A/N: I'm sorry if this makes anyone uncomfortable, but nightmares have been done too many times, especially by me and Alex is nowhere near PTSD in canon, so consider this me reading between the lines.

And I checked it through two and a half times, so it should be okay. If not, I apologize.

Wolf was very, very worried.

Alex had finally come back after two weeks (the longest two weeks of the soldier's life, though he'd never admit it) on Monday. It was now Sunday and Wolf was about ready to tear his hair out in sheer frustration. The boy was driving him mad and he didn't even realize it.

The problem was, Wolf couldn't figure out what was wrong with him. He'd noticed an extremely long cut curving along the boy's back when he'd walked out of the bathroom on Wednesday, the skin around it still red and puffy, making him wince at the mere sight of it. He'd gotten a phone call from that weasel Crawley, who told him that Alex's left calf may be troubling him occasionally (took his bloody time mentioning it!) but the limp he'd apparently had in the American hospital had ceased, so it wasn't that. In fact, it wasn't anything physical at all.

The boy was too quiet. He'd always been very introverted, especially for a teenager, but now he was borderline catatonic, answering politely when spoken to and only then. And he'd never realized just how unbelievably irritating the simple phrase, "I'm fine," could be. Alex had uttered that at least half a dozen times since he'd returned, every time Wolf had asked. Said it with a straight face too, so the elder man almost bought it.

Which is why he was standing utterly still, numbed with shock at the contents of his ward's bedside drawer. Wolf blinked his dark grey eyes slowly, his muscular torso rising and falling with each shallow breath. Despite all the trauma the kid had been through, he was so stoic, so collected . . .

'Now you know why . . .' a treacherous voice in the back of the man's mind whispered. A muscle in his jaw ticked and his mouth tightened into a hard line, cursing himself internally for being so stupid. How else could the kid possibly be so calm, with all that he'd been through? He'd suspected that Alex had had some kind of outlet, some way of dispelling all the stress and pain. He'd just never considered the option that it might be this . . .

The key scraped loudly in the lock, announcing Alex's arrival. Wolf remained where he was as he heard the younger boy ascend the stairs and head towards his room. From the angle, Alex had full view of Wolf frozen in his bedroom, his spine rigid and still. Sensing trouble, the teenager inched forward carefully, debating whether calling out to the man would be a good idea or not.

"Cub," Wolf spoke slowly, deliberately. "Come here."

Alex frowned, shrugging his bag off of his shoulder to the floor where it landed with a thump. He entered the room, eyes fixed to the back of Wolf's neck, his head still bowed. Brown eyes darted to the opened drawer and panic flooded his senses. No. He couldn't have, could he?

Wolf reached out and plucked the razor blade out of the compartment, turning to face the teenager tensely. His face was completely blank as he held the blade in the air. "Would you like to explain this?"

He fought down the nervous urge to gulp, his eyes locked on the utensil held unyieldingly. Eventually, he wet his lips and quietly rasped, "What's the problem? It's just a razor. You have one too . . ."

"I shave, Cub. You don't." Wolf growled, a very dark look crossing his face at the attempted lie. He could see the truth lurking in those dark eyes.

Before Alex could stop him, Wolf seized hold of his left arm and roughly pushed the sleeve of his jumper up to his elbow, brow knitting in confusion at the sight of the unblemished fair skin. He quickly checked the other arm, but it was just the same. The man glared at the boy, bewilderment in his eyes. "Then, where . . . ?"

Involuntarily, Alex's eyes glanced downwards. A strange look, halfway between horror and anger, crossed his guardian's face as he hissed lowly, "No. That's where everyone looks, it's the obvious place. You're too clever for that, aren't you, Cub?"

Alex jumped back, desperately trying to pull his arm free of the SAS man's grip but he proved too strong. Clutching his wrist so hard Alex was certain it'd bruise tomorrow, Wolf dragged the boy towards him and, moving out of the way as he tried to catch his footing, slammed his hands onto the boy's back, making him shout "Hey!" in surprise as he fell on his bed. He tried to scramble out of the way but raised himself no further than a centimeter when Wolf's heavy body landed on top of him, forcing him back down. The itchy material of his school trousers scraped his legs as the man forced them up to his knees, Alex thrashing uselessly the whole time.

"Wolf, cut it out! There's nothing wrong . . ."

A sharp intake of breath from the man told him it was too late. He squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face in the white comforter, his hands clenching the fabric so tight he thought he might rip it. He could almost feel Wolf's eyes burning into his back and fought back the trembling. He'd cling onto whatever semblance of dignity he had left, no matter how miniscule.

"Cub. Look at me."

Barely aware of what he was doing, Alex shook his head silently, his mind frantically searching for an excuse, anything to explain away what he'd done, to say it wasn't self-inflicted. Injury on a mission? Would Wolf buy that?

The ceiling abruptly came into view as Wolf grabbed his hips in painfully tight and flipped him onto his back, the man in question looming over him, his eyes hard. Alex tried not to flinch at the enraged look. Sliding his hand under Alex's neck, Wolf gripped him tight and hauled him up into a sitting position, forcing his head to tilt so he was staring down at the small cuts littering his calves, ruby red against his white skin. Wolf's hand tightened as Alex gulped, unable to stop himself, at the sight, calloused fingers digging into his neck.

"What were you thinking?" Wolf barked, his voice getting louder as he continued. "Why would you do this? For such a clever person this is a bloody stupid thing to do! Answer me, Cub."

"What do you want me to say?" Alex snapped, resolve hardening is voice. Defiance gleamed in his dark eyes as he stared up into his guardian's angry face. "That I'm sorry? I'm not. I did it because I wanted to. Why were you even looking through my drawer anyway?"

"You little – that's irrelevant!" Wolf snarled, face flushing. "This is my flat and I'll look where I damn well want to! Why did you do this?"

"I just told you! Let go of me." Alex jerked out of Wolf's hold, stumbling to his feet and turning to face the furious soldier as he lunged off the bed towards his ward.

"Because you wanted to isn't an answer! Why did you want to do it?"

"Why does it matter to you? It's none of your business!" Alex almost winced at how childish he sounded but he was too angry to care.

"It matters to me because I'm responsible for you and as long as you live under my roof, everything about you is my God damn business, understand?"

"It makes me feel better, okay?" Alex shouted, slipping backwards as slowly as he could bring himself to do, wondering if he could get out before Wolf could stop him.

Noting the cornered animal-like expression on his face, Wolf gave him a glare that warned him not to try anything. The man was far faster and stronger than he was. "Sticking a razor blade in your skin makes you feel better, does it?"

"Yeah, it does."

Wolf's jaw shut with a snap. He stormed passed Alex out into the hall, picking up the hand-held phone he'd abandoned on the banister earlier that day after his conversation with Crawley.

"What are you doing?" Alex asked, voice suddenly soft, nearly a whisper, every instinct in his body telling him to stop the man.

"Calling MI6."

"What? Why?"

"You've been through too much without proper care. I'm getting you a therapist." Wolf began to dial in the number.

All the blood drained out of Alex's face as he stared, wide-eyed, in horror at the man. He couldn't be serious, right?

Wolf finished typing the numbers and put the phone to his ear.

"No, Wolf, don't!" Alex cried, grabbing Wolf's arm in a surprisingly strong grip and harshly pulling it back down, taking the phone away from his ear and making him grunt in shock. Wolf glared at the teenager, angrily attempting to prize his limb away from Alex's grasp as the boy continued to protest.

"Wolf, please!"

He stopped, staring at Alex. He'd never heard that desperate, pleading tone of voice from the younger male. Ever. He glanced down at the hand that still held his arm in its tight grasp, the blunt nails digging into his skin (something he doubted the kid realized he was doing) then back up at the boy, who stood frozen, his face starkly pale.

Wolf pulled away and this time, Alex let him go, sensing the change in his guardian. Wolf clicked the 'cancel' button on the phone and placed it back on the banister before striding to the living room, gesturing for Alex to follow him. After a moment of hesitation, he did. They sat on the squishy couch for several long moments before Wolf broke the silence, "You've got to tell me why, Cub. I get that you don't want a therapist. You don't want MI6 involved in this."

Alex nodded, grateful that the man had understood his dilemma. "But I can't just forget what I've seen and I can't let it go, not without knowing. I was going to talk to you about this anyway."

Alex looked at him sideways, one eyebrow creeping towards his hairline. Wolf fought down a smile at the familiar expression. Now was not the time. "You were?" the boy asked. "Why?"

Wolf shrugged, dark eyes locked with a stain on the carpet. "Because you're not acting like yourself. You're quiet."

"I'm always quiet."

"I know. A different kind of quiet."

"There are different kinds of quiet?"

"Alex." Wolf said wearily, voice low. The use of his real name made Alex realize that Wolf was genuinely trying to help him and was taking it very seriously. Swallowing down his nerves, Alex opened his mouth to try to explain, closed it and opened it again.

"It's transfer," he finally said.

Wolf glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "Transfer?"

Alex nodded, not looking at the soldier. "I – I used to get nightmares. Really bad ones. It started after I saw Sarov shoot himself. You and I both know now that he didn't actually kill himself, but I thought he did and it . . . I couldn't get it out of my head. That he would commit suicide because I said I didn't want to be his son." Wolf hesitantly put a hand on his shoulder in support. He took a deep breath and continued. "I had them nearly every night. Jack was worrying and I was always exhausted, once I even fell asleep at the kitchen table and she freaked out." Alex winced at the memory. "Then one day I broke a mug when I was trying to put it in the dishwasher. I was alone and thinking about it and getting really upset and I put it in too hard. I cut myself on a shard."

Alex paused. Wolf, nodding his head gently, carried on for him, "And it made you forget the pain?"

Alex looked at him in surprise, then nodded, once. "Yeah. Yes, it did. So the next time, when I was upset over Sabina not believing me about MI6 and everything that was going on with Damian Cray, I was in the bathroom and an unopened razor was sitting right in front of me and I . . ." Alex bit his lip. "So I just started doing it. It's like, I can take emotional pain and turn it into physical and I feel better because emotional pain, well, that can last for a long time, but physical – it doesn't. It's fleeting. And it's so much easier to endure."

The silence was tense as Alex sat, almost rigid, waiting for Wolf to say something, anything. When he did, it was not what Alex expected. "I get it, kid."

"You do?" Alex failed to keep the skepticism out of his voice.

Wolf took his hand off of Alex's shoulder, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back against the couch, staring up at a crack in the ceiling that he'd put off repairing for months. "I told you that I have a stepdad, remember?"

Alex twisted around at the waist to look at him, frowning minutely, "Yes?"

Wolf paused, then said, "My biological father – my mum's first husband – was a total bastard. He used to beat her. Sometimes my brother and I too, if we ticked him off. She didn't know about that, though. He had her convinced that if she left him and took us away, we'd hate her 'cause we loved him and we were too scared of him to tell her the truth."

Alex held his breath, staring at the man. He felt something close to awe that this same man, who hated him and tried to make him as miserable as possible at Brecon Beacons, trusted him enough to tell him something so personal.

"Years after she finally got rid of the scumbag, we had a row and she told me I was like him, a bully and a thug and that I'd never be anything better." Wolf gave a bitter little laugh. "Hurt like hell, that did. Worse thing was, she was right." Alex opened his mouth to protest but his guardian cut him off, "Come on, Cub, I was an ass to you. I know that. Anyway, I may be better now, but I was a horrible person when I was your age. I was always angry at everything and guilty 'cause I didn't do more to protect my little brother or my mum and scared that she was right, that I was like him. I picked fights with people, anyone would do, just to forget everything. I nearly got arrested once when this one bloke who started on my brother ended up in hospital. I don't regret it; he was a dick and he was picking on Nico but it made me realize just how bad I could hurt someone."

Wolf turned his head to look at Alex as a half-smile graced his features. "Then mum met Simon. I hated him at first, but he was patient with me. He listened, he helped me. He's a great dad." Wolf gave Alex an intense look that made him want to turn his eyes away, a peculiar sensation that he could not put a name to running through him.

Wolf pushed himself off the couch, disappearing out the hallway. When he returned, he was holding the razor in his hands. Alex jumped to his feet, brown eyes locked on the blade. Wolf paused before silently holding it out to him. The teenager stared from it, to Wolf and back again.

"It's your life, Alex. I can't tell you what to do with it; I'm not going to force you to do anything. You've been through more than a kid your age should ever be and if this," he held the razor distastefully, "is what you need to do to deal with it, then I'm not going to stop you, even though I want to. It's your choice."

Several long moments passed between them before Alex reached out and took the blade from Wolf's palm. He walked to the door. Wolf turned to watch his progress. At the doorway, Alex stopped for a long moment. Keeping his eyes averted, he walked back to the soldier slowly, one step at a time and handed the blade back. Wolf took it without a word.

A/N: I was rereading Snakehead today and I noted that Anthony Horowitz mentioned an "inner calm" Alex has that allows him to survive in the world he's in – so that got me thinking, how does he have that?