A/N:

Thankyou so much for the ongoing support for this little story, reviews really are fodder and you all really help to sharpen the plot and keep us on track. Also Kabr would like to thank you all so much for the well wishes :D (I miss her already :().

This chapter came out excessively long so we've split it into two – which means two back to back Brendan POV's, I hope no one will find that too irritating.

Kabr is still very much along for the ride, her writing actually features to a large extent in this chapter. After this she will be here as beta, and hopefully occasional co-writer – I won't let her go too far!

Chapter Warning:

Really excessively angsty, sorry :/

Chapter Sixteen Brendan Brady

I can barely believe it when he asks, "you wanna know how I got there, to Blake's like?"

No - I just thought I'd do everything tonight, have a knife held at me, have my car written off, come to this carpark that's shrouded in secrets, on nothing more than a whim!

But now's not the time to despair at him so I say, "yeah, Steven, I wanna know how you got there."

He takes another swig of the whiskey, as though he's building up to the introduction of his disclosure, I can see all the heartache inside him and I need it to be a part of me – he can't shoulder this all on his own.

He takes a deep breath and starts talking, his voice is exactly the same as the boy I know so well, but his words are clearer, sharper. He's lived a chapter of his life in the fourteen days since I said goodbye.

"We left yours that day to go meet Uncle Tony. We got to the train station and I proper knew somethin' were up right?"

Steven said most of this the day he turned up on my door, but he didn't have the time, or the energy, or the strength to tell me it all so I nod at him to continue.

"Tony looked right shifty and was on the phone. Next time I looked he 'ad gone and Terry were there," he sighs.

I wince slightly as I feel my battered knuckles automatically clench into fists at the sound of that name.

"As soon as I seen him I just grabbed the kids and ran. It was just proper like instinct, you know? I just told the twins it were a game and we ran."

He takes another swig of the whiskey, he drinks so much I see his eyes sting. He's drinking like he needs it, like the alcohol is essential, and I can't take that, so I speak softly. Say, "hey, hey that's enough," and take the bottle away from him.

"I didn't know where were goin' at first but then I remembered somewhere that I always thought of a safe place, when we was younger, like. So I took 'em there."

A single tear falls silently down his cheek.

"I took 'em there." He shakes his head slowly as if trying to comprehend what he did. " I took 'em and left 'em there Bren!" he jumps off the wall and starts talking frantically. His speech builds to a tempo of despair. "Social Services! I took them to Social Services and just left 'em! Let 'em go! I didn't know what else to do though, right. I didn't have nowhere else to go and I couldn't let them live on the streets again, could I? But I promise I didn't know they were gonna take them away from me! I just thought they were gonna help us out or sommit!" His breathing is erratic, his eyes wild with fear and guilt.

"Hey. Shh. It's ok." I soothe.

I go to reach out for him but pull my arm back, unsure if it is my place to do so. Unsure if he would want me to.

"You did the right thing, Steven. You didn't have a choice, ok? You did the right thing."

He makes eye contact and I nod at him. His breathing starts to slow and he's seemingly calmed. He falls back onto the wall next to me and continues.

"After I le-" he takes a deep breath, "after I left them there I came to you."

I feel a sadness prevail through my being as I think back to that night. The vehemence of my renunciation effervesces to the surface and my heart hurts for him.

"Anyways, that night, after I been to see you. I…..I didn't have nowhere to go, right, so I went ho-" he scuffles on the word, looks down at his feet and says, "Terry's."

I feel a sharp stab of guilt in the depths of my inside. I did that. I sent him home. Back to that. Back to that satanic deification.

"Why did you go there? You had all that money. Why?"

He squirms in his seat for a moment as though he doesn't want to tell me. Doesn't want to force me to hear the truth behind his reasons…. Because the reason is me.

"Steven, the truth, tell me," I try to keep my voice soft.

"I proper thought there was a chance for me and you. When you got rid, everything just died. That week you made me feel like I could proper be something, and I never felt like that before right? And then you just got - you just got rid I couldn't…" his words struggle as he refuses to look at me, I don't blame him. I can barely think of my own actions – the monster I am evident in his words.

"I didn't have nowhere else to go, so I thought right, if that's how it's meant to be I would take your money home for me Mam to buy her gear and make her proper pleased with me. I thought from then on I would just do whatever to get the money comin' in, coz when I am makin' money for her she likes me," he shrugs.

He fucking shrugs! He shrugs as if he accepts that's how it is and accepts that's all he's worth. It's my turn to take a large swig of whiskey.

"What happened when you got home?"

"I walked in and Tony were there with me Mam and Terry. He was getting a right bollockin' for lettin' me get away," he snorts.

He turns to look me intensely in the eye.

"Do you know it took two days for Mam to even ask where the twins were? Two days! And when I told her she just shrugged and said it were two less mouths to feed." He says fiercly.

He wrings his hands together in anger, fury shooting from his soul.

"How can a parent be like that, huh?" he asks me.

The question resonates against the concrete. If walls could talk they'd be looking at my actions, asking the same question of my soul.

"I don't know, Steven." I reply honestly.

We sit in a silence for a few moments, Steven absorbed in thoughts about the twins whilst I reflect on how my exploits affect the boys. Each of us ponder on the reason behind some parent's iniquity.

The son shall not bear the iniquity of the father, neither shall the father bear the iniquity of the son.

"I told you! I told you we couldn't trust Tony!" he exclaims loudly. "It was all a set up, right. As soon as I had called Tony he told Mam and Terry where we were. They knew all along what was gonna happen. I bet Tony proper couldn't believe his luck when you offered him that eighty grand."

I divert my gaze from his. That tortured look in his eyes burns through me like an inferno.

"So what happened to the money exactly?" I ask.

"I'm sorry OK? I'll fucking pay you ba-" his words depict the storm inside him.

"No, Steven." I say, placing my hand on his shoulder I hope he sees it as comfort. "I'm not asking that. Just tell me what happened."

He kicks the wall, head shrinking into his hoody as he nods.

"Terry thought he'd made it big time when he saw the case, he'd set the whole thing up, getting that money from you, he 'ad it all planned right? So he proper thought he could do anything. He tried to cut in on a big crack deal but they had his number from the off – proper mugged him off, idiot…." he pauses a second.

Guilty eyes creep up my skin. "Brady I didn't mean to lose it I'm…"

I shake my head softly at his apology and he doesn't give it. What's eighty grand in this story? Totally fucking insignificant. Anyway there's some cosmic irony to be found that the money that was made in drugs should be lost through them.

"Terry was erm….Terry was worse after that right." I wonder how that monster could possibly get any worse from what I've heard about him, but I look into Steven's boyhood eyes and see that he feared for his life. I swallow past the sheer anger building inside me. "He didn't come home for proper ages, was in the bar the 'ole time," Steven's pulling at the skin of his wrists and I wonder if I can take this news. "I think he drank for thirtysix hours straight right? And then when he, when he came back…" He's trembling now, and staring ahead like there's something going on that only he can see. It's like he fades from this moment and he's back there facing whatever it was that scared the very depth of him. He's not here now – he's in the scarred shadows of his soul. "When he came back he, erm, he-, he-, he…" He starts to breathe heavily, too heavily and the trembling tempers.

"Steven!" I say, cupping his face between my hands, trying to calm him. His eyes shift to look at me yet it's as if he can't see me. He's lost, trapped, in that moment. "Steven – look at me! It's OK – whatever it is, it's OK. You're with me now and you don't have to tell me until your ready OK?"

The trembles running through his body get more intense and they bring tears. The waves that are ricocheting through his body bleed through his eyes. I pull him to me, and he rests his head, face first, into my chest. I hug him with all the strength I have, I don't care anymore. Those questions about whether I should and whether it's my place pale into insignificance, there's only one thought echoing in every cell.

Protection – it's our code word now.

Eventually his tears subside, deep throbbing sobs heaving his shoulders. He sniffs and then he pulls himself away. Pulls at his hoody like he's straightening himself up, ready to face his public, his eyes evading me – he looks embarrassed for sharing his soul. They've changed him completely, damaged every cell of the boy I once knew, misplaced his innocent honesty. He's hardened now, his own monster finding a cage inside him. I feel the red mist gather as hell starts up inside me. I feel physically restricted by the internal rage at what these poisonous bastards have done to my Steven. I jolt up off the ledge and feel my muscles straining with tension.

"I am going to bloody kill them!" I holler.

"What? Wait! No Brady! Please. Calm down." Steven pleads.

"Calm down?! How the fuck am I supposed to calm down?!" I start pacing, trying to allow some of this pent up anger to dispel.

"Bren plea-"

"They need to pay! They need to know they can't do this and can't get away with it!"

Steven reaches out and grabs my arm. I snap my head towards him growling, as if to warn him not to touch me. But he stands his ground. Stares right back at me, gripping my arm tighter. He's so fucking brave.

"You are not going anywhere," he says like it's so easy for him to order me, calm me.

It is. I can already see clearer - with that simple command he calms the uncontrollable mist within me.

"The twins are safe and so am I, now."

I go to protest but he puts a finger on my lips to quiet me. I surrender to his pleas and it always amazes me how this boy is capable of pulling me from the depths of my indignation like no one else.

We sit back on the ledge, each taking another sip of whiskey. Who am I to deny him the smooth mollifying nectar, tonight of all nights? After all he has been through in the past couple of weeks.

"What about Blake?" I ask, I need the answer. "How did you get involved with him?"

"I met him in an Irish Bar." He laughs at the verbal irony. "I sat there proper downin' pint after pint. I just remember him comin' up to us right outta nowhere and offerin' me a job. He made it sound all glamorous or sommit – he said it would be proper good pay, and I would have somewhere to stay every night that I made him money. So I wouldn't have t' go back to the shelter. Proper bullshit, all of it – but I proper didn't know at the time-"

He looks up at me, beautiful eyes wide and somehow innocent. Asking me to understand why he accepted Blake's offer. Asking me for a little bit of simple compassion.

It's too late. All I can give is a smoothing smile and a nulling nod.

"We didn't go back to the house then or anything. He told me to meet him in a bar later that night. Gave me his card, like a proper business card, yeah? Had his number on and he wrote the address of the bar on the back. So I went for a walk to try and sober up a bit but I needn't 'ave bovvered coz when I met up with him he started buyin' me a loadda drinks anyway."

I sigh heavily, partly due to sorrow for this boy, partly to stop the anger resurfacing.

"A bit later on, a bloke turns up. Gives Blake some money and then takes me to the house you found me in tonight."

He inhales deeply and I start to feel a dull ache spread across my chest as if my body is physically preparing itself for the affliction his next words are going to cause.

"And then he had sex with me. He was my first client."

"Oh God, Steven," I breathe.

I take hold of his hand and squeeze it to try and give some kind of reassurance to the broken boy sitting next to me.

"It's ok," he shrugs. "I mean, it shouldn't have been owt I wasn't used to right?" He says like it's supposed to be some form of joke, my stomach churns.

He looks into my eyes and almost as if he feels closer to himself adds the honesty. "To start with it was like a livin' hell but I started to be able to kinda block out the pain. Blake said I was doin' good. The men seemed to like me, right. On a good day I could take 5 or 6."

His voice falters towards the end. The tears start falling as though he bleeds the salt of his soul.

"I'm so so sorry, Steven." I breathe in a whisper.

His clenched fists are pressed against his eyes blocking out the light, the world. Beneath them I know he sees a darkness that he fears will soon swallow him if I don't save him. If I don't protect him. And I know that's the one thing I have to do, there is no other thing to do.

"I have a place in town," I tell him in a whisper. "Just a small flat," a hide-away in case I can't go home. "You're staying with me, OK?"

We both know it's not a question, now's not the time to think of principles and norms, now is simply the start of protection.

"After the holiday I'm gonna get you to a clinic, I just – I need to keep you safe, Steven."

He sniffs a little, looks up at me finally. His eyes glance over my features like he's tracing a map he once knew.

His words are as quiet as the night as he whispers, "you do – I feel safe with you."

***K&M***

I call Jim to bring the Merc, and pick up the damaged Lexus. We wait back down in the alleyway. The heavens open and Steven's soaked in a second – yet he acts like he can't feel it. He's still so distant. So I grab him by the wrist and pull him into a doorway, square my body around his. Nothing will stop me from protecting him.

His eyes take a while to find mine, like they'd rather look anywhere else. Yet when our gazes meet it's like thunder – his body shakes like a leaf in a storm.

"Jim will be here soon," I tell him and he nods, smiling vaguely.

He places his hands on my shoulders, and waits as if to test my reaction. But I can't let myself respond can I? I don't trust myself standing this close to him. Eventually he just exhales long and hard and pushes his hands off my shoulders to wrap his arms around my neck. The hug's like none I can remember. I'm undeniably instantaneously attracted to him; my physicality is on barely-controlled high-alert. But there's something more behind the hug, something so much more intense. Yet more important than all that is that this hug feels like the times I hold safety back into one of my boys. He feels like a treasure I need to keep safe.

He rests his head into my shoulder and that's when I see them, the dark purple marks of someone's fingers around his throat.

At first I feel hatred that something's hurt him. And then like a flash I remember my own fingers clenching into his skin earlier. The smooth skin denting beneath my fingertips as we stood in that revolting bedroom and I demanded his confession.

I stroke a finger over one of the marks, trying to tend to it in the way I know how.

"I hurt you," I breathe, self-disgust washing over me.

"It's not the first time is it?" He says, every muscle in him defensive.

"Steven I didn't mean-" my words cut off because I don't know what I meant – I knew I was holding him too roughly at the time.

After a moment he leans backward to look at me. He looks at me. And for the first time I can see something of the boy I recognise in his eyes.

"It don't matter," he whispers softly, his finger trailing over the bruise by my eye.

This thing we're trapped in is like a storm. But I will not let him break.

***K&M***

When we arrive back in Chester I leave him in front of the television before going into the bathroom to tend to my bruises. There are deep, vaguely-healing, cuts beneath my shirt and as I strip I find myself searching for Steven - hoping he hasn't decided to follow. He can't see me like this. I don't want him to have to shoulder anymore hurt. I have given him too much already.

He's not there so I remove the shirt and hang it over the door. Take the antiseptic and the cotton wool. Bite my tongue to stop from groaning as the skin is treated.

"Let me?" He whispers.

His presence is sudden. I see him as I did the end of the first night we met, reflected to me from the mirror, appearing as if from nowhere like he's always belonged there. I turn around and he looks up at me, big blue eyes framed by Bambi-long eyelashes. He looks so open and so kind, like he's showing me his heart. I remember the way he looked when I first saw him tonight – like he was dead inside, like Blake had carved out his too big heart and replaced it with hard, brittle, metal. He's not a thing like that now. He's so alive I can taste it.

"Please, Bren?"

How I am supposed to resist him?

I pass him the cotton wool, turn around and he dabs at my broken skin. He leans closer to inspect and I can feel his breath warm against my back. His little finger drags over my naked skin and I shiver at the contact. He places his hand on my hip to turn me around. I feel my vibrancy for this boy, my passion for him whisper all over me, ignite every cell. My heart struggles against my ribcage and my lungs ache; and it's in our proximity that I realise I have been the living dead without him, existing with no oxygen and no heartbeat. I'm coming back now. My cock stirs alive and God I want him. I need to have his body small, warm, writhing and submissive under mine.

I blink slowly, take a calming breath.

Physical intimacy - it's always been my most potent drug. And yes, OK, it is different with Steven – is that what you wanted me to say? When he's as weak and vulnerable and manipulatable as he is.

I step back from him. I can't confuse him any more this evening. Sex should be the last thing on his mind. I need to be strong and supportive and honourable.

"You're a proper idiot, you." He whispers, as he trails over the fourth cut. "What the fuck did you think you were doing with Blake?"

The moment I open my eyes my entire being trembles. He's looking right at me, right into me and I get that feeling again like he knows me, like I don't have to speak because he knows all the words inside me.

So I tell him, "protecting you."

My mouth shapes the words into an everlasting vow, and he swallows hard, like he understands.

He presses a finger against my cheek, running up past the cut.

"It's Christmas Eve, you should be with the boys, not protecting me."

"I'm always protecting you, Steven," I whisper the lie my soul hopes can be true.

A smile brushes his lips like a kiss, fuck I want to taste it.

He looks at me through half-mast eyelashes.

"Are you gonna stay?" He asks.

He means stay here and he means stay for the night . He asks it like the words are so big they almost hurt him, so I answer him in a heartbeat.

"Yes."

Our shallow and rapid exhales are mutual, identical. We both know the exact moment the oxygen disappears from the room.

"But you'll be needed at home won't you?"

"You're always front of the queue Steven, you know that… In the bedroom-" I say and tilt my head to the side - indicating the bedroom opposite the bathroom – my bed for the night, on the floor above his.

Sleeping in the same bed is a risk neither of us should take.

He looks like he doesn't know whether to be vexed, confused or excited and I think back on my words and mentally rage a war against myself – that's not even what I meant to say. I'm failing myself.

I look down at him, his innocent damaged being.

Fuck he looks so breakable.

"Sorry," I hesitate quickly, "I mean, I'll be in the bedroom opposite."

He smiles, his lips dancing seductively, I can't take my eyes from them.

"In a different room? What would be the point in that?" He asks.

"Steven-"

I try to resist but he places a finger against my lips. And then he silences me for good, taking a step back, slowly stripping his shirt from his skin.

"What are you doing?"

"I really want a shower," he smiles, as the shirt falls from his wrists, exposing himself for me. "Joining me?"

And fuck I want to. You know I really want to. My body arches forward like it's it's own possession. But this is the last thing the boy needs. I can't be yet another person who's just here for sex - using him for the release he offers. I blink slowly, trying to think of the words to say to resist him without rejecting him.

His whole face goes into shadow and his eyes drop to the floor - in my silence I break him.

"Look-" I start.

"It's fine, don't worry about it." He smiles, dismissing my apology before it's even been given. "You don't have to say anything."

He looks to the door as words rage within me – all these words I could say to him, all this honesty I could give him, if he wasn't him and I weren't me.

"I'd like to get changed in private though," he says eventually.

"Course," I say, nodding.

I step away from him; I feel my resolve shaking back into place in every muscle.

"Brady?" He asks, calling me back and our eyes meet in the mirror, again bringing memories of that very first night.

"I know why you don't want me now, you know - It's cos I'm dirt, innit."

He smiles like that hideous question is rhetorical and closes the bathroom door.