Right, you've had a Simon POV chapter, now time for a Kieren.

Since I figured no one would wanna read blocks of copied and pasted dialogue, I basically decided to go for a general overview of the current situation from Kieren's POV instead of a blow-by-blow retelling. It's short and sweet, but I think it gets the point across.

Enjoy!

"You're a spark without a flame

I'm a desert in the rain

You're a mountain and I'm a stepping stone

So walk away from your pride

It's a demon in disguise

And it won't help you to calm the swelling tide"

-'Human', Gabrielle Aplin

"I think I need help, Kier…"

"Alright," his arms went around her protectively. If he'd held onto even a shred of anger, it was obliterated by his little sister's broken sobs. "We'll get you some help, yeah?"

Kieren stared up at the ceiling blankly, the whole scene playing over and over behind his eyes. How long since the night Henry Lonsdale disappeared? A week? More? How long had Jem been keeping this huge, terrible secret to herself? And how had he not realised? Bloody hell, he was a shit brother. He'd been too wrapped up in his own things to pay her a second thought. That very night, mere hours after the incident, he was too giddy after his talk with Simon at the rave to even notice something was off.

Never again, he promised himself. He'd abandoned Jem once too often. He couldn't leave her alone like that again. She'd turned to fucking Gary, for Christ' sake! Who knew what he'd been saying to her, probably making things even fucking worse.

But she'd believed him in the end. Taken her brother's side, though he wouldn't have blamed her if she hadn't. She wouldn't be seeing Gary Kendal again. And if he came sniffing around, well, Kieren might just have to learn how to be an obnoxious, overbearing big brother after all. He could learn to throw his weight around if it meant sending that dickhead packing.

"Do you know what happened to him, Jem?"

"It- it was an accident…" she choked, tears flooding her eyes. "It was dark, I was on patrol and I… I thought he was a rabid…"

She'd killed him. In the heat of the moment, she'd killed Henry. He knew in his heart that she hadn't meant to, but… it didn't make the revelation hurt any less. When had she decided to start patrolling again? What had made her pick up the gun once more, when he thought she'd left that chapter of her life behind?

He should be furious with her. He didn't know Henry Lonsdale, but he had been one of them. Just a kid who'd drawn the short straw, dragged kicking and screaming back into the world only to be torn violently out of it once more.

But Jem had been in this position once before. She'd stood there and watched as Kieren, rabid and crazed by hunger, had torn Lisa Lancaster to shreds. But she saved him anyway. Even forgiven him, in time.

How could he ever deny her the same courtesy?

And so he put the deed down to what it was: a desperate girl trying to find her purpose again. He couldn't blame her- he knew all about feeling powerless. It didn't mean he would turn a blind eye should she do it again.

Nor did it mean Gary was off the hook. One of these days that manipulative bastard was going to get what was coming to him.

He knew at least one person who'd definitely volunteer his services in that regard.

"No," Simon breathed, showing the first honest to goodness smile since the day Amy died. "I'm staying put."

His life didn't hinge on Simon, no matter what his dad thought. He was perfectly capable of making his own decisions, and he liked to think that he would have had the courage to stay in Roarton even if Simon left. But he wasn't leaving. And for that, Kieren was immeasurably grateful. He didn't think he was ready for his time with Simon to be over.

Time was what they needed. Time, and hopefully a scrap of honesty. They had some things to talk through, for sure. He wanted the full story of why Simon had disappeared eventually, and he wouldn't mind one or two other explanations while he was at it. Sooner or later, words would be exchanged. He'd had enough dishonesty in relationships to last several more lifetimes. He'd allow them a few days of peace and quiet, some time to grieve for Amy and get used to each other before he broached the next topic of conversation, whatever it may be. He knew what he really wanted to talk about, though…

Moisture glittered on the tips of his fingers. Tears. Strange. He hadn't shed one of those in five years. He didn't have long to muse on it before he noticed the trembling of his hand. He shook it out, exhaling as the tremors stilled. But even in their absence, a sense of unease still lingered.

He looked down at his hand. Steady as a rock now. It had probably been nothing. Nerves or stress or an abundance of other psychological triggers. He'd just recently turned rabid, been shot at and lost his very best friend in the world, all in the space of a day. Of course he'd be a little shaky.

He glanced at the nearest drawing, the half-finished piece on his bedside table. Amy. All his pictures had been of Amy recently. This one, unfortunately, had been blurred at the edges by the shaking of his hands. He'd fix it tomorrow, after a good night's sleep.

He ran his eyes over the various versions of her likeness that grinned back from the wall. It was probably morbid, drawing her so much right after her second death. But every now and then he was struck with the knowledge that he would never see her face again. And in those moments, he had to draw her. Had to look at her. Sketch the curves of her face, commit her likeness to memory before he forgot what her smile looked like. It was only a matter of time.

A person like Amy Dyer did not deserve to be forgotten. Not now, not ever. So he would draw her face until it was etched into his frontal lobe, and he would think of her smile on rainy days. He'd hold her in his unbeating heart for as long as he had consciousness to do so.

And he wasn't the only one.

His eyes roamed away from his collection of Amy's, settling on the blanket-shrouded shape on the floor. He wasn't sure what inspired him to invite Simon over for the night. Maybe it was seeing Simon's bag all packed and knowing that he hadn't left so much as a trace in the bungalow, or sympathy knowing he would be returning to such a blatantly Amy-less space. More likely it was his own desire not to be alone tonight, seeking excuses in the most unselfish ways possible.

He wasn't the only one struggling to sleep. Simon looked up at him, milk-white eyes shining in the pale moonlight. He was frowning, his brows drawn. He looked like he was thinking awfully hard about something. Kieren was about to sarcastically tell him not to strain himself when Simon spoke over him.

"The treatment centre," Simon rasped, bunching his fingers in the blanket.

Kieren frowned. "You what?"

"It's where I got the scar," he said, voice barely above a whisper. He was avoiding meeting Kieren's eyes now. "On my back. You wanted to know, so…"

Kieren softened, rolling onto his side to better observe the Irish man. Simon, who had been lying with his back pressed firmly to the floor up until now, mirrored his shift in posture so they lay face to face, eye to eye. It barely scratched the surface of all they needed to say to each other, but… maybe for now, it was enough.

Without another word, Kieren scooted back on the bed, and patted the mattress at his side.

Simon didn't need to be told twice.

His childhood bed was definitely too small for two grown men to be cuddling on, but they made do. Simon's arms went around his waist, a leg in between his own. Kieren pressed his head to his chest, ear pressed to Simon's silent heart. His eyes drifted closed and his hand skated across his skin, dancing over his waist before settling at the small of his back. He felt the base of the scar, open and vulnerable beneath his fingertips, and felt Simon stiffen momentarily before once again sagging into their embrace. For a moment Kieren just let his fingers trace the edge of the wound, thinking of the raw openness of it, and how his cold heart must be faring much the same. But there were no staples or stitches in the world that would ever truly repair the cavity of loss in his chest.

"We all have our scars…"

He let Simon gently lift his hand away from the wound, didn't complain as he ran his fingers along the scar on Kieren's wrist. Kieren hadn't given those words enough thought at the time. Now, though, he could feel the truth of them resonating in his bones. Mum, Dad, Jem. His Simon. Everyone had their scars. Everyone had been broken at one time or another.

And yet here they all were. Awake and present, living (though not necessarily alive), surviving.

Maybe they didn't have to be defined by their scars.

And maybe, just maybe, they didn't have to work so hard to hide them.

He met his own pearly gaze in the mirror. Took in every inch of his pale, ghoulish face.

Slowly, he smiled.

He wasn't a monster, or a ghost. He wasn't hideous, or horrifying. He was better than that.

He was Kieren Walker.

He could be strong. He could drop the mask and look at himself in the mirror, see himself for what he was. Just a person. Just Kieren, no more, no less. Just a man, trying to live his life by his own rules. And goddammit, was he going to live it. For Jem, for his parents. For Amy.

For himself.

On the pillow behind Simon's head, unnoticed, his hand began to tremble.

"Show me that you're human, you won't break

Oh love your flaws and live for your mistakes

Beauty's on the surface wearing thin

Come closer show the marks upon your skin

Show me that you're human"

Hope it wasn't too short and disappointing, but it was about as much as a felt comfortable writing for this chapter.

I'll post the epilogue soon!

Anyone who's still reading this- sorry for everything. X