A/N - Would you look at the skeleton I had in my closet! To be honest I forgot about this, then remembered, didn't know how to continue it, got busy and then got my ass into gear. I'm sorry if it isn't up to caliber, I haven't written in a while. That being said, I will continue this. The next chapter will be out next week or the week after. It'll be updated before New Year, definitely.

Summary; Alex was tired, so tired that the only way he could get away from it was to end it. But that plan backfired, and now the teenaged spy under the supervision of a new Guardian. Someone who has been where he is now, in a dark place, a place that will either swallow you whole, or send you back stronger than before.

Never Back Down

Chapter Two

Above all else, Snake was a man of tact.

This meant that while the proverbial foot had come down, the law been laid, Cub, regardless of what Snake said or did, wouldn't quit. Cutting wasn't a hobby; it wasn't a frivolous past time, or something you did for kicks. It was a lot of different shades that manifested itself in a lot of different people; each individual having their own unique flavour.

For Snake, the cause had been many things - a television that broke, a sink that always backed up, a landlord that cared too much and a girlfriend that cared too little. A job that demanded too much and a social life that steadily failed. A comrade that was in the wrong place at the wrong time and his loyal troop of ten that, stupidly, followed him in - all of which slowly compiled a long, long list of losses that he would never, ever lose track of.

In comparison, the trigger had been almost insignificant.

He had forgotten to turn on the oven.

Tea had been easy back in the day. It was always a frozen something. It took either five minutes in the microwave or thirty-five minutes in the oven. It was incredibly simplistic.

And he fucked it up. Like he fucked everything up.

Why couldn't he ever get it right?

There was silence as the dry wall Snake had built to keep out the bad thoughts began to give. Strong, calloused hands grabbed fistfuls of blonde hair as thin cracks started to appear, one by one, lengthening until they ran into each other and formed spider webs. He squeezed his eyes shut as the distinct sound of breaking concrete grew louder and louder.

Louder still, until the wall shattered in a cacophony of chaotic images and feelings. Too many feelings, flooding his brain so fast he didn't have a hope in the world of deciphering what they meant. Darkness enveloped him, blanketing with the intention of suffocating.

He couldn't breathe.

With a cry more angered than startled, Snake flung his arm sideways, sending the clutter on his kitchen bench to the floor with several thuds that varied so much it was almost musical. Whatever remained was quickly dealt with; most of it being thrown violently across the room. That was until his fingers wrapped themselves around the business end of a knife.

An exceedingly sharp, Butcher's knife.

The blade bit viciously into his hand, easily slicing through pallid skin. Snake's vicelike grip drove it deeper into his flesh, before the pain registered and his fist unfurled reflexively.

A steadily increasing cascade of blood followed the falling blade, splattering the floor.

But all that registered was the stinging throb in his right hand. That was all.

Just pain. Nothing else.

It was… good.

Cutting became a need for Snake – a raw need. It was a drive that couldn't be stopped, a thirst that couldn't be quenched, an itch that couldn't be scratched. It was an escape.

And that was why Cub would not, could not stop. It was his means of escape, too.

Snake understood.

But it didn't make it right.

Cub was in the living room.

For the passed three hours, the boy had been sprawled across the couch, watching daytime infomercials.

Snake didn't know whether to be relieved or concerned. On one hand, at least Cub hadn't barricaded himself in the bathroom and passed the time by carving into himself. On the other, the seemingly listless state he was currently in wasn't much of an improvement.

On the television, the advertisement for the latest 'miracle' fat burner tapered off and was replaced by a new type of acne cleanser. Snake scowled as a bright young woman with skin as smooth as a baby's bottom popped up on screen, endorsing the product that she had probably never needed to use in her life.

The marketing business was based on lies, much like his own business, and Cub's.

His thoughts arrived back at the blonde teenager: Cub.

That was what he had come in here for.

Stepping closer to the couch, he leant over the back of it and tapped Cub on the shoulder as a way of getting the kid's attention, even though he knew he'd probably had it the second he stepped into the living room. "Hey, couch potato. What do you want for dinner?"

The kid's shoulders hunched with a disinterested shrug and his gaze remained on the TV.

Snake sighed and ran a hand through his hair; an action that bordered on habit. Sure, he'd been ostracized before, and hell, he'd ostracized Cub in the past, too. But under his own roof, and when he was trying to help this kid no less. It struck a nerve, to be honest.

"Oi, I asked you a question." Snake clasped his hands and rested them atop the couch, slanting over the back to give the kid a rather intense look. "Answer me, please."

Again, Cub shrugged.

"With words."

"I don't care."

Lovely.

Snake hung his head despairingly. "Come on, Cub. You don't eat anything I make. Tell me what you want."

Cub's answer was to, rather rudely if Snake might add, increase the volume.

A little bit miffed, the soldier reached over and plucked the remote from the kid's hand. The images on the screen were replaced by a wall of black as Snake switched it off.

"Hey," growled Cub, who rolled over to fix Snake with a glower that looked suspiciously indignant. "I was watching that."

Snake offered a mocking grin in return. "Acne troubles, Cub?"

"Screw you."

Snake frowned, briefly meeting Cub's eyes before the teen averted his gaze. Instead of reprimanding the kid for his disrespect, Snake ignored it. "So, what did you want for tea?"

"Nothing."

"Try again, mate."

"A big, fat plate of 'your absence' would be just fine."

Pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation, Snake reminded himself that 'it was you who wanted him to talk in the first place, genius.' He wasn't about to ruin that progress because the kid was a lot sassier than he recalled. No, he would take it in stride and deal with it in a calm, refined manner. That meant no cuffing, thumping, shouting or snapping.

With a deep breath to settle his fraying nerves, Snake refocused on his charge.

"Third times a charm," he announced, voice firm. "I'm not leaving until you tell me, Cub."

A lot of expressions flittered across Cub's face then. Most fell into categories such as annoyance, anger, frustration and other associated groups. But then something more agreeable splayed across Cub's haggard features; the stiffness and fight leaving his body.

Little did Snake know it was a memory of an empowered red-headed woman that caused it. Of her clouting Cub over the head the first time he'd ever mouthed off to her, and the knowledge that Jack wouldn't have been half as lenient as Snake in the same situation.

Cub gave, just a tiny bit. "I'm just not that hungry, alright?"

"You still should eat." Snake said, carefully, aware of the thin ice under his feet. He thought for a moment. "How about stir-fry? You can eat as much or as little as you want."

The disdainful twist of Cub's lips let him know that stir-fry did not sound good. In fact, to Cub, it sounded a lot like a rolling stomach. But still, the kid answered with a solid, "Fine."

So Snake decided it was good enough.

"Do you, uh," Snake paused, knowing that what he was about to ask was a definite crossing of the boundaries. "Do you want to give me a hand cooking?"

There was a beat of entirely too awkward silence.

Cub cocked an eyebrow sardonically. "You're going to let me use a knife?"

"No. But you can go to town with the peeler."

Snake rummaged through the shelves of his fridge. Normally the inside of his fridge was sparse and whatever he found that wasn't shrunken or rotten was what he made do with. Since Cub's arrival, though, Snake had restocked. A little too much, actually, if the utterly, impenetrable wall of foodstuffs that he was currently battling with was anything to go by.

"How the hell did I get this in here?" He muttered as he wrestled a pair of carrots from the mess.

"With a lot of shoving and swearing," Cub supplied helpfully from where he was against the kitchen bench. When Snake peered over his shoulder at Cub, he noticed the peeler he'd promised the boy was being expertly twirled between his fingers. Snake turned back.

Pulling out what he needed until his arms were almost overflowing with food, Snake lightly nudged the fridge door closed with his foot. As he ambled over to the bench, almost losing a few things in the process, Cub pushed away from the counter. He silently crossed to the other side, effectively putting a barrier between them. The peeler never stopped twirling.

Snake tossed him the carrots, as though he hadn't noticed Cub's movement. The kid was odd. Sometimes Snake could be inside his personal bubble and he wouldn't flinch, other times the kid wanted distance. Maybe this time it was because Snake would have a knife.

And Cub wouldn't.

Whatever it was, Snake let it go.

Halfway through simultaneously tugging out a chopping board and tipping a plastic bag upside down to free a broccoli, Snake's phone rang. Snake made to answer it, but stopped. The phone was in the hallway. Cub was in the kitchen. A knife was on the bench.

Snake eyed the sharp weapon, considered taking it with him, and then flicked his gaze to Cub. The kid was openly watching him, the peeler frozen partway through peeling the carrot; a strip of its orange skin detached and curling. Snake gave the boy a long, hard look. Then, with one last glance at the knife, he bustled out of the kitchen. Not at all sure.

That was partly why he didn't check the Caller ID before answering. He soon regretted it.

'Snake, mate. Look. I'm sorry, alright? It was an accident.'

Snake pulled the phone away from his ear to stare at it in angered disbelief. Angered by whose voice that crackled through the speaker, disbelief at what that voice had said.

"It. Was. An. Accident?" Snake ground out, still glaring holes through the phone.

While the phone was still a fair way from his ear, Snake still heard the faint, unsure 'yeah'.

When Snake spoke next, the phone was back where it was supposed to be. "You're telling me that sending a fist hurtling into my ward's face at 35mph was an accident?"

'Uh… yeah?'

Snake snorted. "No dice, mate."

'It… it, alright, fine, the truth is-'

"You know who starts a sentence with the words 'the truth is'?" Snake interrupted bluntly.

For a long minute, there was silence on the other end. Then the voice asked warily, 'who?'

"Liars."

'Okay. I get it, alright? I'm a dickhead. I'm sorry. But I couldn't help it, man. With the knife, the blood, the look on his face - it was you, all those years ago. And nothing I said or did back then helped you. I couldn't help you and you got so fucked up. Then I saw Cub, little Cub and he is just so bloody young and all I could think about was that if I-'

"Wolf," Snake rasped, his eyes doing a perfect rendition of dinner plates, "Wolf, I-"

'- couldn't help you back then, there was no way I could help Cub now and it just really screwed with my head. I got pissed and took it out on Cub, which was wrong. I'm sorry.'

Snake gaped; his jaw lost somewhere on the floor. That was the most he'd heard Wolf say.

In level tones. About something so deep. Ever.

Still a bit stunned, Snake finally managed to respond. "I… I forgive you."

'Thanks.'

Snake coughed into his free hand, trying to dispel the awkwardness their conversation left.

'So, uh, how is Cub?'

"Well," Snake said slowly, not really sure how Cub was himself. "He hasn't cut today… that I know of. He's been talking, which is always a good thing…" Wolf gave a dismissive grunt.

Snake rolled his eyes. Wolf normally wasn't a very talkative guy. It was like he had a quota of words for the day and once they were used up he just answered with grunts. That spiel of his just then had probably set him back a few months. It made sense that Wolf, as quiet as he was, didn't understand the importance of Cub speaking more than one word.

"…and he was just helping me make dinner, which I should get back to."

'He's eating, then?'

"Not really…"

'Tried feeding him Macca's? Kid's always eat it.'

"He doesn't like it."

'How do you know?'

Snake wanted to say that the topic had arisen during a conversation with Cub, but nearly all the conversations the two had, had been rather one-sided. He wanted to say that the kid's old Guardian had told him before Snake had brought Cub home. But the truth was;

"I tried feeding it to him on the way home from 'the bank'."

'And he didn't eat it? Not one bite?'

"No. He actually looked kind of sick when I gave it to him."

"Huh. Odd.'

"I swear, Wolf. He won't eat a damn thing I give him. It's seriously worrying me."

'Maybe it has nothing to do with the food. Maybe it has something to do with him.'

"It's crossed my mind."

'You remember when my cousin had anorexia? Well…'

By the time Snake made it back to the kitchen, he expected Cub to be gone. Part of him also expected the knife to have vanished as well. What he hadn't expected was to find Cub dividing a finished stir-fry into two bowls, one portion decidedly larger than the other.

When Cub noticed Snake leant in the doorway, arms crossed and watching with a blank expression, he stated matter-of-factly, "You were taking too long."

Snake didn't deny it. "Yeah." He nodded towards the two steaming dinners. "Smells good."

Cub dumped the frying pan he was holding into the sink, not bothering to answer.

Scratching the side of his nose, Snake looked to the fridge. "Did you want a drink?"

'Well… one of the things the doctor recommended was oranges, or orange juice. It's supposed to stimulate the flow of digestive fluids and increase a person's appetite.'

Cub gave his customary shrug, but Snake was already at the fridge, opening it. He pulled out a bottle of orange juice and grabbed the largest glass he could find. He filled the glass to the top and handed it to the kid, who appraised it with an exceedingly flat expression.

"Tap on the fritz?"

"Sure is," Snake answered without missing a beat, slowly squeezing passed the boy. He collected his bowl from the counter top and held Cub's out to him. The kid didn't take it.

"I'm not hungry." Cub informed him coldly, angling his body towards the door.

"You cooked all this and you're not going to eat it?"

Cub looked at him contemptuously. "You said I could eat as much or as little as I wanted."

Snake put the food down. His arm snaked out and caught Cub's wrist as the boy made to turn away. True, Snake had said that. But he hadn't meant it.

Before he could say something else, though, he felt something; something sticky, warm and wet. Snake released Cub with a frown, and looked at his hand, which was now coated.

In blood.

Face darkening; Snake slowly looked back at his ward… only to receive a face full of juice.

Startled, Snake staggered back, cursing. He swiped at his stinging eyes with his forearm, trying to get rid of the sticky substance. When he was finally able to see properly again, Cub had disappeared. Somewhere, a door slammed in his flat. It wasn't the front door.

Cub would have had to duck passed Snake to get to the front door.

The brat was smart enough to know doing that would have been a death sentence.

Pulling the sleeve of his denim jacket over his hand, Snake scrubbed at the rest of his face. He needed a minute, else wise he would strangle the kid when he went to get him.

When his breathing returned to normal and the murderous thoughts flooding his mind had tapered off, Snake set out. His footsteps were soft, his hands in his pockets, the fact that it was his own fault for leaving Cub in a position to cut, seared into his brain.

He found the one door in the apartment that was locked rather easily. What confused him was the room Cub had chosen. It was Snake's bedroom. Why was Cub in his bedroom?

Then Snake heard the telltale creak of an opening window, and it hit him.

Snake's apartment was on the sixth story; the only exit was the front door and, if you were incredibly suicidal, climbing down the drainpipe outside Snake's bedroom window.

"Oh shit."

Without a second thought, Snake stepped back and promptly kicked his door down.

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