"Sweetheart, can I get you something?" Evelyn had already passed him a cup of tea, an ice pack (he was not sure what for) and a sweatshirt.
"I'm fine." He sighed.
Someone snorted at this statement, but he was too tired to look up. Jack, Jerry, and Evelyn had all been home when they had shown up. Angel was summoned immediately from his new girlfriend's house, and had arrived only moments later.
They all sat in the kitchen, Bobby sitting directly beside him.
"Why don't we give you some space?" Jerry suggested.
Jack immediately sat down and leaned toward him. "What happened to you man? You get hit by a truck?"
Jerry scowled. "Space, Jack, space." He reproached. "I said give him space, not crowd around him."
"Scott." Evelyn said gently. "I know about the cocaine."
Silence. Scott studied the pattern on the placemat, using his finger to draw little spirals on it.
"The cocaine?" Angel repeated. "Since when do you snort that shit, man?" He asked. He seemed surprised rather than upset, whereas Bobby looked furious.
"Coke?" He yelled. He stood so quickly his chair tipped over backwards. Scott flinched. "You're using coke?"
"One time." He said defensively. "It was one fucking time. And suddenly everybody is so damn concerned, all over again, and Dad doesn't want me anymore." He bit his trembling lower lip, determined not to cry. He was fifteen, for Christ's sake. "And everybody at the hospital looks at me like-"
"The hospital?" Jerry exploded. "What are you doing here, if you were at the hospital? You need help, Scott!"
"I don't need help!" Scott screamed, clutching his pounding hand. "I am not fucking sick! Marley was snorting it, and she said I should try it, and I didn't want to but Dad said I should, 'cause I'm such a fucking saint. So I did and look where it fucking got me!" He tried to calm down.
"Here?" Jack offered. Scott shook his head.
"No. Here was later, after I ran away." He muttered. His throat felt raw. "Mr. Sundry said it was either his house or jail, and I don't want to go to jail."
It took a moment for everything to process, but it all finally clicked.
"Mr. Sundry?" Angel repeated, voice low. Scott nodded. "You saw him?" Scott nodded again. "When?"
"What time is it?" Scott asked sarcastically. Bobby hit him upside the head. "Ow." He mumbled.
"Bobby Mercer!" Evelyn scolded. "Don't hit him."
"Whatever." He rolled his eyes and stood, grabbing Scott's arm. "Come on, kid. Time for bed." Nobody protested this except for Scott, but Bobby cut him off. "You look like the walking dead. You can't go around like this. Let's go."
He glanced at Evelyn, but she only stood and kissed his forehead. Bobby walked him back up the familiar stairs and into Jack's room. His own bed was stripped and empty-looking.
"You sleep on Jackie's bed." Bobby ordered. Scott sat down obediently, watching Bobby stumble around. "He'll bunk with me."
He started to leave, but Scott caught his arm. "I don't want to be by myself tonight." He said softly, blushing. Bobby sat down cautiously next to him. "I'm scared, Bobby. What if he comes here?"
"Then I'll kick his ass from here to the Gulf of Mexico." Bobby promised. Scott let his head rest on Bobby's shoulder, inhaling sharply when his fingers brushed the scratches. "Sorry." He whispered.
After a moment the light came on, and Scott blinked up at Bobby.
"What?"
"Can I- can I see them?" Scott stiffened. "I won't hurt them. I just wanna look." Scott nodded finally and turned away.
Bobby lifted his shirt up, and he struggled to stay calm. It was only Bobby's fingers trailing across his back, touching the raw scrapes gently.
Bobby's lip ghosting across his skin.
He straightened his spine and pulled away. Bobby said something akin to 'I'm sorry', voice strangled and unclear. He lowered Scott's shirt and patted his shoulder, much more gently this time. Then he stood and headed for door. He paused.
"Good to have you back, kid." He said finally, stumbling over his words.
Scott nodded and laid down on the bed, pretending not to notice Bobby had left him alone.
Mr. Sundry's lip were hot and firm against his collarbone. He felt his fingers, poking and prodding at him. He wanted to push him off but his limbs felt weighted and dead. Useless fucking arms.