Keen eyed readers may notice that this is in fact part 1 of a two-part chapter. If TV shows can do it, so can I. This is because it was getting incredibly long and I was worried that people might get bored in the middle.

Serious angst warnings ahead

Edited, because I completely forgot to mention where this falls on the timeline. It's set a matter of weeks after 'Walk before you can crawl' - the one where they went to Chicago and met Bobby - and therefore Danny is 15 and Rusty is 12.

This chapter is for the genius commonly known as InSilva, for reassurance, support, advice and for having the patience of a saint when dealing with yours truly's astounding incoherence. And mate, if you don't want it, give it to someone else.

Being called to Principal Miller's office was far from a new experience for Danny, and he smiled at Ms. Carson, as he crossed into the outer office, and had to work hard not to let his surprise show when she smiled sympathetically back. How much trouble were they in here? They hadn't done anything too serious lately. Unless they'd somehow found out about the counterfeit lunch tickets scam. Or the thing with the guitar and the flood. Or, oh, God, maybe they'd found out about Chicago. Automatically he looked round for Rusty, but there was no sign. And Rusty was in Chemistry right now, sitting that test he'd been talking about. He would have been here long before Danny, if he'd been called into the office. Well. That was one good thing, anyway.

"Go right on in, Danny." Ms. Carson told him gently. There was something seriously wrong here.

There were four people in the room when he went in; Principal Miller, Attwood and two cops. That's never a good sign. Attwood and the Principal were talking quietly to each other, but as soon as they saw him they stopped and turned to look at him. Danny recognised the expression on their faces even though he wasn't normally the one that it was turned on. Concern. Pity. And just that ever-wonderful hint of fear that signals that they really, really wanted this to be someone else's problem. Something was seriously wrong.

"Danny. Please. Come in." Mr Attwood laid a fatherly hand on Danny's shoulder and steered him over to a chair.

Feeling more than a little on edge, Danny let him, even though, all things considered, he usually didn't like being in the same room as the bastard. "What's going on?" he asked, and he could hear the fear in his voice. "Tell me."

The adults exchanged glances. There was that look again. "Danny," Principal Miller began slowly. "I'm so sorry to have to tell you this. There's been an accident." There was an unpleasant buzzing in Danny's ears. "Your father was caught in a pile-up on the freeway this morning."

"He's all right though." Danny interrupted, because he could see the shape of the oncoming sentence and the buzzing was getting louder and louder. "He's going to be all right."

The Principal took a deep breath and laid his hands flat on the table. "No, Danny. He's not. He's dead. I'm so, so sorry."

Attwood's hand was on his shoulder again, squeezing gently and he couldn't bear it. "Get away from me." he said quietly.

"Danny." Attwood's voice was gentle, but he wasn't listening. "We need to know who we can call. We've been trying to reach your mother, but we can't get a hold of her. Is there anyone else?"

"Get off me." Danny yelled and Attwood leapt back as though he'd been burned. Danny buried his face in his hands for a few seconds and wondered why he wasn't crying. He was aware of Attwood stepping closer again, hand outstretched. "Don't." he warned, and this time he was listened to. "Emma . . . Dad's girlfriend." he began. She should know. She had to be told.

The Principal brightened a little. "She could take you?" he suggested.

But the cops were looking at each other, and at their notebooks and one of them stepped forwards. "Would that be an Emma Smith?" he asked, and Danny knew even before the cop went on to say "I'm sorry. She was in the car."

His hands were shaking and the buzzing in his ears . . . it felt like he was going into freefall.

"Danny?" Dimly he heard the Principal, registered the concern in his voice. "Danny, just breath, okay?"

He choked back a laugh. It wasn't okay, and breathing wasn't what he needed. He knew exactly what – who - he needed, and he was up and running for the door before they could possibly understand or hope to stop him, only one thought in his mind.

Rusty couldn't help but think that Chemistry was much easier to deal with than a lot of other subjects. He'd already read through the test, thirty questions, multiple choice. So all he had to do was answer, say, twenty right and he'd be sitting on a nice, average score. Actually, maybe he'd get a couple more right. He liked Mr. Costanza, and the guy was completely convinced that he could be doing better if he tried. It was tests in things like English and History that he had to work harder to keep his marks even. Too many ambiguities, too many possible interpretations. He'd slipped up last month, got top marks in Mrs. Jones class.

She'd sent a letter home.

He wouldn't risk that again.

Chewing absent-mindedly on his pen lid, he started to consider which were the least suspicious questions to get wrong. Consistency, that was the key. Honestly, his test papers were works of art.

There was a loud bang, and he carefully didn't jump. He did look up though, and to say he was concerned to see Danny standing, shaking in the doorway would be one hell of an understatement. By the time Danny spotted him, Rusty had already stood up and was heading for the door.

"Yes, Mr. Ocean. Can I help you?" Mr. Costanza sounded polite and puzzled, and Rusty knew that he wasn't seeing what was there.

Danny said nothing, and Rusty, close enough now to see the emptiness in his eyes, wasn't at all surprised.

That was when Mr. Costanza spotted him. "Mr. Ryan! Please keep your seat."

Rusty ignored him, intent on Danny, who was blank and still and silent and nevertheless was practically begging him.

"Rusty. Sit down. Please."

He liked Mr. Costanza. He did. But not that much. Never that much.

"If you leave this classroom now, young man, you'll get a failing mark."

That would mean a letter home too. But it didn't even give him pause.

He reached the doorway, and Danny reached out and touched his arm. "I need . . . " he broke off, and shook his head, and his voice was quiet and choked and he didn't sound like Danny.

Rusty knew what he meant though. Someplace safe. Someplace hidden. "Come on." he said, promising everything.

Danny followed him obediently into the corridor, leaving Mr. Costanza spluttering, and the other students staring.

He hesitated for a couple of seconds, trying to decide where to go, and that was when the Principal, Mr. Attwood, Ms. Carson and two cops came round the corner. His breath caught in his throat, and he turned to stare at Danny, but Danny didn't seem to have registered. Danny didn't seem to be seeing anything other than Rusty, and maybe even that not so much.

Without even thinking, he reached out and grabbed Danny's hand and pulled him down the corridor and through the door to the right. Through this classroom – ignoring the startled exclamations of an interrupted physics lesson – out this door, down this staircase, out and up this corridor, paying no attention to the sound of heavy footsteps racing behind them, through this door marked 'Emergency Exit', up this fire escape, through this window and to the door marked 'Private. Roof Access'. Danny was breathing hard behind him. Rusty had had to help him every step of the way and it was only now that he let go of his hand. There was no sound of pursuit; he rather thought they'd lost them when they ducked out onto the fire escape. Still, he looked round carefully before he reached into his pocket for the paperclips he kept there. Some skills it really didn't pay to advertise. The lockpicks were at Danny's. Neither of them was nearly stupid enough to carry that kind of thing to school.

The door swung open and he hurried Danny out and onto the roof, before he made sure that the door was secured behind them. There was the sound of a muffled sob, and his heart broke. He turned round to see Danny sprawled bonelessly against the wall, tears streaming openly down his face.

Hoping with every fibre of his being that he was doing the right thing, never having felt quite so alone or quite so helpless, Rusty knelt in front of him and wrapped his arms tightly around his friend.

The sun was setting by the time Danny managed to cry himself out enough to whisper the truth into Rusty's shoulder; and it had been long dark by the time they let go of each other and made their silent, unsteady way back to Danny's house.

There was a police car outside his house, and he didn't even notice it until he was right on top of it. He stopped in the driveway and stared, until he felt Rusty tug on his sleeve. "'S all right. Come on."

He nodded and followed.

His mom was sitting in the kitchen, a cup of coffee in front of her. Her eyes were red. Two cops – different ones than that morning - stood on either side. She looked up when he came in and ran over and hugged him tightly. For once it didn't feel like duty. "Oh Daniel, oh thank god, thank god."

"I'm sorry." he said awkwardly, but that just made her hold him tighter.

She finally released him and turned to Rusty and for a moment Danny thought she was going to hug him too, but he'd already stepped out of reach.

"Mrs. Ocean? We'll leave you to it now that your son is home."

"Yes, thank you officers." She smiled at them and Danny suddenly realised that she'd called the cops because he'd been missing for a few hours. Well, eight. That had never happened before.

The cops turned to look at Rusty. "Kid? Do you need a ride home?"

"He's staying." Danny said immediately. He couldn't stand to be alone, and that was what being without Rusty meant.

The cop blinked. "That's not really . . . "

"Staying." Danny insisted and took a step backwards, towards Rusty. He felt a hand on his shoulder – comforting, reassuring - and remembered Attwood that morning, and wondered how it could feel so different.

"Listen," the cop said, looking past him, at Rusty. "Your parents must be worried sick."

"It's just his dad, and he doesn't care." Danny pointed out. Both cops turned sharply to stare at him. The hand on his shoulder squeezed gently, and Rusty stepped in front of him.

"I already called my father and told him where I'd be, sir. He doesn't mind."

Oh, right. Lying. He should have remembered to. He nodded. "That's right."

His mother cleared her throat. She was looking a little frightened and he didn't know why. "Robert is very welcome to stay."

That seemed to satisfy the cops, and they left, no doubt delighted to get shot of the lot of them.

"Oh, Daniel." His mom reached out her hand to him and caressed his cheek. He could remember her doing that a long time ago. When he'd been a child. For a moment he was afraid that he was going to start crying again. He wouldn't cry in front of her. "I'm so sorry. You should never have had to hear like that."

He nodded stiffly and unconsciously stepped back, closer to Rusty. "I'm going to bed."

She looked relieved. "That's probably a good idea."

"Mrs. Ocean? Ma'am?" Rusty's voice was quiet but he sounded determined. "I think Danny should eat something."

He wasn't hungry.

"But you need to eat." Rusty told him gently, and Danny had no idea whether he'd actually spoken aloud or not.

"I'll make sandwiches." his mom said, with as much enthusiasm as she'd earlier shown for sleeping, and Danny realised that she had no idea what to do with him.

Rusty led him through to the kitchen in her wake, and sat with him at the dining table, his hand resting on his arm. Danny stared at the polished surface of the table. So clean you could almost eat your dinner off it. That was what Dad always said. Except Dad didn't. Because he hadn't lived here for over a year. And now he didn't live anywhere and that was just too much for Danny to try and understand right now.

Suddenly his eyes were filled with tears and he looked up, trying to find where his mom was, and if she could see.

"She went into the next room. To phone your Uncle Harold." Rusty said.

Danny nodded and wiped at his eyes. Rusty's hand squeezed his. "Why?" he wondered.

"I think he was worried about you." Rusty answered, carefully.

Danny nodded again and suddenly realised that there was a sandwich in front of him. He lifted up a corner of it carefully. Chicken salad. "I'm not hungry."

"Try a bite. Please." Rusty was patient and pleading and a manipulative bastard.

"You eat it." Danny suggested.

"I've got my own." He did as well. An identical and equally untouched sandwich lay in front of him.

Danny sighed and began to nibble at his sandwich. Rusty smiled at him and he suddenly realised that actually he was incredibly hungry.

He laid the sandwich down. "I shouldn't be eating."

"Okay." Rusty nodded.

"He's dead, Rus'."

"I know, Danny, I know." Rusty squeezed his hand again and Danny waited for a moment, to see if he was going to say anything else. Anything stupid like 'It's going to be all right' or 'These things get better with time.' But he didn't. Of course he didn't.

Danny picked up the sandwich and finished it quietly.

Once he saw that Danny was eating again, Rusty wolfed his food down and fetched them both a glass of milk.

"Drink." he told Danny, and this time Danny just went along with it, even though he could have done with something stronger.

"Can we go to bed now?" he asked plaintively, once they were done.

"Of course." Rusty smiled at him again and it hurt a little less.

When they stepped out into the hall, they could hear Danny's mom on the phone in the other room.

"No, he came home of his own accord thankfully." There was a pause. "Physically he's fine but . . . you know, I'm not sorry Luke's dead, I just wish he'd managed to do it in some way that didn't hurt Daniel."

He was shaking again, he dimly noted, and he just wanted her to know. Rusty made no attempt to stop him as he stepped into the room and held her gaze. "Good night, mom."

She stared at him aghast. "Daniel . . . "

"Good night." he repeated firmly.

"Good night." she said, defeat in her voice.

He didn't stop shaking until he reached the sanctuary of his room. His mom had set up a camp bed on the floor, he noticed dimly. That was actually considerate of her, but Rusty stayed over far more than she ever knew about – every night that it wasn't safe for him at home, if Danny had his way, - and they'd long since stopped bothering.

He crashed heavily onto the bed, and rolled against the wall to make room. Rusty sat on the covers next to him.

Danny faced the wall and didn't look round. "It's not like . . . " He trailed off. It wasn't like it was anything he hadn't heard before. It wasn't like he'd seriously thought his parents still loved each other. Actually, he'd never quite been persuaded that they ever had. But couldn't she have just kept her mouth shut for this one night?

" – I know." Rusty said quietly, and Danny knew that he did.

He started crying again, and all he could focus on was the feel of Rusty's hand rubbing against his shoulder, and the sound of Rusty's voice. It took him quite a while to realise that Rusty was reciting his Chemistry revision, but it was peculiarly hypnotic and he was asleep long before he knew it.

The nightmares were unformed and indescribable and they woke him, screaming and kicking, after barely an hour of sleep. Rusty was awake immediately, and apparently hadn't moved in the slightest, and Danny had no real clue whether he'd actually been sleeping.

Rusty's hand was on his shoulder. "Danny. You with me?"

"He taught me to ride a bike." he said, without really knowing why.

"What?" Rusty blinked, and Danny considered that this was the sort of thing Rusty might genuinely not know about.

"It's what fathers do. Or are supposed to do. And he did it."

"Oh." Rusty shifted slightly, so he was lying down next to Danny.

"He wasn't there a lot. But sometimes he was. And he taught me to ride a bike." He'd also comforted Danny after a nightmare once. That Danny could remember, anyway. He'd been five, and his dad had told him that there was nothing hiding under the bed.

Danny swallowed. "I want my dad."

Rusty said nothing, but he reached out and grasped Danny's hand, and Danny was safe and loved and for a moment he wanted to say thank you.

He didn't though. Because Rusty would never understand that he could have done anything less, and maybe that was because he really couldn't have.

It was sunny outside. Rusty had been expecting it to rain. It always rained at funerals in the movies. He'd nearly bought an umbrella, just in case.

He finished combing his hair in the mirror and figured that he looked as presentable as he could possibly manage.

Danny was still sitting on the bed, staring at the floor, shoes still untied, jacket crumpled in a heap next to him and he was twisting his tie through his fingers again and again and again.

Sighing, Rusty crossed the room, kneeling down in front of him and putting his elbows on his knees. "Hey. You need to get ready."

Danny didn't look at him, just carried on winding the tie round his hand.

Rusty reached out and stopped him.

Finally Danny looked up. "Will I have to see him?"

"No." Rusty shook his head quickly. "Closed casket." What he didn't tell Danny – what he was never, ever going to tell Danny – was that his father's body had been burned and mangled almost out of recognition. He wasn't even sure why Danny's mom had felt the need to tell him, except that he got that maybe arranging the funeral of the man she'd been in the process of divorcing was a little stressful.

"Good." Danny's fingers closed over his desperately. "You won't leave me today." It wasn't a question, but Rusty shook his head anyway. He had hardly left Danny's side in the last four days. In fact the only time had been when he'd had to go into town to buy this suit. He hadn't owned anything suitable. And it had been bought. That had seemed important. Even though the money wasn't . . . it had been bought. He hadn't left Danny until he was certain that Danny's mom was there, and was going to stay there. And even then, he'd come back to find that Danny had locked himself in the bathroom and it had taken Rusty nearly half an hour to talk him out.

He'd be there as long as Danny needed or wanted him. He just wished that there was more he could do.

"I won't leave you." he promised, leaning in closer, his arms still folded across Danny's knees. "But I'm not tying your shoelaces."

Danny blinked, and almost smiled. "Good. Because that would be strange." he said, in a dry tone that almost sounded Danny-like.

He stood back and let Danny fix his own shoes and jacket. "Tie." he prompted, when Danny looked like he thought he was set.

"Oh." Danny glanced down at the tie, wound tightly round his hand. "I couldn't get it straight earlier. Stupid thing's broken or something." Rusty frowned at the sharp edge of frustration in Danny's tone, that he'd been hearing more and more often over the past couple of days.

"It isn't broken." he said, voice entirely neutral. It was a tie. They couldn't break like that. "Give it here." Danny handed it over and he pulled it around his own neck. Okay, Danny was that much taller than him, so the long bit should be, say, that long. He tied the knot but didn't pull it tight. "There we go." he said, pulling it over his head and passing it back to Danny who blinked, put it on and slid the knot up to his collar.

"I've never even seen you wear a tie." Danny said, staring at him, as he reached over and made sure it was straight.

"I'm full of surprises." Rusty pointed out. Actually the sales assistant had shown him how, when he'd bought the suit. For once he'd told the truth, or a bit of it at any rate, and the man had fallen over himself to be helpful.

There was a sudden knocking at the door, and Danny's mom's voice. "Daniel? Are you two ready? We need to go."

Danny headed towards the door, but Rusty caught his arm quickly. "Danny. I won't leave." he promised again.

Danny looked back at him and nodded.

The funeral was everything that Danny had known it would be. He hadn't gone to the viewing the previous evening – the very thought of it sent shivers down his spine – and no, he had no idea what Rusty had said to his mom to get him out of it, but there was one more debt that he'd never be able to pay to the one person who would never think of making him. This, though, was the first time that he'd experienced the closeness, the overwhelming smell of flowers, the crowds of people.

Distant relatives, his dad's work colleagues, old college buddies, ex-tennis partners . . . Danny recognised hardly any of them, and he knew that they only recognised him because of context. Rusty was at his shoulder the whole time (thank god, thank god, thank god) and Danny lost count of the number of times he heard someone say curiously "But I thought Luke only had one son?"

He had no idea what had been said during the service, or the eulogy. If it hadn't been for his mother's occasional glares, and Rusty's constant reassuring touch on his elbow, he doubted that he would have managed to stand and sit at the right times. And how he got through standing and letting all those strangers shake his hand he'd never know. They were all terribly sorry. They all said he was going to be all right, and that it would all get better with time. Luckily Danny had half a lifetime's experience of smiling at people and telling them what they wanted to hear.

Now his house was full of them, standing, chatting, drinking and eating vol au vents and he hated every last one of them. His mother was standing in the middle of the room, talking business with a couple of executive types. The perfect society hostess. Networking. At his dad's funeral.

Still, at least she was keeping well away from his grandmother. For a moment it had seemed as though they were going to come to blows at the graveside, before the funeral director had stepped in, looking like he dealt with this sort of thing everyday. Hell, maybe he did. Grandmother had been screaming about how his mom had never appreciated Luke, and that she knew that she was glad he'd died before the divorce came through, since she'd get the money. Something like that anyway. Danny hadn't really been listening, but it nearly always came down to money. He was prepared to concede that maybe Grandmother had a good excuse for smelling of gin today though.

He followed Rusty through the crowds of revellers, pretty certain that Rusty wasn't actually going anywhere in particular, just making sure that they weren't standing still long enough for anyone to try and talk to Danny. His mom had talked to them that morning. Well, she'd been talking to Danny, but she'd been looking at Rusty. Apparently they had to stay downstairs and be seen for at least an hour. It had been forty minutes now, and thanks to Rusty's efforts no-one had actually had a chance to speak to them. Unfortunately they still had to hear. Unsurprisingly, a lot of the mourners wanted to rehash old history.

"Ten years, you say? Damn, how did he keep a bit on the side hidden for that long? My wife found out after three months."

"You know Luke. He was sneaky like that. If he could hide everything from the IRS, you bet he could hide Emma from Barbara."

Rusty quickly steered them away from the two talkers – men from his dad's work, Danny would guess, but truthfully he probably wouldn't have recognised them if he'd met them a hundred times before. But everyone was talking about the same things, and Danny hated them even more.

"She was pregnant, you know."

Okay. That was different. He stopped dead, and Rusty turned back and laid an urgent hand on his arm.

Danny turned to look at the speaker, a woman in a dark, flowery dress. He thought she was a friend of his mother's. "Three months, the doctors reckon. I heard it from Colin, you know his brother's a pathologist."

Her friend giggled. "Who would have thought that Luke still had it in him?"

They suddenly caught sight of him and coloured guiltily, but he didn't wait around to hear their apologies. That was it. That was just a little too much, he had to get out of here now.

Ignoring Rusty's fast-spoken, soothing words, he ran into the kitchen, surprising the caterers. He searched through the cupboards until he found what he was looking for. The bottle of vodka that Dad had left there. His mother didn't drink it, hadn't wanted it in the drinks cabinet. She'd had some idea about using it in cooking.

He turned and caught Rusty staring from the bottle to him.

"I'm going to get drunk." he told him. "You coming with?" It wasn't a question. Rusty had promised.

Rusty nodded and followed him out the backdoor.

He headed up the hill to the old abandoned house. There were signs all around saying that it was dangerous, but they'd played there all the time when they were kids, being pirates and spies and astronauts and dragons, and more recently they lay out on what had been the roof and smoked where they could be certain that no-one could see them.

Danny climbed up onto the roof now and sat down. Rusty joined him after a couple of moments.

The bottle was three quarters empty, but it was still surprisingly difficult to wrench the lid off. And the stuff inside was even more difficult to swallow. When he'd had his fill, he passed it over to Rusty. "Drink."

"Danny . . . "

"Drink." he repeated, and Rusty took a sip. He barely got a mouthful, but he immediately handed it back.

Danny nodded and took another long gulp. This one was easier. Burned a little less. "I was going to be a big brother." he said, wonderingly.

"Do you – "

" – Yes." He wanted to talk about it. "It would have been . . . we would have taught that kid so much, you know? It would have been amazing. Should have been. We'd have taught him how to talk to girls. How to whistle. I'd have taught him how to do wheelies on his bike. You could have taught him how to ride a skateboard. And he'd never have needed to know the other stuff."

"But we would have taught him anyway." Rusty pointed out. "Just in case."

Danny looked at him for a long moment, and nodded. "Yeah. Just in case." He took another drink. "He'd never have to deal with things on his own. He'd always know that someone was there for him. That someone loved him."

"He wouldn't need to be scared." Rusty said, lighting a cigarette and offering Danny the packet.

"Never." Danny agreed, shoving it away. "Should have been that way."

"Danny – "

"It should have been that way!" he leapt to his feet, pacing up and down, and he could feel the building swaying beneath him. He spun to face his friend. "They all keep saying it's going to be all right. It's not. It's not all right, Rusty!" He was yelling, and he didn't even understand why, but he was furious.

Breathing hard, trying to calm down he put the bottle to his lips again, but it was empty. "It isn't fair!"

He threw the bottle at the wall and watched the shattered glass fall like rain.

As I said, little bit angsty. And this is actually the less emotionally charged half. Next part, with any luck in a couple of days.

All comments and criticisms greatly appreciated.