"Let this be an example." She had sneered. The cold hiss had replayed over and over in his head, it consumed him to the point that he barely felt the pain; just those five words screaming in his head, like thunder, like drums, like earth quakes. He was limping, repeating those godforsaken words, the unkind Irish weather stinging and biting him, soaking him to the bone. He was distantly aware of the buzzing in his back pocket, but the thought of reaching his hand round and pressing answer and holding the phone to his ear seemed like far too much energy. All he wanted to do was crawl into bed and be held... by Ezra. He was distantly aware that he was crying. That's all anything was; distant. He wasn't entirely sure where he was going or even where he was. He just kept walking. Later on, he wasn't sure if it was seconds, minutes or hours later, a car pulled up beside him. He didn't really acknowledge it until a car door slammed and he heard someone yelling his name. Dexter stopped walking.

"Dexter, Jesus, how long have you been out here?! What the hell happened?!" A voice was yelling. Then a jacket was over his shoulders, then hands were on his shoulders and he was being gently guided to the car. The hands sat him down in the car, reaching over him to clip the seat belt before the car door slammed. Dexter flinched. Then the driver's side door opened and closed again and then the car was moving, heat coming thick and fast from the vents. Dexter was aware of a broken conversation happening;

"Skulduggery? Yeah, I got him... He's, well, he's a fucking mess... He must of went to her... He's real bad man, I'm... I'm really worried Skulduggery... He was just walking, he hasn't said anything... Okay... Yeah, I will... Okay, yeah, thank you... See you later."

Let this be an example.

"What?" The voice asked. Dexter forced himself to turn his head to see who was speaking. Saracen.

"What?" Dexter asked. His voice was hoarse and loud and it didn't sound like his own. His tongue was thick and his face was swollen.

"Let what be an example? An example of what? Where were you? What the fuck were you thinking Dexter?"

"I need her, Saracen."

"I know, Dex, I know that but what was your plan? Do you even know the chant?"

"No... I just thought that..." But Dexter wasn't entirely sure what he thought. He didn't know what he had been expecting. Saracen pounded his fists on the steering wheel then gripped it again.

"I went to sleep and when I woke up you weren't there- I was so worried, we were all out looking for you- Skulduggery, Valkyrie, Anton, Erskine, Ghastly- Christ, even China bloody Sorrows was out at this time with her own goddamn driver. You just left- no note, no text, no nothing. I tried calling you a hundred fucking times, Dexter. You didn't pick up- you always pick up!"

"I thought if she could see me-"

"This isn't a fucking fairy tale, Vex! She isn't just going to look in your eyes and be back, Dexter! We might not be able to get her ba-"

"Shut up."

"I don't want to lie to you man, but we have a day left and she is too close to that Texan arsehole and his psycho fiance!"

"Shut up."

Saracen groaned and stopped talking. He didn't like talking to people when they wouldn't listen. They drove in silence until they pulled up to Saracen's small home. It had given Saracen time to cool off, if nothing else. Saracen half dragged half guided Dexter inside, locking the car and the door as he went. He grunted as Dexter nearly fell, feeling the wound on his leg split as he steadied the other man. He clumsily brought him into the bathroom and started filling the bathtub with warm water. He quickly and efficiently undressed Dexter, taking account of his injuries as he did so. Once the tub was full, he grabbed the biggest chunk of dirt he could find and then crumbled it into the water, turning it to mud. Then he unceremoniously plopped Dexter into the bath. Dexter cried out as the thick water went into his wounds and Saracen ignored him and went about rubbing the healing soil onto him, covering him head to toe in it.

"I deserve this." Dexter said, so quietly that Saracen barely heard him. Saracen stopped in his tracks.

"What did you just say?" He asked. Dexter was staring in front of him, his eyes glazed and unfocused.

"Those things I did. Those horrible, terrible things. When I read that journal, diary, whatever it was, it came flooding back. I remember doing it- doing all of it. I deserve worse."

"Listen to me. Dexter, Dexter! Listen. To. Me. That wasn't you, it was a dark, tortured soul that suddenly had hands and a-a lust for revenge. You can't blame yourself."

"I need her, Saracen. I can't do this, any of this, without her. I'm nothing without her."

"You lived before her and, push comes to shove, you can do it after her." Saracen really hated to be the bearer of bad news but he saw no good in lying; there was a chance that they wouldn't be able to get her back. Saracen drained the bath and cleaned and dressed Dexter's abrasions. Saracen sighed then pointed to the cut on Dexter's forearm.

"Billy-Ray?" He asked. Dexter nodded. Saracen pointed to the cut on Dexter's chest.

"Him again?"

"Yes."

"That won't heal, Dexter."

"I know." Saracen tutted but continued the tedious job of patching Dexter up. In total, he had a dislocated knee, a broken collar bone and countless swellings, bruises and lacerations. Saracen helped him dressed then went and made tea out of the healing leaves, making sure to add honey and sugar to get rid of the bitter taste, then gave Dexter the mug and a little bag full of leaves for the night.

"What're you doing?" Dexter asked as Saracen threw a pillow and blanket on the floor.

"Making sure you bloody don't run off again." Saracen said, turning the light off. Dexter stiffly laid down and he heard Saracen get situated.

"Hey... Saracen?"

"What?"

"Thank you."