Chapter Three-Hundred and Forty-Four

John swung his leg into the heavy bag, heaving a breath and blowing sweat from his top lip. He slammed his fist into the bag, grunting at his elbow popped and his fingers started to tingle a little. He knew he hadn't hurt himself —not really— but a pulled muscle still hurt like hell.

Claire leaned against the doorframe, waiting in patient silence for him to come to her. She watched him for a while as the sweat rolled down his shoulders, she could see where he'd dropped weight, mostly around his hips and waist. She smiled as she noticed that the scars on his back were fading, changing from deep purple to pale lines along his valleys and ridges of muscle.

Sweat rolled down his body, his chest heaving with fatigue as he leaned forward onto the bag until he collapsed to his knees.

Claire stepped toward him, kneeling beside him. "Did you beat the shit out of the demons?" She smirked, wiping his brow with a cool cloth she'd brought from the house.

He rasped a sorry excuse for a laugh, leaning into her body as she combed her fingers through his hair. "It'll be a long time before those sons of bitches come back." He gave her a tired, lop-sided grin, kissing her neck. "Did you find the dress?" He asked, pushing himself to support his own weight as she moved to go inside.

"I'm not telling you. Mr. Bender."

He chuckled, stepping after her. "What if we hyphened our last names together? Claire and John Bender-Standish."

"Doesn't the man's name usually go last?" She asked, taking his hand and pulling the wraps off.

He nodded, cursing as his ankle rolled on one of the baseballs that someone had left outside. "I'd rather have your name as the last one though." He took her hand and let her pull him to his feet. "God, we've gotta stop leaving shit around like this."

She laughed, touching the newest tattoo on his side. "I like that idea." She smiled, trying to ignore the feeling of his ribs under his skin.

Allison tapped around the walls of John's bedroom, stopping when a hollow sound reached her ears. "Another one?" This had to be the sixteenth hiding spot she'd found. She pried it open, shining a light into the cubby and searching for anything he could be hiding from them.

"What the hell are you doing?"

She jumped as the voice spoke, banging her head on the top of the cubbyhole and letting out a cry of pain as she gripped the back of her head. "Ow…" She groaned, letting John's arms lift her onto the bed and examine the little cut on her scalp.

He sighed, picking up a bandana and pressing it to her head. "See what happens when you go poking around in my shit?"

"I wanted to make sure you weren't using again." She grumbled, wincing as he dabbed a cotton ball soaked with rubbing alcohol on the cut.

He gave a little smile, placing a map of his hideouts in front of her. "I promise, I'm not using again." He lifted her head up, propping her up against his headboard. "I'm just shaky because I haven't eaten or slept much."

She nodded, raising her brows at how many hidey-holes he had that she'd missed. "I'm glad you're still sober. You're like my brother, and you were the only one who ever saw me when we were in Shermer."

"No one should be invisible. Not even a little freak like you." He took a seat on the bed next to her, laughing as Chance leapt onto his lap.