ways to spend my time."

"I just wanted to make sure you understood," Sully said. "I don't ever want you thinking I'm being unfair to you." He felt Rafe tense up completely at those words, and tightened his hold just in case the kid changed his mind about fighting.

"Just. Finish it," Rafe ground out through his teeth.

Alright, he was done talking. If he didn't want to drag it out, then Sully would accommodate him. He lifted the spoon up and brought it down hard on the center of his bottom, then paused to let Rafe absorb the impact.

Rafe's hips bucked forward and a jolt of shock went through him. His eyes opened wide and he almost cursed out loud, but he choked it back just in time. It didn't feel like Sully hit him very hard, but now there was a small crescent of flesh that burned. That was much worse than anything he'd felt so far. What. The. Fuck.

Sully saw Rafe cautiously peek over his shoulder, his red-rimmed eye focusing on the spoon in his hand. He braced himself, still expecting a fight, but instead the kid sighed heavily, his whole body slumping over, and he rested his forehead against his arms. If this was Nate over his lap, he'd expect a lot of complaining and plea bargaining before the younger Drake finally accepted it, but Rafe seemed to have no problem resigning himself to the new development.

Rafe groaned inwardly. God-damned fucking shit, this was going to be a challenge. Even after one hit, he wasn't sure if he would make it. How the fuck could a fucking spoon hurt so badly? He was already half convinced that this one had a taser hidden in it somewhere.

Now that he knew Rafe's reaction, Sully began to spank him in earnest, spreading the hits out over his bottom to keep it from being too bad too quickly.

Rafe had to fight hard to keep still. This was much more difficult to take than both of his talks before. He almost lost the will to stay in control, and the real part had barely started. It wasn't just that the spoon hurt more, but it was jarring. He couldn't simply block the pain out and concentrate on keeping still like he could before, no matter how hard he gripped his arms. It was all he could do to keep from kicking like he was some fucking child.

Sully held Rafe firmly to his side. The kid was moving around a lot more than he had before, and he knew for sure that Rafe wasn't doing it on purpose. The wooden spoon seemed to have the desired effect on him, and hopefully it meant that he would be better at curbing that temper of his in the future. With any luck, he would also run out of energy a lot sooner, and the spanking wouldn't have to last so long. That would be a relief for both of them.

Rafe lasted three full minutes without making a sound aside from breathing heavily, alternating between tensing his body and holding himself relatively still, to collapsing and squirming when he couldn't take it anymore. He had lost track of just how long he had been there, or why, exactly, throwing that pan had seemed so important not too long ago. When Sully began concentrating on his thighs again, he uncrossed his arms and wrapped them around his head, trying to hide the tears that he knew he wouldn't be able to hold back any longer.

Finally, they began freely flowing down his face, and the sobs weren't long to follow. Another minute of that, and his body gave in and collapsed over Sully's lap.

Sully immediately set the spoon down and began to rub Rafe's back. His shirt was damp with sweat. Goddamn it, kid. Someday, hopefully soon, Rafe would learn not to do this to himself. The exhaustion that came with holding it all in like that couldn't be healthy, and he had to know by now that nobody cared if he let it out.

He rubbed circles until he felt Rafe start to pull himself together, then he helped him off of his lap and onto his bed where he'd be more comfortable. As soon as Rafe could bury his face in his pillow, the crying subsided and he was able to get himself back under a semblance of control.

Sully sat on the bed quietly and ran his hand up Rafe's spine to the back of his head. Even if he wasn't crying, that didn't mean he was ready to talk yet, so Sully was going to give him some time to recover. When he was met with no signs of protest, he began to rub back down his spine, until about halfway down when Rafe leaned back into his hand. Sully took that as a request and concentrated his efforts there until Rafe's breathing returned to something close to normal. "Are you ready for tea now, kid?"

Rafe nodded tiredly, so Sully withdrew his hand and stood up. "Alright, I'll be right back."

Not too much later, Rafe lay on his stomach with a mug cradled in his hand. His ass was sore- it felt like it was literally singeing. He had the irrational thought that if he reached back to rub the sting away, he'd find that he had no skin left at all. He knew that wasn't true, but he still resisted the urge.

The next time he had to wash dishes, he was going to take that fucking spoon and throw it in the oven for kindling. He didn't give a damn what the consequences would be for that, as long as he never had to see that thing again.

His jeans weren't fucking helping, either. They were cheaply made, coarse-grade denim. He'd have to get the old man to buy him better, higher-quality branded jeans. Something much softer, and less thick. These ones were trapping all the heat, making him feel like he was being baked alive.

Fuck.

His mind wandered to the rejected sweat-pants under his bed. No. No, he couldn't. But, they'd be nice and soft, and loose, and everything these jeans weren't. But he'd also feel like an idiot while wearing them.

Still, he had to wear something, and these jeans clearly weren't an option any longer.

Rafe's door slammed open and his footsteps were heard moving down the hallway.

Sully and Sam shared a look. It had been less than half an hour since Sully had left Rafe in his room. Sam had only just gotten back from his cigar, and now they were sitting at the table over a few beers while Sully filled him in on what had transpired, not that there was a lot to tell. Neither of them were expecting to see Rafe until it was time for lunch.

Sam quickly snuffed his half-finished cigarette out in an empty beer can. He may have just had a cigar, but it was unthinkable to drink and not smoke.

Rafe walked into the kitchen carrying a stack of jeans, with a pair of sweatpants hanging about his waist. If he was unhappy at seeing the two of them talking, he didn't show it. He simply approached the table and slammed the stack in front of Sully. "These are shit. I need a better brand."

Sam observed him while taking a sip from his beer, drowning the comment that he really wanted to make. Rafe's voice was hoarse and unsteady, and his eyes were still red from crying. He was walking very slowly to hide the fact that he was wincing at each step- Sam knew all of those tricks very well- and, clearly, he was in enough pain to swallow his pride on the whole pants thing.

Sam hated admitting it, but he felt a little better over the whole thing knowing the punishment had that much effect on the brat, but he knew that if he had been the one dishing it out, he'd be feeling pretty terrible right now. He'd have to thank Victor for talking him out of it.

Sully raised a brow and crossed his arms, trying very hard to hide his amusement at the announcement. "You should have said something sooner, kid. What do you have in mind?"

Rafe knew exactly what he wanted. "Three pairs, five hundred dollars, and I'll write everything down for you. You can bill me later."

"Five hundred dollars?!" Sully baulked in disbelief, "Who the hell sells jeans for five hundred god-damned dollars?! Those things better be made out of solid gold for that price!"

"That's what happens when you buy from anywhere but K-Mart," Rafe answered. "Maybe you can settle for low quality, Sullivan, but I can't."

Five hundred dollars. Sully couldn't wrap his head around that. "Turns out I've been smuggling the wrong kind of merchandise," he muttered to himself. "There's no way in hell-"

Sam cleared his throat and leaned forward on the table. "It's not on our dime, Victor."

Sully looked at him, then sighed. That was true enough, although he might have a hard time convincing Nadine that it was a necessity. For the trouble he was going to get, he needed something back. "Alright," he decided, rubbing a hand over his mustache, "I'll put in an order for them..." Rafe visibly relaxed, though Sully knew he'd be livid again at the next part. "…Just as soon as you apologize to Sam for smashing his pan."

Sam raised a brow. That was a very optimistic request. He never asked for an apology, and he was pretty sure that Rafe would literally rather die than give one.

Rafe was quiet for a moment, quelling the anger that was rising at that statement. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and when he opened them again he looked as calm as ever. "What happened to 'if you need something, just ask'?"

The kid wasn't really asking so much as demanding, but Sully didn't see the need to point that out. "Nothing happened to it. If you remember, I also told you that if you just want something I'll still do my best to get it for you, but I might ask you to do something in return. This is a five-hundred-dollar favor, Rafe. That might not seem like much to you, but it's a hell of a lot to me. You want those jeans? There's your price."

Rafe crossed his arms and studied Sully for a moment. It was true, he had said that, but the old man didn't understand that this was more than a want; those jeans would be life-saving. He couldn't say that, though, not in front of Sam. He needed to back away and think over all of his options, and come up with a way to make the old man agreeable. He grabbed the pile of jeans and, without a word, turned to go back to his room.

Sam shook his head and lit another cigarette. "You pull shit like that and he still doesn't hate you. I don't get it."

"I've been told that I give one hell of a backrub," Sully shrugged, smirking. "In all seriousness, a little understanding goes a long way."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I bet you do. No, I think everyone just likes hearing you talk. You're like that non-threatening, perverted uncle that no one can stay mad at."

"Thanks for that," Sully said wryly, "I'll try not to be offended."

"You know what I meant."

"Yeah, yeah. Not everyone always thinks so, though," Sully looked over at him pointedly. "I remember one kid in particular who thought I was the worst thing that ever came into his life."

"You were a problem," Sam said defensively, "And I didn't see why my brother was so infatuated with you for a long time. You were a thief and a conman, and he knew that, but you still could do no wrong in his eyes."

"Yeah, well, he caught me up pretty quickly too," Sully smiled. "It's not like I was going around looking for another complication in my life, and boy, was he a handful. I was just lucky that, after our initial disagreements, Nate looked up to me enough to gladly go with whatever I said. He only stopped listening to me when you came back into the picture."

Sam's face flickered with distaste before he could stop it.

Sully raised a brow. "Really? Still don't trust me with him, huh?"

"No, no, I do," Sam answered quickly. "Sorry, it's just instinct at this point. I mean, you've got to give me a break on this one. I get released from a prison in Columbia to find my underage brother hanging out with a middle-aged man. That sets some pretty deep gut-reactions to certain memories."

"Don't forget that I'm the one who bailed you out," Sully reached for his beer. "Would have done it sooner if your damned brother had just told me about you from the start. It took him a month to let me know you existed, and that's only because I wanted to leave the country and he ran out of excuses for me to stay."

"Yeah, I know," Sam shook his head. "I don't know what the brat was thinking. He had to know that eventually we'd meet."

"What can I say? The kid's an optimist," Sully chuckled. "He probably knew it wouldn't be too long before he got in trouble with you while I was around, and he wanted to push that off as long as he could."

"So he left me in jail for another month?" Sam thought about it, then nodded. "Yeah, probably. It still happened, though. Lucky for him, you only walked in on us after it was over. Remember that? I was pissed."

"Of course. It's pretty hard to forget," Sully picked up his beer can and took a swig. Twenty-five years ago was a long time, but the memory was still sharp in his mind.

"The door was open, so I let myself in," Sully called out as he stepped into the small studio apartment. He was struggling to maneuver four full bags of groceries inside with him. When there was no response, he glanced around.

Sam and Nate were on the 'couch'- really, it was an old, short church pew that the two kids had found and somehow dragged up the stairs, then covered with blankets and sheets in an attempt to make it comfortable. The attempt was only minorly successful, but it served its purpose, and Sully was careful not to complain.

Sam was reclined with the majority of the blankets propped under his head and upper back, and his arms were wrapped tightly around his little brother, who was laying against him. The kid was hiding his face in the crook of Sam's neck, and he was shaking a little. Nate didn't look much like the cocky fourteen-year-old that Sully usually saw, and that was setting off all sorts of alarms in his head.

Oh, goddamnit. He'd interrupted something serious. "Is everything alright?"

Sam tightened his arms around his brother and gave Sully a guarded look. "What are you doing here?"

In the four months since he'd bailed the older brother out, Sully still hadn't been able to make any leeway with the kid. So far he was tolerated, but Sam made it clear that the tolerance would disappear the moment he made a wrong move towards his little brother.

Sully could respect that. He had no such intentions, of course, but he couldn't convince Sam of anything, despite the month that he and Nate had spent together without incident. The only reason he was allowed to visit was because Nate liked him, and Sam had a really hard time saying no when his little brother wanted something. At least if Sully was allowed to come to the apartment, Sam didn't have to worry about Nate sneaking out to see him.

"I know you've been working late hours recently," Sully answered Sam's question and held up the bags. "I brought some food over 'cause I know you're running low." He set them down on a small dining room table. This piece of furniture was stolen from a store where the owner had chased the two kids out before they even had a chance to buy it, all because they looked like they had no money. Which, to be fair, wasn't too far off the mark.

Sam nodded his head slightly. He was still on guard, but the food was welcome, even if it came with poor timing. "How much do I owe you?"

"You don't," Sully answered right away.

"And by that you mean I don't owe you money," Sam scoffed.

"I didn't, but if that's how you want to take it then I can always keep all this for myself," Sully said pointedly. If he thought Nate was a piece of work when he met the kid, Sam was the whole goddamned cake.

Sam bit his lip, looking at the bags, then shook his head. Good, he was finally starting to use some sense.

Nate still hadn't made a move to greet him. This had to be a record for the longest time the kid had been quiet in his presence since the two of them teamed up. Sully crossed his arms and eyed the smaller form that was clinging desperately to his older brother. "Should I ask again?" Maybe he shouldn't pry, but his curiosity was getting the better of him, and he wanted to know if it was anything he could help with.

Sam took a deep breath and rubbed a hand across Nate's shoulders, turning his attention back to the kid in his arms. "Everything's fine," he finally answered. "Nathan here did something he really shouldn't have last night, and now he's just… recovering from the consequences."

Nate tensed up, then made his first sound since Sully walked in. "Sam!" he whined loudly, his voice muffled a little by Sam's neck.

Sam smirked in response. "Yeah?"

"You didn't have to tell him that!" Nate's voice was thick with embarrassment.

Sully almost felt bad for the little guy, but at least it was nothing too serious. He had figured that the kid was the type to argue and fight against all forms of authority, so seeing him like this after getting in trouble was a little endearing.

"Hush," Sam pressed his cheek against the top of Nate's head. "I didn't tell him all that much. He already knows you're a brat."

Nate let out another whine of protest, at which Sam just rolled his eyes. "I didn't say what I did to you, but you're making it pretty obvious that you got spanked."

Sully immediately brought his hand up to keep from laughing. It really wasn't funny, but Sam always caught him off guard with how blunt he could be. That statement made a few things click, though; Nate was pretty well behaved for being raised by someone just five years older than him, and the two brothers had an unusually tight bond. By the looks of it, when he did have to step up, Sam compensated by smothering his brother with affection afterwards.

Nate visibly flinched, and Sam's look turned to instant regret. "Nathan, no," he said quickly, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. Don't be upset."

Sully tactfully grabbed one of the bags and opened it up. "Sounds like he could use a little pick-me-up, then. It's a good thing I decided to grab this while I was out," he announced, holding up a box of hot chocolate mix.

Sam looked at what he had in hand and smiled for the first time since Sully walked in. He nudged his brother. "Know what he's got? Cocoa powder! When's the last time you had some of that, huh?"

Nate was apparently still too mortified to respond, and Sam's face fell. He looked like he was on the verge of a breakdown.

Sully set the box down, then slowly made his way to the couch. He supposed that it was his fault for walking in on them, even if he had good intentions, so now he had to fix the problems his presence had caused.

Sam's eyes were glued to him the moment he got within arm's reach. Sully pushed at Sam's legs a little to make some room, then sat on the edge of the pew. He put his hand on the back of Nate's head, projecting his movement so Sam knew exactly what he was doing, and spoke matter-of-factly. "You know, in the navy it's not that unusual for them to whup people's asses every once a while."

Nate sniffed and Sully saw him relax a little. "Really?" the kid asked. His voice was still muffled, and a little unsteady.

"Oh yeah," Sully confirmed. "It's off the record, of course, and it usually only happens to new enlistees, but it does happen."

"Did it ever happen to you?" Nate turned his head a little and braved a peek at the older man.

Sully scoffed. "Of course not, kid. I was too smart for 'em. When I did get in trouble, it always warranted more than a behind-the-scenes lesson. Hell, I wish they would have just tanned my hide every once in a while, then I'd still be enlisted. Smuggling under the Navy's nose was a very profitable business."

By now, both of Nate's red-rimmed eyes were on him, and Sam had relaxed as much as he could in Sully's presence. Somehow, he had found just the right thing to say.

Nate managed the courage to release his death grip on his brother and push himself up, though he stayed sitting on his brother's legs rather than the wooden pew. Then he smirked. "Heh, yeah right. I bet you got it every day. You are a liar, after all."

Sully smirked back. "You believe what you want to believe, kid. I can only tell you what happened."

Then, suddenly, Nate's arms were wrapped around him tightly and his face was pressed into Sully's chest. "Thanks, Sully."

Sully hesitated, too surprised to react for a second. This was the first time that happened. He slowly wrapped his arms around Nate and returned the hug, making sure to keep his hands were Sam could see them. "Trust me, it's not that big of a deal."

Sam watched them for a few seconds, then abruptly sat up and pulled at Nate's shoulder. "Hey, come on. He doesn't have a clean shirt to change into if you get your snot all over it like you did mine," he said. "Why don't you grab your pillow and come to the table, and I'll make you a cup of hot cocoa. How does that sound?"

Nate reluctantly let go and nodded at his older brother. "I don't need a pillow," he said as he wiped the back of his hand over his eyes to clear them.

Sam scoffed as he pushed his brother to his feet so he could stand up. "Yeah, sure you don't. Every other time you whine at me to let you bring it to the table after I say no, and now I'm letting you and you don't want it? I'm gonna remember this next time I have to spank you and your friend isn't here."

Nate's face turned bright red. "Sam!"

Sully had to cough to hide his laugh. "I think I need a cigar, my lungs are starting to ache," he lied, reaching in his pocket. Goddamnit, these kids would be the death of him.

"Your brother still doesn't like to think about the consequences when he makes decisions on the fly like that," Sully mused. "But he bounces back pretty quickly. That's why he was always so easy to cheer up."

"Unless we were out of cocoa powder," Sam amended.

"Right, then all hell broke loose."

Rafe's door slammed open again, bringing them out of the memories. He made a brief appearance in the hallway and threw something that smacked against Sam's forehead. Then he glared at Sully, turned around, and went back to his room.

Sam rubbed his forehead and grabbed the crumpled piece of paper that had landed on the table in front of him. He smoothed it out and began reading, then grinned. "Victor, you've got to see this."

Sully reached for it and glanced over the writing. It was a very, very formal apology, the kind that companies gave out when they were caught doing something shady. He noted while reading that the letter never actually apologized for anything, it just made vague references to a 'regrettable incident' that was 'unfortunate for all parties involved', and buried everything else under a blanket of jargon. He shook his head and handed it back. "I'll talk to him…"

"Don't," Sam said as he folded it up and tucked it in his pocket. "I'll take it. You can go ahead and order those jeans tonight."

Sully looked at him and smiled a little. That was a big change from wanting to kill him. He always did say that cigars did wonders for the mental health. "Alright, if you're sure. I'll go find out what kind he wants."

Sam nodded. "Yeah, I'm sure. If you ask him for a real apology, his head might just explode."