It was, of course, false affection. He only wanted him to let his guard down. He wanted him to let his guard down so he could tie his hands back up and deliver the rest of his punishment. The first time he'd cried throughout this experience was when he'd been pulled into that fake embrace. Nevertheless, he continued to cry. He was beyond caring.

He remembered receiving the same at Hollow Hill, only then his hands weren't tied and he'd at least been able to try and crawl away or cover his head. The worst that would happen then was Russell would put a foot on the back of his neck or shoulder to hold him there. But here was different. His arms were raised above his head and he was bound in place. His body was no longer his. And he cried. After being strung up and striped, he cried. The lashes broke the skin. And in the hours proceeding, while the man continued to take what wasn't his, he cried as he lay on the concrete, bleeding.

The feeling of Allen's hands lingering on his skin made him want to tear it off. The concrete floor was dirty but the coolness of it was soothing against the pain. He wanted to bury himself in it. Moreover, he supposed he would have vomited upon being stabbed if he'd had anything in his stomach. He quickly lost count of the number of times the knife plunged into his flesh. He was growing tired. Everything hurt. He was done.

He'd been in this situation before, but he didn't remember it being this slow. Probably because before he'd been either shot or taken blunt force trauma to the head that rendered him unconscious upon impact. But this was slow. He could feel the knife going into him, taste the blood in his mouth, hear his labored gasps for air, the choking, guttural sound of him choking on his own blood. For the first time, he was so deeply afraid.

This was it. This was really it. He was dying, right here, right now. Some seasoned scientist would dig up his bones in the woods decades from now and get to speculate what had happened to him. Unfortunately, General would be coming with him this time. He wondered if they would meet; walk through the pearly gates together. That'd be a sight.

Oh, but the things he'd said to him. And to Luke. Could he be forgiven? Could he forgive Luke for the things said to him? Of course, the thought of rescue was lost to him. It was too late now, or at least it was getting to be. If they didn't find him right this very second, he doubted they ever would. That is until that seasoned scientist dug him up.

This was an odd thing, really. To be dying, that is. He'd always thought he was too young. Too pretty. Too this, too that. But he wasn't. No one was. It seemed as though he was learning that the hard way. He would have preferred to have at least written out some kind of last will and testament before he went. Moreover, he would have preferred to have at least been able to say goodbye.

Hours had passed since the sun came up, and they'd been searching relentlessly. It'd grown to the point of desperation. They stopped ruling places out and simply looked everywhere they could. Again, they split up, back into the same groups as yesterday. And again, the search continued. And it wasn't until then that General suddenly stopped, causing Luke to grow alarmed and quickly climb out.

As the Defect abruptly smoked back into his human body, he fell to his knees on the ground, writhing in pain. He was seething and holding back tears now, pressing his forehead against the ground. Luke was wary of approaching, afraid he might only cause more pain.

General pushed himself back to his feet, tears smarting in his eyes as he worked his top layers off, turning around.

"Luke, what is it?" he asked, his voice pleading, searching for relief. "Luke, it hurts, please, what the hell is it?"

Luke, of course, was too afraid to speak. And could only stare. He stared at the red markings cascading General's skin. They looked like lashes, only, more like they'd been burned into his skin rather than whipped onto him. It was Bo's reflection cast onto General. His trauma. But until this point, Luke had thought that their connection was strictly psychological. And he had no idea what to do now.

He grabbed General to steady him and try to get him to sit back down, however, the moment he touched him, the Defect immediately clutched his abdomen and doubled over, coughing and spitting oil onto the ground. He pulled his hand away to reveal a black, vertical mark underneath it.

Finally easing himself onto the ground, General muttered, "He… stabbed."

Luke knelt by him but didn't touch him as that only seemed to make it worse. "What? What'd you say?"

The Defect's breath came in a gasp. "He was stabbed, I can feel it." Another gasp, another black mark. "We're gonna die, Luke."

By 'we' he didn't mean him and Luke. But those words might as well have meant that. Because Luke felt his whole body go numb. Within moments, he was looking around, wishing beyond everything that he wasn't fucking alone because he had no idea what to do, the enemy was winning, and his cousin was dying. It was more of a frantic search than anything as if Bo would just appear within twenty feet of him if he kept standing there, looking around. When in reality, he was just panicking. Because he was here, and Bo was God didn't even know where.

But the Devil did.

It had been hours. Hours of searching, hours of finding nothing, hours of monotonous traveling. And he was sick of it. Even if it was for a good cause. Admittedly, at first, he hadn't cared much for the two boys. He'd found them quite annoying. But now…. Now he cared. He deeply cared. And he for the life of him couldn't figure out why.

He'd never felt this way before. Could it be possible that he, the Devil of all people, had friends? Of course it wasn't possible. He was the Devil, after all. Any and all love was lost on him.

But still, he was looking, and his search was passionate. He may have tried to convince himself of other things. That it wasn't worth it. That he was wasting his time. That he shouldn't even be affiliated with these people. They had started out as enemies, after all. Now, he wasn't quite sure what they were. Sure, he'd been trying to help them lately. And though he might not have always succeeded, the effort was still there.

And an effort it was. An effort that paid off. Because in the woods, he found what he searched for.

His Ranchero companion had since smoked out of his car form and traveled a few paces behind him. He stopped when he stopped, at first not seeing but quickly finding his way.

And there was a stark figure standing amongst the trees. Blood dripped thick into the layer of leaves covering the forest floor. A blue stare was transfixed a thousand yards out. Muscles tremored. Breaths came choked and shallow.

And Clayton stood. With a rekindling flame of anger growing inside him into the fire it had once been. Because, above all things, he knew. Because he remembered waking up at the stout age of twelve, under the bridge by the river, and wanting to drown himself. Only, he did because he didn't think he had a choice. There was, however, still saving for this one.

Clayton moved slow, wary of his approach. He didn't know how or why the boy stood, but he did. Even with the blood pumping out of the gashes in his skin, he still stood. Maybe it was shock? Or adrenaline? Clayton had only heard about these things on TV shows.

Nevertheless, he reached out to touch him, and, in a moment, was suddenly being pinned on the ground as Bo lunged at him. As he hit the ground, getting the wind knocked out of him, he could feel the boy's body shake and could practically smell the fear and the anger radiating off of him. The boy looked at him as if he wanted to kill him, his body tense, ready to attack.

Slowly, that thousand-yard-stare was replaced with a look of fear and recognition and Bo scrambled off of him. As Clayton pushed himself up, he watched as the boy's limbs still shook and tears gathered in his eyes as he looked up at him.

Clayton brushed himself off as he stood, looking down at Bo who, in turn, stared up at him. He tsked as he glanced down at the trembling form, shaking his head.

"Mais, you've been through a lot, mon cher," he said.

A choked sound escaped Bo's throat as he began to cry. Clayton shrugged out of his jacket, draping it over the boy's shoulders, covering his scabbed and bleeding back. Bo was now doubled over, sobs racking his frame.

Without turning to look at him, Clayton said to Diablo, "Call an ambulance, Defect, and let your friends know that I found the boy."

There was, of course, always Tri-County. There to catch them when they were to fall. And he'd fallen hard. In the beginning, there was the ICU. Doctors and nurses, hovering, bustling, running.

All that, and a lone detective trying to get a word from anybody with a pulse, though, failing miserably. It wasn't until the appearance of familiar faces did he become somewhat relieved, however, they were no more willing to help than the others had. In other words, he went on ignored as Luke helped a limping General through the doors.

They were both clearly in a rush and as General was helped to a chair, Luke quickly went to the devilish man in a gray suit that stood just about in the midst of it all. He reached for him, listening to the man hiss and pull away from his grasp. Luke cringed, pulling his hand back, forgetting-again-the man's explicit rule about not being touched.

And Luke, who had just about been going out of his mind, was quick to ask, "Did you really find him?"

The man, however, seemed a bit aghast. Slowly, he formed a nod. "Mais, it's him. Or what's left of him that is."

"He's alive?"

Again, the man nodded. "Very much alive, cher. But I must warn you, he's scared."

"He talk?"

Clayton shook his head. "No, not a thing. But you should take my advice if you see him. Don't raise your voice, treat him kindly, not like you normally do. Don't make him feel low, he'll have done it to himself already."

Luke folded his arms. "What d'you know anyway? Alright, you don't know us. You don't know Bo, you can't speak for him."

Clayton growled. "Is that how you show gratitude toward the man who saved your cousin's life?"

"I'm grateful for that, but I don't need you tellin' me how to go about all this. This's for me to do. I'll deal with everythin' else, just go home."

The little man scowled. "You'll eat those words someday, sooner rather than later. You can push me away all you want but don't come cryin' to me when things don't work out the way you want them to. And I'll hold you to that."

With that, Clayton turned and left, putting his hat on his head as he walked out the hospital doors, disappearing outside. In his place, in rushed Jesse, Daisy, Thunder, and Marie. Immediately, there were questions that couldn't be answered and they were frantic, to say the least. What's more, when they finally hailed a doctor, they were told they weren't permitted to visit at the time. This, naturally, wasn't taken too lightly, but, naturally, the worst was yet to come. And it came in the form of yet another visitor.

Only, this one was tall and blonde, or at least he used to be, and his eyes were set in a fit of rage. And, even though he was new, he was immediately recognized. But it came as a surprise, no doubt. Luke's breath caught in his throat as he watched the familiar man approach, catching the glint of anger in his blue eyes as he yelled at a doctor.

Nevertheless, John Cathoway was tempered, ready to kill, and had just learned about what had happened to his only son.