"-kay, alright, easy, you're fine, Zephyr, Zephyr, damn it, you're safe!"

Blink. Light. Hurt. Cold.

"You're safe." Softer, urgent, low-harsh-breathless. "Look at me. C'mon, kid, let me see those baby blues."

Vashyron. Home.

He focused.

"Hi there." Vashyron was gripping his arms painfully tight- holding him down, he realized, but also holding on to him, grounding him. "You back?"

"Didn't go anywhere." His throat hurt. He winced, coughed. "Why're you in m' room?"

"You were screaming loud enough to wake the entire city, kid." Gently. So very gently, and he hated it. At the least, there was no pity in Vashyron's face; there was nothing but steady patience and concern and friendship. He couldn't have handled pity.

"Let me up." So that's why his throat burned like acid. Shit. He hadn't pulled this shit since he'd first come here. He was shaking like a fucking leaf and he felt sick, stomach twisting and tight like iron. Vashryon's hands left his arms, slow and careful.

And then he saw her. Biting her lip, hovering in the doorway. She met his eyes, and then turned and fled.

"…sorry." He whispered, running a hand over his face.

"Bad one, hu?" Vashyron sat down the bed, didn't touch him, was very careful not to touch him now that he'd let go. "Expected it, after today. Here."

He startled as a cup was offered to him. When he took it, hands still trembling no matter how much he tried to make them stop, it was hot. Really hot. It felt good, though, because every drop of heat had apparently leaked out of his body onto the floor below. Vashyron was warm, too. He leaned, a little, and a steady, unflinching shoulder met his in absolutely silent support.

"What is it?"

"Old, old trick. Just trust me. It'll make your throat feel better."

He shrugged- he did trust Vashyron, more then he wanted to think about- and brought the cup to his lips. He tasted lemon, and honey, and- he laughed shakily. Lemon tea.

"Never took you for an old wife."

A snort. "Not yammering helps, too. Should I duct tape your mouth?…"

He sipped the tea again, wincing as it burned it's way down his raw throat- but did sooth, too, a slow after-effect, and the heat slowly seeped into him, warming him up again. Distantly, he was aware that Vashyron's hand had come to the small of his back, was rubbing up and down and he wanted to snap that he wasn't a kid and wasn't a cat but it felt really good. He didn't get touched like this often, normally wouldn't even think about putting up with it, but he was…

He was…

Really tired. Shit, he was so tired. Bone-weary, he'd heard someone say once. He hadn't understood it then, but now he thought he did; he felt like if he'd stood up, he would have just collapsed under his own weight. He wouldn't be able to get back to sleep- he never could, after these dreams. But the hand rubbing his back was steady and firm and the heat was making his muscles go languid and relaxed.

"Feeling better?"

"Not really." He closed his eyes, pressing his fingers into them. His other hand was wrapped around his middle, where the iron ball still hadn't gone away. He was clenching and unclenching his hands on the cup, and he couldn't stop.

"Yeah, didn't think so. Look, Zephyr…" Vashyron suddenly reached out, tapped his knee light-as-a-feather. "This shit, about wanting to die. It didn't start until Lagerfield had his way with you. Lest, not where I could hear."

He gritted his teeth, looked away.

Why did you live when they died?

"Yeah, well, maybe he just said what everyone was thinking."

"Not me."

Is your life worth more then theirs?

"Me, then." He snapped. He would have yelled, but his throat hurt.

Vashyron was silent. The hand on his back, through, kept moving…steady and firm over his lower back. He couldn't bring himself to pull away.

"I get it, you know." The words were almost inaudible, so incredibly soft were they. "Our situations…they're different. But I understand, being the one left standing."

"You don't understand shit." His voice cracked for more reasons then his screaming, and he pressed his eyes closed hard. Fuck, start bawling again, why don't you? The hand on his back paused, stiffened for a minute, then resumed it's slow, soothing pattern.

"Alright." Was the simple reply. "I don't understand shit. You want me to leave you to it?"

He wanted Vashyron to get pissed. To get hurt and angry, to give him an excuse to yell and hit and break the fucking cup into a million fucking pieces. There was so much with no where for it to go, and sometimes, when he felt this way, he was so scared he'd just…slip, again, living in utter terror of himself and what he'd done and could do and might do-

"Zephyr." Her voice made him look up, surprised. She'd run back to her own room, he'd seen her turn and bolt, but now Leanne stood at the door in her Pjs, biting her lip and hugging herself gently.

And something in him uncoiled, just a little bit. "Can I- come in?"

He nodded, and she entered, taking up a spot on his other side. "You should finish that. You sound all raspy."

"He hasn't exactly got a honey-smooth voice in the first place." Vashyron, gently teasing and soft. The thing inside uncoiled a little more, then even more at Leanne's uncertain giggle.

"We can't all sound like an old west hero riding to the rescue."

"I'm starting to get offended at all these cracks. You both should learn respect for your elders."

His eyes burned. Now that the tight knot in his belly had started to unwind, he was aware of just how much he was leaning into Vashyron, the older man's arm around him almost completely.

He half-suspected Vashyron had slipped something into the tea; he wouldn't put it past him, he'd done it before. But oddly, he couldn't care. He closed his eyes, just for a moment, just to stop the sting-

-and the cup slipped through the kid's fingers. Zephyr didn't seem aware that he'd lost it, and Vashryon gently caught it with a small smile. Times like this he was reminded just how young his kids were, seventeen and nineteen, shit, just babies. They didn't deserve any of this. Zephyr muttered, tiredly, and he wrapped an arm around his shoulders, drawing him closer, gently. There was a low, tired sigh, and a blonde head dropped to his chest, soft hairs tickling his nose. He rubbed the back of Zephyr's neck, firmly but gently, setting the tea down on a table.

"There you go." He murmured, when the blue eyes fluttered shut without Zephyr's permission. "Relax, Zephyr, I've got you."

"Got me?" The words were slurred, half-laughed…shit, he was exhausted. He hadn't even had to drug the tea, though Leanne had been prepared to do it.

"Yeah, got you." He smiled, looked over to Leanne. She reached out, hesitated, then brushed a hand over his forehead, combed backwards through Zephyr's feathery hair.

"You can go back to bed. You've got to be tired, too." He told her, as Zephyr's breathing started to even out and deepen again.

"It's already like six in the morning." She smiled. "Might as well stay up. I can make coffee, if you want."

"Please." He smiled, and she returned it.

"He'll- be alright. Right?"

"He'll be fine." He wasn't sure if he was lying or not. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm- okay." She shrugged.

"Yeah." He shifted, let Zephyr settle more heavily against him. It'd been a long time since he'd had Zephyr asleep on him like this…he wasn't sure if it was a step backwards or forward for either of them. "Well, if you're gonna make that coffee-"

Her smile was a little more honest, this time, more like it used to be. "Yes, Master Vashyron."

"Now you're gettin' the idea." He laughed, laughed harder when she smacked him in the face with a pillow. She slipped from the room, and he eased the younger man back down onto the bed-and found he couldn't pull away.

And he stopped and stared at the hand that was caught in his sleeve, holding on tightly, at the tears that tracked down an otherwise peacefully asleep face. Zephyr's brow furrowed, his breath hitched slightly, but there was no screaming, no sobbing, no dramatics. Just quiet tears and that grip.

"Alright." He said, after a minute. "Alright, I'm not going anywhere." He sank back down onto the mattress, leaning against the headboard.

He'd never been a people person. He'd never been good with people, and he'd never expected to be laying here, arm wrapped around a seventeen year old gently, every protective instinct he'd never thought he'd had screaming and snarling inside his chest. Leanne and Zephyr…his kids. Shit, he'd never tell them that, he thought, wiping away some of the wetness from Zephyr's cheek, gently. But they were.

He was well and truly fucked.

He'd known that the moment Leanne had gone after Zephyr, gun in hand, in her little pig shirt and capris and the image of a teenage girl looking even younger then she was racing through the rain with a deadly weapon clapped in her hands had been one he wasn't sure amused him, sickened him, or impressed him.

A little of all, he thought.

She'd gone racing after him, and he'd tried to force himself to stay, to let them deal with their own problems, tried to convince himself they could take care of themselves. But when they hadn't come back and the rain stopped and it got later and later, he'd gone hunting them without his own permission, his feet taking him to the bridge even while he cursed himself out and called himself six kinds of fool.

He'd known that when he'd seen them on the bridge, pressed together, soaking wet, a dead body feet away and even now the sound of someone's hoarse half-sobs reaching his ears, and felt something inside him clench tightly. Unfamiliar- or at the very least, it had been so long since he'd felt it- and painful, damn it had hurt.

He'd known that when he'd gently coaxed them upright- and he'd had to coax them, gently tugging Leanne upright and at least she'd walked on her own, even if it was a slow, downtrodden shuffle. He'd had to keep one hand on Zephyr's back the entire walk home, all but pushing him forward. And he'd wanted nothing more then to hurt the person that had hurt them, to find them and do worse then shoot them, and while he'd known they both needed to be left alone to make their own choices, their own decisions, that didn't stop the thing in his chest that was coldly furious.

Yeah. He was trapped.

Zephyr sighed, softly, and he glanced down at the sleeping boy. No more tears, he noted, though the grip on his sleeve was still there. He gently, gently removed himself from the now-lax hold, and Zephyr- thank God- didn't protest in any way, just curled into a little, loose ball. He drew the covers over him- getting maternal there, Vashyron?- and-

*Snap.*

He whirled, instantly, to see Leanne standing in the doorway, camera in one hand and the other hand hiding her grin.

"…You have ten seconds to give me that."

"Shh. You'll wake him up."

"Nine."

"But you were so cute-"

"Eight."

"Oh, come on, no one will see-"

"Seven."

"Unless I decide to use it as blackmail…"

"Six." He started to advance. For every step forward he took, she took one back.

"At least I didn't get a picture of your little cuddle."

"Fivefourthreetwoone!"

In retrospect, making a teenage girl scream at six AM was not one of his better ideas.