I'm back! A day late, but in my defense I'm working a summer camp for football (soccer) this week, and I was completely wiped when I got home yesterday.

Some angst, suspense, and hurt/comfort to change things up. I hope you enjoy, and don't forget to leave me a review!

Chapter 8: Sickness

Harry survived his first winter on the streets through a combination of luck, Tim, and a healthy dose of grit and determination. Keeping an eye on the weather, Jason and Harry spent the coldest nights with Tim. The rest of the time, they were plodding through a foot and a half of snow with plastic bags around their socks inside their shoes, picking pockets and making good use of the extra pockets of their coats to sneak away with dried fruit, canned goods, packaged noodles, and boxes of tea. One of Jason's "favors" resulted in their being granted a camping stove and two canisters of fuel. One afternoon at the library later to learn how to use it, they were able to eat hot noodles and tea three or four nights a week.

After hearing about that, Tim had gifted Harry a second thermos, so they could keep hot—or at least warm—drinks at their base for up to two days. It was a godsend, being able to come back after a long, cold day of stealing wallets and scavenging for food to a cup of hot tea, ready immediately upon arrival without having to use any of their precious fuel.

The luck, grit, and determination came in when a massive snowstorm blew through Gotham (helped along by Mr. Freeze, another of Batman's rogues) in late January. Power went out all over the city, and the snow was too deep to venture out.

Luckily, Harry and Jason had taken shelter at the first sign of the billowing snow, so neither of them were caught in it. Luckily, the fleece blankets that were so popular at Christmas had been marked down as far as they'd go, and just ten dollars netted them a nice, thick fleece and a smaller throw blanket a few days earlier. Five more dollars got them an ugly but warm fleece-lined vest at the thrift store that was big enough for both of them to curl up in.

Not so luckily, they had used up most of their food supplies. Jason had been planning a "score," as he called it, to get more, but the snowstorm had derailed his plans.

So they were stranded inside, with only half a box of granola bars, three more tea bags, two cans of baked beans, a nearly-empty jar of peanut butter, and half a loaf of bread. If they rationed it carefully, it could last them about a week.

"But," Jason observed mournfully, "they'll clear out the main roads within days. The nicer neighborhoods right after that. But no one cares about Crime Alley. We could be snowed in for weeks."

And they had a bigger problem: they had already used up their first canister of fuel for the stove, and they had been using it in the bedroom with the window cracked because of the gas. But the entire apartment was already too cold. If they wanted to survive, they'd have to conserve as much heat in as small a space as possible.

So they had a choice: risk carbon monoxide poisoning to heat the room, or shiver under half a dozen blankets and hope their shared body heat was enough to prevent hypothermia.

On the first day, Harry had the idea to heat up all their water and wrap the bottles in extra clothes, as well as fill the thermos with tea. They could vent the door, and the cold wouldn't be as severe. Then they could shut off the stove, close the door, and hope the steam and the combined heat of the water bottles would warm up the room enough, and linger long enough, to hopefully avoid disaster.

Jason didn't have a better idea, so that was what they did.

It worked, for a few days. The snow was still falling intermittently, which meant temperatures were bearably cold. The heat and the steam kept the room pretty comfortable for the first day, and after that, burrowing under all their blankets, only moving to eat or use the bathroom, kept them warm enough. On day four, though, the temperature dropped dramatically as the clouds moved out, and the lingering warmth conserved by the thermos—the last of their hot water—was consumed as tea to wash down the stale bread and the last of the peanut butter.

On day five, Jason caught a fever.

On the plus side, that meant it was warmer under the blankets. On the downside, he was too hot. The granola bars and one can of beans were all they had left. They only had one bottle of water left, too. And there was still no sign of the snow being cleared. Or at least, neither of them had heard snow plows or engines down on the streets. (There was no window in the laundry room they'd laid claim to in order to check the outside conditions.)

Jason insisted he was fine, that he'd sweat the fever out overnight. Harry wanted to believe him, so he'd just curled up against Jason's overheated side and hoped.

By day six, the fever was worse. Jason's lips were cracked and his face was flushed, and they were out of water and basically out of food.

"I'm fine, little hawk," Jason tried to insist. His voice was hoarse and he coughed harshly.

"You're not fine, Jay," Harry argued, his own voice cracking with fear. "You could die if you don't get help."

"'M not gonna die," Jason tried to argue. "'S not safe out there."

"You need water. And food. And medicine. I can go out there. I can get it. Please, Jay. Let me help you."

"'S not safe," Jason insisted weakly. Harry shook his head, swallowing his tears, and reluctantly scooted out of their blanket nest. Jason tried to hold him in place, but he was weak from the fever.

"I'll be careful. I swear. And I'll come back. I promise. No matter what, I'll come back."

"Harry—" Jason reached for him.

Harry stepped back. "I'll come back, I promise."

Ignoring Jason's weak protests, even though each one tugged at his heart and made Harry want nothing more than to curl up against Jason's side again, Harry pulled on all his layers of clothes. First a t-shirt, then a long-sleeved shirt. Then his flannel, the green hoodie, and lastly the big coat. He put on two pairs of pants—his own sweatpants under Jason's jeans. He jammed his grey beanie onto his head, shoved his feet into three pairs of socks, a plastic bag per foot, and then his boots (which now fit perfectly with the extra socks), then Harry wrapped the scarf around his neck. He pulled on his biking gloves and Jason's fleece ones. He slung a backpack onto his back, empty except for their empty water bottles and the thermos, stuffed the last five dollars of their cash into his pocket, and turned to go.

"I'll be back," Harry whispered, glancing back once more. Jason was curled into a tight ball, shivering and maybe crying, and Harry's heart twisted.

But he had to go.

He opened the door the smallest amount he could manage, shimmied out, and then shut the door again. He was shocked at how much colder the rest of the apartment was compared to their laundry room. In the laundry room, spending more than a few minutes outside the blankets made his nose and fingertips go numb. But out here, Harry's breath actually fogged in the air. And he was still inside.

Steeling himself, Harry checked out the bedroom window to see what the conditions looked like. Everything was buried in white, and from the pile-up on the trash bags in the dumpsters, it looked like there could be as much as three feet in some places. From the grey light outside, it was either early morning or late evening—and it being winter, that meant it was either eight in the morning, or about five in the evening. Probably five in the evening, from the angle of the pale shadows.

After another minute of contemplation, Harry decided to go down the fire escape. He had no idea how much snow might be blocking the back entrance, and he also didn't want to give any extra clues about whether or not someone was staying here.

Shoving open the window, Harry gasped at the cold rush of air that stung his exposed cheeks and forehead. Harry clambered out quickly and shoved the window shut, trying to conserve as much heat inside the apartment as possible. Wind and superficial melt from the sun had left the fire escape icy, but free of snow. Harry was extra careful going down, but three feet from the bottom, his foot slipped at the same time his glove did, and he tumbled into a snow drift with a thump.

Wincing at the new bruise on his backside, Harry got to his feet, shivering, and brushed the snow off before it could sink into his clothes. Then he trudged down the street heading for the nearest corner pharmacy and convenience store. Medicine was his priority, because if all else failed, he could stuff the bottles with the cleanest snow he could find, and then just let it melt inside. As for food, they really needed at least a few things to tide them over. Harry knew (from unfortunate experience) that he, at least, could last four days at minimum without food, longer if he didn't have to exert himself. Jason probably could, too. But food would help him get better faster.

Trudging through the back alleys, Harry was alone. He didn't see a single other person out. When he reached the main road, there were a few more people, all on foot. One man, homeless from the threadbare clothes he wore, was dragging one of those wire-framed grocery carts that old people used through thick snow drifts. If Harry didn't have an urgent errand of his own, he might have tried to help.

It was freezing outside, though. They needed to do something about warmth, too…

Reaching the pharmacy, Harry took a deep breath and slipped inside. His coat was nice enough that he wouldn't immediately be pegged as a street kid. His problem would be getting in and out without being hassled about where his parents were. There was a young-ish single man browsing the snacks, so Harry would point him out as his dad if someone asked.

Luckily his coat pockets were big enough to hide a box of cold medicine. But first, Harry went to the back where the restroom was, trying to stay unobtrusive, and refilled all their water containers from the water fountain, and drank his fill, too. The full bottles made the backpack really heavy, and Harry was already tired from the trek, the cold, and the lack of real food.

But he was determined to make it back.

Idly, casually, Harry browsed his way through the snacks, slipping a bag of candied grapefruit into his jeans pocket. Grapefruit had vitamin C, right? And vitamin C was good when you were sick. He was pretty sure the school nurse back in Little Whinging had said something like that once. Then Harry swiped three protein bars. Make that five.

He passed a clearance rack. With candles. Cheap holiday ones, all marked way down. No one would miss them. Right? Checking around him, making sure he was in a camera blind spot, he took three big ones and stashed them in his backpack.

Maybe they could use one to cook with. Or at least heat water again.

As he slung his backpack back over his shoulders, Harry suddenly felt very exposed. He'd never tried to steal so much all at once before.

And the candles made the backpack feel twice as heavy.

Swallowing against a suddenly dry throat, Harry finally made his way toward the pharmacy section. Locating the man who was to be his dad if needed, Harry found the children's medicine section. With a deep breath, Harry pulled a box of children's cold and flu medicine off the shelf, pretended to read it (because the print was way too small for him to make out), then palmed it under his long coat sleeve and tucked it in his pocket. He was glad the bottle of regular Tylenol was only two dollars, because it would rattle in his pocket and give him away.

His heart pounding, Harry then went to the drinks section and selected a big bottle of gatorade. It was only a little over two dollars, too.

Seeing the man who was not his dad slowly making his way toward the check out, Harry hurried to the front.

The cashier barely glanced at him as he scanned the gatorade. Then he gave him a sharper look when he picked up the Tylenol.

"Little young for this, aren't you?"

Harry shook his head, trying to look as innocent and cute as possible. "It's not for me." He leaned in like he was telling a secret. "My dad got waaay too drunk last night," he whispered, glancing toward the man who was now in line, staring at his phone in one hand, balancing a carton of milk and—Harry almost laughed—a can of beer in the other. "I wanna make him feel better, but it's gotta be a secret."

The cashier smiled and rang it up. "I'll keep your secret, kiddo. Total is four dollars and 94 cents."

Harry smiled proudly as he produced five crumpled one-dollar bills from his pocket. "Just right," he said, handing it over.

The cashier laughed, then handed Harry his six cents of change and bagged the gatorade and the Tylenol. Harry took the bag with a grin, then bounced over to the exit to wait, hiding the bag behind his back.

The next five minutes took forever. The weight of the protein bars and the grapefruit in Harry's pockets seemed to double, then triple, as did the weight of the water and candles in his backpack. His heart was pounding uncomfortably, and his hands were sweaty inside his gloves.

But finally, finally, the man finished checking out and wandered over to the exit. Without even glancing at Harry, he continued through. Harry sent an exaggerated wink back at the cashier as he followed the man out.

When the man rounded a corner away from the convenience store windows, Harry ducked the other way and stuffed the bag into his backpack. It was even heavier now. Harry's back and shoulders hurt, and his stomach felt hollow. They needed more food, but…Harry hesitated, then made a decision. Getting Jason the medicine was more important. Harry could go without food for a few more days, or he could go out again another day.

Nodding to himself, Harry began the long trek back to the apartment. A cold wind kicked up as the sun began to set, cutting right through all of Harry's layers and stinging his cheeks and nose. Was it possible for mucus to freeze? Because Harry's nose itched and ached, and sniffing was uncomfortable. Harry's toes, fingertips, and nose were numb by the time he got halfway back. His shoulders were numb under the weight of the backpack. Lifting his foot for each step took almost more energy than he had. And now Harry was starting to see spots.

Getting to the base of the fire escape was a blur. Looking up at the distance he had to climb, Harry felt tears in his eyes. He was so tired, and so cold. Everything hurt. Maybe…maybe he could rest here for a moment?

His eyelids drifted closed.

"No!" Harry said aloud, the sound of his own voice startling him. Setting his jaw in determination, ignoring the hurts and the cold like he'd done so often in the past—and really, compared to a proper beating from Uncle Vernon, this wasn't so bad—Harry reached up for the first rung of the fire escape and scrambled up. It hurt, and his backpack threatened to drag him back down. But after a hard struggle, Harry finally got his feet up on the first rung, his hands clinging to the rung two above it, his limbs shaking from the exertion. Harry took a deep breath that stung his throat, then straightened up. He gasped as his muscles protested. His lungs ached in the cold.

Harry gritted his teeth again, exhaling forcefully through his clenched jaw. His breath fogged the air in front of him and blew back into his face. A cold wind cut through the alleyway, and Harry clung to the fire escape, shivering violently. Then he shook himself and started climbing.

Harry had to pause after every rung, the cold creeping through his layers to bite at his core. His lungs seared in the cold, like trying to breathe in broken glass. And his backpack constantly threatened to pull him back down, all the way to the ground.

But he persevered. Right foot, left hand. Left foot, right hand. Pull up. Breathe. And repeat. Over and over. One more. Just one more.

Suddenly Harry was facing their entry window. He was shivering so hard by now that it took considerable effort to wedge his numb fingers under the lip and force it up. His sweat froze on his face and body, leeching more warmth from his skin.

There. With a loud scraping sound, the window was forced open, and Harry all but tumbled inside. Still shivering, he pulled the window shut and stomped the snow off his feet, then dropped his backpack to drag behind him, sparing his aching shoulders.

Carefully, Harry eased the door to the laundry room open and squeezed in through the smallest space he could manage. He dragged the backpack in after him, then pulled the door closed.

It was only a little warmer inside. Harry took his spoils out of his pockets and transferred them to the backpack, then he shed the coat, the scarf, the flannel, and the extra pair of pants, as well as his shoes and the extra pair of socks, leaving him in the sweatpants and hoodie with the beanie jammed over his ears. They'd learned that the extra layers under the blankets didn't really help. The more body heat they could share, the better off they'd be.

Shivering, Harry pulled the backpack over to the blanket nest. All Harry could see of Jason was his nose to the top of his head. His face was still flushed, his skin dry, his body shaking and shivering violently. Harry knelt beside Jason, pulling out the gatorade and the cold and flu medicine.

"J-Jay? I'm b-back," he whispered, stuttering with cold. "I b-brought m-medicine and g-gatorade. You need to drink."

Jason stirred. "H-Harry?" His eyes opened, then widened. "Y-you're b-back."

"Yeah. Here." Harry scooted into the blanket mound beside Jason and helped him sit up, while keeping as many blankets around him (and himself) as possible. Then he uncapped the gatorade. Jason tried to raise a hand, only to fail. So Harry gritted his teeth and tensed his body to control his shivering, then brought the gatorade to Jason's lips. He tipped it slowly, letting Jason drink only a little at a time.

"G-good," Jason stuttered, shivering.

"C-can you swallow a pill?" Harry asked. He capped the bottle and set it aside, then opened the cold and flu medicine and popped out the first tablet.

"I t-think so. H-hurry up. It's f-fu-freezing cold."

Harry gave Jason the tablet, then uncapped the gatorade again and helped Jason drink. He kept it up until the bottle was half gone and Jason turned away, signalling that he'd had enough. Harry set aside the bottle, but left it in easy reach, then took out two water bottles and one of the protein bars.

"Can you eat? Then we can g-get under the b-blankets."

Jason's face turned contemplative, then he pressed his lips together and shook his head. "Not now. Y-you eat."

"I'm fine," Harry lied. "I ate something while I was out. And look what else I got?" Harry pulled out one of the candles.

Jason's eyes widened.

Harry grinned, and went to get the lighter they used for the camp stove. Grinning even wider, Harry lit the candle. It was a big one with three wicks, which meant it would burn hotter. Harry immediately sighed at the warmth emanating from the merrily dancing flame. Their room wasn't completely dark; the overhead light was out, but they had a few flashlights and a folding camp lantern. The lantern had been on almost constantly since the power went out. Harry had already had to change the batteries once. They had spares, but not enough for a constant light source for however long it took to get the power back on (if it ever came back on).

With the candles, though, they could both save batteries and warm up the room, at least a little bit. So Harry set the candle on the ground a little over a foot away from the head of their nest, far enough away that reaching hands wouldn't knock it over. He switched off the camping lantern, but left a flashlight nearby for when they had to put out the candle.

Jason grinned weakly in approval and relief. Already they could feel the subtle warmth from the candle, and the flickering light created a comfortable atmosphere. Jason caught Harry's wrist and weakly tugged him down. Harry gave in, leaving the water, the gatorade, the medicine, and the protein bars in easy reach. Then he curled up against Jason's too-warm side and pulled the blankets tight around them.

Thanks to Jason's fever, Harry didn't spend the whole night shivering like he had the few nights previous. Harry burrowed into his big brother's side, grateful that he was still okay, glad of the arms around him even if they lacked their usual strength, and thankful for the warmth from the candle Harry could feel on his cold nose whenever he ventured outside their cocoon. But he grew increasingly terrified as the hours drew on and Jason's skin stayed uncomfortably hot. Harry barely slept, worry and cold preventing him from relaxing completely. Once, Harry woke to Jason shifting and moaning, his eyes flickering behind his eyelids. When Harry tried to wake him, the only word he could make out among his mumbling was "mom?"

What if the medicine didn't work? What if, the next time he woke, it was to Jason's cold corpse?

And then, would Harry even wake at all?

Harry quickly shook that thought away, refusing to even entertain the idea. He burrowed into Jason's side, pleading with everything he had for Jason to be okay. Jason stayed unresponsive, for what felt like hours. Eventually, exhausted by his vigil, Harry cried himself to sleep.

He woke to damp cloth beneath his cheek. At first he thought it was because he had cried. Then he realized the dampness covered most of Jason's collar and chest. He still slept, shifting restlessly, then suddenly shivering violently.

It was the shivering that woke Jason. As he shivered and looked down at Harry, Harry realized his eyes were no longer hazy with fever. The dampness must have meant he'd sweated out the fever.

Harry laughed out of sheer relief and threw his arms around Jason.

"Easy, little hawk," Jason said hoarsely. "I still f-feel like crap."

"But your fever broke!"

"Yeah. And I'd p-probably better ch-change before I go f-from boiling to f-freezing to death."

Harry nodded, though he was reluctant to relinquish his hold. Chuckling softly, Jason gently pried Harry's arms off him and wriggled out of the cocoon. He shivered violently upon exposure to the cold air, and changed quickly into a spare pair of jeans and the grey hoodie in place of the red one. Leaving the wet clothes in a heap, Jason quickly burrowed back into the blankets. It took several minutes before he stopped shivering. Harry fumbled around for a new candle, since the first one was all liquid wax and starting to smoke.

Once the new one was lit, Harry blew out the first and pushed it out of the way. Then he dug out the medicine and the bottle of gatorade and gave Jason a hard stare.

"Take it. Drink. Then eat something," he ordered.

Jason chuckled hoarsely. "Yes, doctor Harry." He read the label on the medicine, then downed another tablet with a few gulps of gatorade. "I'd share, but I'm already sharing enough germs just breathing in your space," he teased.

Harry shook his head. "I got it for you anyway." He pulled out a protein bar, unwrapped it, then broke it into (uneven) halves. He handed Jason the bigger one. "Now eat."

"So demanding. I should complain about your bedside manner." Jason took the protein bar and started nibbling on it.

"How do you feel? Really?" Harry asked after he finished his own part.

"Head hurts. Throat's sore. My joints ache, like an old man. 'M sore from all the shivering. Pretty sure I'm still feverish, too," Jason admitted. "And I'm dead tired."

"Stomach's okay?"

"I'm starving, but yeah."

"Try these." Harry pulled out the candied grapefruit. "I heard that vitamin C was good when you're sick. That's why I got the orange gatorade, too, even though neither of us really like it."

Jason snorted, then coughed. "It's a nice thought, but I'm pretty sure it's fake orange." Jason took the package from Harry and scanned the label by the candlelight. "Where'd you find these?"

"The pharmacy on Third and Dunkirk," Harry admitted shyly. "It was closest, and there was a lot of snow."

Jason popped one of the candied grapefruit pieces into his mouth. His face screwed up at the sour taste, making Harry laugh. Jason laughed, too. He ate one more, then dragged Harry back under the blankets.

"Why don't you tell me about your trip. It'll be at least as good as being read to."

"Okay."

Jason grinned, then he curled into Harry's chest, the way Harry always did to him. Since Jason was only a few inches taller and a tiny bit broader, it worked, though it felt strange. Hesitantly, Harry wrapped his arms around Jason's shoulders and pulled him in closer. He screwed up his nose at the damp sweat in Jason's hair.

"This feels weird," he complained. "And your hair stinks."

"So does yours," Jason countered. "You never hear me complaining. Now tell me a story, little healer."

Harry flushed a little at the new endearment. "Is this going to be like you do to Tim? Where you just come up with words that start with H?"

"Shh. Storytime. Make it exciting. Feel free to embellish."

"Em-embellish?" Harry stumbled over the new word.

"Lie or exaggerate for the sake of drama. Now stop making me talk."

"You could sign."

"Shh. You're warm."

Jason burrowed deeper into Harry's chest, his hands clinging to the front of Harry's sweatshirt. He was shivering again, too, his breathing uneven.

Swallowing a sudden lump in his throat, Harry pulled his big brother in tighter and started to talk.

Halfway through his dramatic retelling of his caper with the cashier, Harry realized Jason wasn't just shivering; he was shaking. His breathing was shaky, and it kept catching.

It was wrong. Jason was big. Strong. Dependable.

But he fit in Harry's arms almost as well as Tim.

Tim was eight. He was just a kid.

Jason was eleven.

Suddenly, eleven didn't seem so old.

Jason was just a kid, too.

Feeling altogether too young and completely overwhelmed, Harry continued his story. He made it as exciting as he could without being able to use hand gestures, affecting different voices for each person. He didn't need to exaggerate about how difficult the walk back was. Harry didn't mention that he'd almost given up right at the base of the fire escape.

And he definitely didn't mention how scared he'd been the entire time. Or how scared he still was, because Jason was trusting Harry to look after him while he was sick. And Harry was terrified it wouldn't be enough.

By the time Harry finished his story, Jason's breathing had mostly evened out. Harry pressed his face into Jason's hair, hugging his big brother tighter and trying not to cry. A time later, they both fell into an uneasy sleep.

Jason's fever broke for good on day nine. By then, even the roads in Crime Alley had been mostly cleared, and the temperature had risen from risk-hypothermia-just-by-stepping-outside cold (Jason's term) to just freezing cold. But Jason was still weak, though he tried to pretend otherwise, and they were, once again, out of food. So Harry left Jason with the last protein bar, layered up, then left with the determination to come back with his backpack full of food.

Knowing he'd draw too much attention trying to steal that much, Harry wandered toward the main roads, hoping to sneak a wallet or two and score some cash. Luckily, the streets were mostly clear and people were going about their normal business again. There weren't as many pedestrians as in warmer months, but there were enough.

Harry spent a few minutes lightly shivering in the shadow of a laundromat, observing, a slight frown gradually deepening as he realized that people's coats and other winter clothes would make wallets harder to get to with the subtlety needed not to get caught. And the best targets—cold, irritable businessmen—were also the most likely to get angry at a staged collision.

Harry steeled himself. He could take a few bruises and harsh words. He scanned for a likely target, planned his route. He took a deep breath.

Then he took off running, glancing over his shoulder and laughing loudly. When he was close enough, Harry pretended to slip on a patch of ice and stumbled forward a few steps, then he grabbed the closest thing to keep him upright—the side of one man's coat. Conveniently, his grip pulled it down on one side to be high enough to reach into the man's pockets on the other.

The man cursed. "Watch it, runt!" The man exclaimed, trying to throw him off.

Harry just managed to pull his hand out of the man's back pocket before the man shoved him to the ground with another curse and a threat.

Harry immediately palmed the wallet, then screwed up his face and sniffled as though he was about to cry. (He learned how to do that from watching Dudley throw tantrums, complete with fake tears, when he didn't get his way. This wasn't the first time he'd used the skill, but he didn't like to because he didn't want to be anything like Dudley.)

"I-I'm so-sorry," Harry sobbed loudly. "I j-just t-tripped. I'm s-sorry!" He scrubbed his hand that wasn't hiding the wallet in his over-long coat sleeve over his face.

"Stupid brat," the man grumbled, hurrying away as people started to stare.

Harry made a big show of sniffling loudly and climbing to his feet, then limped away with his shoulders hunched.

Once he'd gone far enough and everyone had gone back to their business, Harry darted around a corner and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Then he pulled out the wallet. That had better have been worth it.

Looking inside, Harry's eyes widened. Thumbing through the bills, he counted thirty-seven dollars, plus at least another dollar in change. There were five credit cards, agift card to a fancy coffee shop, and a full punch card for a free shake at Batburger.

There were also a dozen receipts stuffed among the bills and at least as many business cards, along with the man's ID and bus pass.

Hardly daring to believe his luck, Harry removed the cash, one of the credit cards, the gift card, the punch card, and the bus pass, and pocketed all of it. Then he removed the rest of the cards to hold in one hand, and the wallet in the other.

Then he started walking, his hands casually in his pockets, kicking playfully at snow drifts and ice patches, bouncing a little with each step—the very image of an innocent, playful little kid.

Harry dumped the wallet in the next trash bin he passed, then tossed the cards into the post box in front of the large pharmacy a few blocks down—most cards had mailing addresses on them, Harry had noticed, and at least this way people had a chance of getting their stuff back. Harry wasn't completely heartless. Some people who looked rich really weren't. The Dursleys were among them. Oh, they were well enough off. They'd never go hungry or cold (though looking at Harry you wouldn't know it). But Harry had overheard enough arguments to know that Petunia's brand-name cocktail dresses and Vernon's new car were bought on credit that they weren't able to pay back.

But Harry put all that from his mind. He set his sights on the local grocery store, already mentally calculating how much he could get with the money in his pocket. If he was really careful, and got as much stuff on sale as possible, he could probably get enough food to last them several weeks!

Just under twenty minutes later, Harry reached the grocery store. He walked in, shivering as his body acclimated to the new warmth. Then he grabbed a basket and started browsing the shelves.

Produce was first. At first Harry thought apples, then he saw oranges next to them. Harry didn't want anyone else getting sick. And the oranges were on sale for only three dollars a bag! Harry put a bag of about seven in the basket. And they'd need protein. A big can of mixed nuts was four dollars, but it would last a while, and it was cheaper than beef jerky. Bread for a dollar. Cans of beans and soup for fifty cents each—Harry grabbed as many as he could carry without struggling too much with the basket, which was about eight, so four more dollars. That made…twelve dollars. Store brand protein bars, a box of eight for four dollars. Three cans of peaches for sixty cents each. That was about fifteen dollars…

Harry wandered a little more, starting to struggle with the basket. Maybe he should put a few cans back…Reluctantly, Harry put back two cans of soup. Make that three. In their place, Harry grabbed a six-pack of dry noodle soup and some chicken broth cubes. That was another five dollars together. A big jar of peanut butter for three dollars. So that made…twenty-four dollars? Close enough. Another box of tea bags made it an even twenty-seven.

Looking over his selections, Harry nodded in satisfaction. That would leave them about ten dollars of emergency cash. Pleased with himself, Harry carried his heavy basket to the front. He smiled brightly at the cashier who asked where his parents were. Harry nodded at a family by the front restrooms.

"I wanted to do it myself!" he declared.

"You must be stronger than you look, then," she said, raising an eyebrow at his full basket.

Harry just nodded proudly.

Smiling slightly, the cashier rang him up, and Harry proudly handed over twenty-six dollars and forty-eight cents. She double-bagged the cans, then let Harry collect the bags. They were harder to carry without the basket, but he managed by hanging two bags from each arm.

And the timing was perfect. The family was moving toward the exit. Harry ran to catch up, falling in behind the oldest child, who was glued to his phone.

Outside, Harry ducked away toward the side lot, then he spent a few minutes arranging all his groceries in his backpack. He double-checked that he had his change and the leftover cash, then slung the backpack over his shoulders.

Harry stumbled under the weight, barely managing to balance himself. This…would be a long, miserable walk back. At least he'd be sweating so much he wouldn't be cold.

And they had food! As long as he didn't run into trouble. And apparently, it was a weekend or there wouldn't be so many families out. Or a school holiday. Harry had long ago lost track of the actual days of the week, especially after being stuck inside for nine days, excepting his icy excursion. But either way. It was unlikely he'd get into trouble on a sunny (if cold) winter Saturday.

Halfway back, Harry began to rethink all his life decisions. His backpack was so heavy, and he was tired, and hungry. He didn't have as much energy as he wished he did. And he still had so far to go.

His lip quivering, Harry sniffed and made himself keep going. He missed Jason. Usually they'd do this together. And he missed being warm. Despite the exertion that kept most of his body warm, Harry's nose, cheeks, and fingers were still numb. And his shoulders hurt. His legs shook with each step.

The black spots started swimming before his eyes, too. He felt dizzy, and weak, and miserable.

Sniffling again, Harry trudged forward, tears freezing on his cheeks. This was hard. This was miserable. He wanted to go home.

And more tears fell when home summoned up images, not of the Dursleys, or even his base with Jason, but of Tim's messy room, laughing on the floor in clean, warm clothes with Tim on one side and Jason on the other.

On numb legs, Harry kept going, navigating through vision blurred by tears and the occasional spell of dizziness. He couldn't even think about trying to climb the fire escape. So he trudged around to the back entrance, which had been cleared of snow. Harry wrenched the door open, the hinges half frozen, and then stumbled backward and fell hard under the weight of his backpack.

Blinking back more tears, Harry climbed shakily to his feet. Looking at the stairs made him dizzy. So he shut his eyes and navigated by feel alone. When he thought he'd climbed high enough, Harry opened his eyes…just to see he was still a flight too low.

He wanted to just sit down and cry. He hurt, he was hungry, and tired, and he felt so achingly alone.

But Jason was depending on him.

Sniffling, scrubbing his face dry on the rough sleeve of his coat, Harry pushed on. One step at a time. One foot in front of the other. Leaning on the wall when the corridor tilted and spun. Just a few more steps. He unlocked the door by feel, the action almost automatic now. Then he stumbled inside.

Just a little further.

Harry pulled open the door to the laundry room, stumbled in, and then fell to his knees, the backpack thudding to the floor.

Jason, who had been curled up and reading in their nest of blankets, jumped at the noise.

"Harry!" He stumbled, tripping over the blankets and closing the distance in just a few quick strides. "Harry! Are you okay?"

Harry smiled, though he was seeing double.

"I got us food. And ten more dollars. And a gift card. D-did I do good?"

Jason grabbed him in a tight hug. "You did amazing. You saved me, little hero. You saved us."

"Good." Harry sagged in Jason's arms. "'M tired now. G'night." His vision faded to black and he slumped into unconsciousness.

Harry woke some time later to the hissing sound of the gas stove and the smell of chicken broth. His stomach clenched and his mouth watered. He still felt weak, and tired, and very, very sore. His vision was more blurry than usual.

"J'son?"

"Harry!"

Jason's blurry form appeared at Harry's side. "Are you okay?! Are you hurt? You passed out, little hawk. You scared me to death."

"'M…really tired, n' hungry, n' sore." His words slurred; Harry just didn't have to energy to move his jaw properly.

"You walked almost two miles, little hawk, carrying a backpack that weighs as much as you do. Through the snow. And on an empty stomach at that." Jason's voice cracked. "I didn't realize until I was putting the food away. I know we had five protein bars after your last trip. You…you gave me all of them. Didn't you."

"You were sick," Harry mumbled. "I knew I could make it a few days without."

Jason blinked hard. "You didn't have to do that, little hawk."

"I know. I wanted to." Harry blinked up at Jason, his vision clearing a little. "It…was my turn. To take care of you."

Jason's eyes widened, then he pulled Harry into a tight hug. "My little hero," he whispered, his voice cracking. Harry tried to return it, but he didn't have the strength to do more than hold on.

Suddenly Jason sniffed loudly and pulled away. "Let's get some food in you, then, little hero. I thought we could risk a hot meal just this once."

Harry managed to smile. Jason squeezed him one more time, then went over to the stove. He prodded its contents with a pair of chopsticks—long ago taken from a bag of Chinese takeout someone had trashed, still in their paper packaging. Then he switched off the stove and brought the thermos—which they'd been using as a cooking pot—over to Harry.

The smell of hot chicken soup made Harry's mouth water, and his stomach growled for the first time in days. It was just noodles and a bullion cube, but it smelled like heaven. Jason helped Harry sit, then blew on the soup before offering it to Harry.

Harry took a careful sip, trying not to burn his mouth. He moaned at the warmth and the explosion of flavor on his tongue.

Jason chuckled. "Good, is it?"

"Mm." Harry took a longer sip, not even caring that this time he burned the roof of his mouth. He slurped up a few noodles, and Jason laughed as broth splashed out. A few more gulps and a few more mouthfuls of noodles, then Harry's stomach tightened uncomfortably. He desperately wanted more, but he knew pushing it would only make him sick. He pushed the rest of the soup toward Jason, pouting a little.

"Full already?"

Harry nodded, still pouting. "Mm."

Jason chuckled a little, then finished off the soup with a flourish. Then he set the empty thermos aside and pulled Harry into his side, adjusting the blankets around their shoulders, too.

Harry turned into Jason's shoulder, tears spilling down his cheeks.

"Whoa. What's wrong, little hawk?" Jason pulled Harry into his lap and hugged him tightly.

"Today was so hard," Harry whimpered. "It was cold, and I was so tired and hungry and it hurt and itwas so lonely and cold. And when you were sick I was so scared."

Jason rubbed his back, pulling him close. "You did so good, though, getting the money and the groceries and carrying it all back here despite it all. That's why you're my little hero."

Harry sniffed, then broke down crying, soft, audible sobs wracking his small frame.

Jason pulled him in tighter, tucking the blankets around them. "You're my hero, Harry. My little hero. I'm so proud of you."

Harry choked on another sob and cried harder.