Astray

By Kichigai Kitsune. 2010 onwards.

Warning! This story contains adult themes and coarse language. This story also contains and refers to sensitive topics, such as child abuse, either institutionalized or from parents. Even worse, it contains scenes of a sexual nature involving a young anthropomorphic furry character ("cub") and an actual plot. Be advised, and do not continue if you are under the age where you would be legally allowed to view such material according to the laws you are subject to.

WARNING: readers have asked me to reiterate this. This story contains details of child abuse, involuntary incarceration in a behavior modification facility and resultant trauma. Sensitive readers and those who were unfortunate enough to have similar experiences should be careful.

If you enjoy my content or approve of my message, consider supporting me so I can keep doing this. https://www.patreon.com/kichigaikitsune

---

Week Five - Alleys and Shadows

Cold.

It was cold, and he was so wet. Shivering so much it hurt.

Each drop of water stung like pellets of ice. Recalling unpleasant, unwanted memories of being in a shower. Held there and told to stand still even as his legs failed him. Memories that he buried with the equally unpleasant reality he faced.

Until a few days ago, he'd never known what it was like to have his teeth clattering. He thought it was just something they did in silly cartoons. He wished it would stop.

The cheetah kit squeezed his knees into his chest, pressing himself even harder into the corner between the alley's brick wall and the dumpster. Trying to escape the bitter chill. Ignoring the interminable sounds of car tires on the wet roads, the loud hissing of the heavy rain, he clutched at the sodden sleeves of his oversized hooded sweater and pulled the garment tighter against his trembling body.

He'd never stolen before, but he had to. It had been horribly wet and chilly ever since he took to the streets again, and the pullover he'd taken with him the day he left... those crazy guys had kept it when they... did whatever they did to him.

So he had to steal the grey jacket. He fought with himself for a while, then walked in, yanked the first jacket he saw off the rack and ran for it.

Thankfully, they'd stopped chasing him after a few blocks, and he was able to slip into the side-streets where he found this secluded blind alley.

Water, cold and filthy, slithered around his shoeless paws, seeping right through his grimy, one-time white socks, and he twitched away. Moving his legs to avoid it.

Nick inhaled shakily, grateful that the cold had suppressed the surely disgusting stench of the dumpster.

This was not the nicest place he could've picked, but he needed to hide. Hide from everyone. There was not a single person he could trust.

Not one.

They all wanted to hurt him. Everyone.

This was safer. It was deserted and the dumpster hid him from the passersby on the street. The narrowness of the dirty alley kept him out of the rain, at least directly.

It was hidden away from everyone- a filthy dead-end nobody wanted to tread. Nobody even wanted to look at it, to tear their eyes away from the main road and cast a glance down this insignificant, trash-littered pass. It wasn't a nice place, but it was where he had to be.

Because there was nowhere else, not for Nick. He belonged here.

The kit stared at the rippling puddles in the center of the concrete alley, not really seeing anything at all.

He still felt sore. All over, especially in the one place he never expected to feel the kind of pain that he did: his backside.

Last night had been awful. He thought he'd never have to feel like that again. It was okay though, he told himself. They said they would let him go if he left the park, and they did, and he did. He was still alive, and they were ages away from him now. He made sure of that.

When he ran away the first time, he learned nothing. It was different now, and he didn't have a clue where his father was now - and he didn't want Nick anyway.

It was winter now, and the rain was totally different from the mid-year sun. A few days hadn't prepared him at all. He'd just gone without food, without much shelter, continuing on until his goal, as far as possible each day. True, he wasn't exactly sure where his dad's motel was, but he had stayed with him for a few days before they took him away, so it wasn't too hard to find.

Now there was no goal, except to survive. Because this time it wasn't going to end.

This time, he was going to run away forever.

Forever.

Saying that to himself had, at first, given him a little bit of confidence. He even smiled, that night he readied himself to sneak out again. Now he realized that what he had promised himself meant living like this every day for the rest of his life.

Hot tears started to obscure his vision; the contrast between them and the freezing air stung his eyes painfully. The kit simply buried his face in his forearms, sniffing quietly to himself.

Grow up, he tried to tell himself. But the tone of his internal voice was too familiar. He squeezed himself tighter, pushing it from his mind.

He felt so...

What did he feel like?

Nobody had ever taught him what to call it.

Just so weak. So dead. So worthless.

He didn't even feel angry, like he used to. Like his mom and dad used to. There was nobody he even cared enough about to be angry at. All he felt was sad. Empty. Scared. Again.

Was it really gonna be like this forever?

Shit... this was all his fault. Everything was.

Why didn't his mom love him? Nick loved her.

Why didn't his dad want him? Nick wanted to be with him.

Why did everyone want to hurt him? He just wanted to be alone.

It was all him. It had to be. He was bad. Selfish. Stupid. Crazy. Born that way... Everything he had said.

The cheetah boy sobbed once, digging his claws into his cold-numbed skin, barely feeling it.

Fuck them. Nick hated them. He hated them all. It couldn't all be his fault. They never listened to him. They didn't care about him. Nobody did!!

It wasn't fair. He didn't want to be like this.

It couldn't be his fault. It couldn't be...

But what he would give just to hear someone else say it for him...

Anyone.

---

Exhausted, the coyote slipped through the interview room once again, trying not to think. About anything.

Shutting that door behind him took more effort than almost anything Czejak had done in years. But he did it - he was well practiced in this.

He had seen the young cheetah break down before. But never so stupendously. And it was always about the past; never the future. Some memory of abuse, not the knowledge that more was to come.

But his time was up, and Czejak had to shut that door and leave now. Every bone in his body told him that someone needed to stay with the kit, that something was wrong, and he was trying his damndest to ignore it.

Worse, Nick was polite, or proud, enough to not protest. He never did.

In his numb fingers, the middle-aged coyote could feel the weight of the uneaten birthday cake, returned to its box. His simple sweater somehow made him itch despite his fur, and before him, the plain, carpeted corridor stretched onwards, empty. Quiet.

Walking away, down that corridor, was an even more difficult prospect than the room he'd just left.

Once again, he was walking away. Pushing it all away.

He had no delusions about what was going to happen. Tired, he would return home and seek his comfortable bed, intent on waking up early in the morning because he chose too and pampering himself with a shower and big breakfast... Abandoning another child to god-knows what.

Maybe there was something to what Nick, and indeed other kids he had worked with, said to him about that.

Was this truly all he could do? Was this really the best he could give of himself to Nick?

How sad. How pathetic he felt all of a sudden.

The stark hallway before him seemed to stretch on. It was a road he had been down before, turning his back on someone who trusted him once again. The safe and comfortable path home.

The coyote had only taken one, shaky step before something snapped.

For a moment he froze. But then his next step was far more determined, decisive. Suddenly, he was striding down the corridor at a pace more akin to a jog. After several moments, he located a counselor. A short, angry-faced fox in a polo shirt and pants, idly walking down the corridors past the currently empty dorms.

"Excuse me," Czejak said to him, forcing a smile and slowing down. "Can I have a moment, please?"

The fox smiled disingenuously. "Of course."

"Listen, I have a very important thing to discuss with, uh... Doctor Thornton." Czejak lifted his briefcase slightly, noting that the fox's gaze briefly flicked over to it. "Is he on the grounds at the moment?"

The fox thought for a moment, keeping his expression neutral. "I can get him for you, if it's important." There was a brief pause. "Though it is pretty late."

"I know," Czejak said, his tone apologetic. "I didn't expect to be so long in the interview room. It's quite important."

After a second, the counselor nodded. "I can have him meet you at the front office in a few minutes. If you don't mind, come with me."

Czejak smiled, trying to hide how he was shaking like a leaf. "Absolutely."

The scent and taste of chocolate lingered, sour and unpleasant, somehow tainted.

His counselor had urged him to try the cake he had brought, but the very thought of eating made Nick nauseous. He could scarcely manage to lick the sauce off his fingers before his counselor had to leave.

Nick just felt dead, and a throbbing headache had taken root in his skull again. Banishing all thought.

Or was that the drug's fault? He could never be sure.

Quietly, the interview door opened, but Nick didn't bother to raise his head from his forearms. A throbbing headache had settled just behind his eyes and he felt deathly tired.

But when he heard someone moving the chair at other side of the desk, curiosity compelled him to look.

It was the possum counselor, clad in a simple white t-shirt, seating himself comfortably. He eyed Nick impassively and placed his elbows on the desk, interlacing his fingers.

Nick groaned a silent groan of dread, keeping his eyes lowered. What the fuck did they want from him now?

"I wanted to talk to you before the evening drills," began the counselor, his tone clipped but not harsh. He paused for a moment. "You're a liar, Nick."

The kit felt something wrench at his stomach.

"But I'm going to assume you didn't lie about where your friends were," continued the possum, rubbing at his nose. "It was a good, responsible thing you did, telling us where they are."

Nick swallowed, keeping his eyes fixed on the center of the table.

"You came back here, Nick, and immediately started your old behavior!" Now the grownup was stopping just short of yelling. "That is not going to be tolerated. Do you understand that now?"

Weakly, Nick nodded. Drawing in on himself unconsciously.

"But you've made a big step, by doing the right thing about your so-called friends. Maybe the time away did you good, rather than what I expected." Wadlow interlaced his fingers. "I want you to know that if you keep going this way, I will bring you back to level one. You'll be able to go to programs and recreation. Or you can keep fighting and throwing tantrums like a toddler, and we'll keep treating you like one."

Another nod.

"It's time to grow up, Nick. We're done with letting you get away with things because of your age." The adult pushed the chair back and stood. "Come on. You'll be doing tonight's drills with everyone else tonight."

Nick closed his eyes.

Fuck. He already felt like this, and now he was going to have to kill himself for an hour in the cold.

At least he was fairly sure he'd be able to sleep tonight.

Czejak was not one for stereotypes, but he couldn't help but feel a momentary appreciation for irony when he saw the scrawny ferret, likely his own age, come padding nervously around the corner towards the front office.

The mustelid was garbed in a simple shirt and pants, with a golden wristwatch; he also wore a wary, haunted expression on his face.

For some reason, that gave Czejak a little satisfaction, which helped to quell his unease.

He wasn't even sure what he was going to do, or how he could do it. It was reassuring to know that the psychiatrist probably had no idea either.

"Can I help you?" asked Doctor Thornton, stopping some distance away. "Mister Kincaid said you had something important to discuss with me."

"Yes." The coyote shifted slightly, swapping the cake box and his briefcase around in his paws. "My name is Doctor Andrei Czejak, and-"

"It's okay, Doctor Czejak," the ferret interjected with a false smile, "I know who you are. You're the social worker for the CPA kids here."

"That's right." Czejak smiled. "I've got something to discuss with you, something more appropriate to an office or private room. It's very important."

Thornton's eyes narrowed briefly. Scanning the coyote's face with intense scrutiny; Czejak kept his expression neutral. "Alright... we can use my office. It's just around the corner."

There was a tangible atmosphere of suspicion as the ferret led him down the corridor to another heavy door, but Czejak kept quiet. The door was opened and Thornton slipped inside, holding the door open politely.

Upon entering, Czejak took a second to glance around the room.

It could scarcely be called an office. A small, white-painted wooden desk was shunted into the corner, and atop it sat a computer and several books. Aside from the admittedly comfortable-looking leather chair, and another off to the side of the desk, the rest of the room was practically bare. Just a bookcase and a few framed photographs of impressive landscapes.

"I don't usually do much in here," said the ferret. "I spend far more of my time in the medical bay or in my room. So I don't have much use for an opulent workspace."

Czejak nodded. "That makes perfect sense to me. Do you mind if I put these down?" He looked down at the box and briefcase in his paws.

"Of course," said Thornton, a little too quickly. He stepped over to the desk and moved his books. "There you go."

"Thanks. It's very cumbersome, holding a cake." Smiling winsomely, the coyote placed his cargo on the cleared desk-space.

"Yes, yes. Don't mention it... Can I ask what it is you want to talk about that's so critical?"

Czejak looked up and nodded, his expression turning grave. "I suppose we might as well get it out of the way," he said regretfully.

For moment, the coyote hesitated, unsure precisely how to begin his remonstrance. How to best make his point. The two educated adults stood silently, scarcely three feet apart, for several seconds.

But then the answer came to Czejak so suddenly and ferociously that he was acting on it before he processed the possible consequences.

He stepped forwards and threw the single hardest punch he had ever thrown in his life, straight to the ferret's chin.

Doctor Thornton's eyes glazed over and he collapsed into the side of one of the leather upholstered chairs. With a crash, the chair toppled over into the desk, depositing the pole-axed ferret onto the carpet. A heavy, hardback book fell from the desk's edge onto his face, then slipped to the floor also.

It was several seconds before the ferret's eyes refocused, and he stared in abject disbelief at the livid coyote.

"Let's get this perfectly clear," grated Czejak, both paws still clenched as fists, "so we don't have any misunderstandings later."

"What-?!" the psychiatrist groaned, but Czejak cut him off.

"It's time for you to listen, Doctor Thornton. So listen. I don't know how you avoided the investigation and I don't care how, but I know you were illegally administering a dangerous psychotropic drug to a minor that was supposed to be in your care." The ferret blanched noticeably. "One that was potentially fatal to asthmatics, which you might remember she was."

Thornton gave a peculiar whimpering gasp.

"I'm not stupid, Thornton." Czejak narrowed his eyes, unfathomable anger welling up inside of him. He fought to contain it. "I know you're unnecessarily drugging at least one other child in this facility, and you're going to stop doing that right now, or I'm going straight to the Board with everything I've got." He paused. "If I have any trouble seeing my kids here again, if I get even the slightest inkling that you're still maltreating them, or if I think you have the bald-faced audacity to even mention what happened in this room just now to another soul, I will take your job and your livelihood."

The ferret was gawking at him now, absently nursing his chin.

"If one of my kids dies at this facility..." Czejak exhaled sharply. "I'll take more than that. God help me."

"I-I didn't want that to happen!" whispered the psychiatrist. "I didn't think she would-!"

"I don't give a damn." Czejak picked up his briefcase. "I'll be back here soon, and if I don't get the impression that Nick Davis has been taken off that ludicrously dangerous drug ... I'm not much to look at, but I have friends like you wouldn't believe, Thornton. I am not just some social worker earning minimum wage. Don't ever make that mistake."

"Nobody told me she was asthmatic!" the ferret insisted, a broken catch in his voice. "It wasn't on her records!"

"You really think that's an excuse? Do you really not get this?!" Czejak's voice rose in incredulity. "I have no idea what you did or who you bribed, but I won't let you get away with this." The coyote hissed in fury. "If you really regret what you did then do something about it, you spineless cretin! You're abusing children here! Is that what you went to medical school for? To abuse and numb the minds of defenseless kids with nowhere to run? Or have you somehow become so twisted and brainwashed as to think what you're doing is possibly going to help them?!"

Thornton pinched his eyes closed as a thin drool of blood oozed out his nose.

"You're a disgrace to your profession, and a sad, sad excuse for a person." Czejak turned and tugged open the door. "Either do something about it, or I'll see you jailed by years' end. Keep the cake; you look like you could do with some cheering up." With that, Czejak stormed through the portal and firmly closed it behind him.

Back out in the corridor once again, he collapsed against the door he had just closed and took several deep breaths, trying to stop the painful tingling that had settled into his extremities.

Raising his right paw, he realized it was trembling. And sore. Very, very sore.

"Andrei..." he murmured to himself. "What the hell did you just do...?"

Not a word was uttered as the boys were led from the shower room to the exercise yard. An orderly march of over twenty youths, from twelve to seventeen. The orange-shirts and the 'level ones', who were instead clad in yellow.

Nick stared down at his new runners as he trudged across the gravel, unable to help but feel grateful for them. It was much easier to do the things they asked of him in these newer shoes Gary had bought for him before tossing him aside.

The sun was already down, all light in the yard provided by bright floodlights on the high roof of the facility's main building. They had all been told to change for PT, which meant shorts and a t-shirt, despite the cold. Nick knew they'd soon be grateful for it, though.

Obediently, they shuffled across the hard ground until they reached the far side of the exercise yard.

"Stand up along the back line, two body lengths apart!" ordered the fox counselor, pointing unnecessarily at the painted boundary line on the gravel. He was flanked on either side by two of the guards, and two more staff members stood off to the side. "If you think you need to take your shirts off, you can put them behind your spot."

The teens did as they were instructed, none of them willing to take the offer to disrobe yet, and Nick, at the back of the line, found himself side-by-side with the older wolf boy he remembered seeing a few days ago, on his paws and knees in distress no more than five feet from where they stood now.

The wolf teen was already breathing faster, an almost despairing look in his eyes.

Nick just looked away.

He still remembered his second day at Wilder Springs, and the first time they dragged him to the yard. It was one of the most painful days he remembered, and not because of the workout - he had remained defiant, and, after ten minutes of enduring Nick's disobedience, a staff member had casually sprayed him in the face with pepper-spray before restraining him.

The rules had been made very clear. Physical exercise was the main method of discipline at Wilder Springs, and it was made perfectly clear that it was the one thing they wouldn't tolerate any rebellion about. There was practically no other 'normal' circumstance where Nick had ever seen one of those canisters taken off a belt.

Even violent teens were almost never sprayed, just taken down and told to stop, unless it was on the gravel of the exercise yard. So it was the one thing Nick grudgingly did without objection. It just wasn't worth being sprayed in the face with that disgusting shit. No matter how strenuous the exercise was, it was always better than being sprayed and blinded for almost an hour.

As they waited to begin, Nick found himself staring at the dancing shadows of the adults in front of him, cast long by the blinding floodlights. Losing track of time as that powerful lassitude threatened to seize him again.

Summoning all his will-power, he pushed it aside and refocused. It wasn't too unlike trying to pay attention while drunk; and he couldn't afford to sink further into the distracted, dissociated stupor that seemed to almost be a constant companion, or threat, to him now.

For some reason, he doubted the staff would find 'because you assholes are drugging me' a good excuse for not doing his exercises properly. If he fought it off now, it wouldn't be too much of a problem... or so he hoped.

Under the direction of the staff members, the line of teens started to warm up. Simple stretches, held for a reasonable fifteen seconds. The fox went down the line, sharply correcting form as he went. Nick needed no correction or motivation: he felt so stiff all over that the stretches were borderline painful, yet incredibly relieving.

At last, the fox checked his watch. "Shuttle sprints!" he cried, readying the whistle around his neck. "When I say go, sprint to the other side of the yard. If you're not over the line by the time I blow the whistle, you got fifteen jumps. Get ready."

When the whistle blew, the entire line ran forwards. Nick noticed the wolf boy running harder than was necessary, somehow already breathing hard. Even now, Nick realized he was significantly fitter than the newcomer, and he had been out of the program for three weeks, and he knew to pace himself for the first runs, which were just more warm-ups.

After only a dozen sprints back and forth, the fox was satisfied and he called for them to stop.

Nick was surprised when the angry fox selected one of the older teens and pulled him in front of the group. Though every morning and night was different, whatever the staff wanted them to do, Nick didn't expect them to introduce anything else new after he'd been there for nearly thirteen months.

The thing he got the serval boy to demonstrate was complicated. Nick watched in disbelief as the teen slowly went through the motions, crouching down, kicking his legs back, doing a pushup, bringing his legs back in and then jumping back upright, straightening his back and reaching for the sky.

Oh shit.

The fox walked them through it two more times, then sent the serval back to the line. "Twenty of these. I'll be calling out the movements. When you go down, you're doing squats before you kick your legs back, so keep those paws on your hips until you go into the pushup! Use your legs to stand up, paws on your hips again - and keep your back straight. If you give me any half-assed ones all of you will start again from zero."

There were nervous glances throughout the group.

When they started, Nick was surprised to find them not too difficult, not for his muscles - not at first, anyway.

But the count was reset six times before they'd even done ten. Virtually all of them screwed up at first, falling to their backsides or failing to keep their backs straight.

By the time they were reaching their twentieth, the entire group was showing signs of fatigue, and Nick found himself shaking and slowing down, his thighs starting to cramp.

Thankfully, they were stopped after their twenty-fifth total jump- and their fourteenth restart- and the group stood, facing forwards on unstable legs. A few were doubled over, gasping desperately.

"Fucking pathetic!" the fox yelled at them, his eyes narrowed and aggressive. "That's not good enough. Tomorrow, if I don't see better you'll be doing a hundred."

There was almost no doubt that he meant it.

Nick looked down at the ground, focusing on taking deep, gulping breaths to recover. There were days the exercise drills could be worse than the group 'development' sessions, and tonight had only just begun.

It was nice to be out of seclusion though, and outside at night in the cool air.

The counselor ordered them to start on the standard pushup and sit-up routine, which Nick didn't dread, even at this point. Fifteen pushups were nowhere near as difficult as fifty, and after over a year of daily exertion the skinny kit could usually manage it with some difficulty. The older, more muscular teens found it even easier.

With the exception of the wolf-boy, who collapsed to his face after six. He struggled to raise his body again, a terrified whimper escaping his muzzle. The fox immediately declared a reset.

That was normal. They almost always found reasons to extend it. After the first few times they did that, Nick realized it was just to get their hopes up, nothing more. Really, there never was a set limit or standard to get to; it all came down to whatever the staff wanted that night. It helped a lot to expect it. It was never really just fifteen.

After only a few more shaky excuses for pushups, the wolf-boy collapsed again, and Nick looked up in time to see the fox counselor's silhouette striding along the floodlit gravel. "Up!" he ordered, reaching down to snare the fourteen-year-old's wrist and haul him upright. "What the fuck was that?"

The wolf flinched away. "I can't!"

Nick put his head down again and lowered himself into his eleventh, aware the other staff members were still supervising the group. His arms started to burn and shake, and his expression was twisted into a grimace.

Suddenly, his stringy muscles seized when he tried to force himself up again. A curse slipped out from the boy's gritted teeth.

Fuck, he hated pushups!!

Thankfully, before he could fall, the fox finished viciously berating the newcomer and whirled around.

"Everybody up!"

Without a word, the boys all staggered upright. All of them knew what was coming.

Before Nick left, it would've been laps around the yard. That had evidently been supplanted entirely by the shuttle runs when he was away. This time, the fox blew the whistle faster, timing it somehow on his watch.

And he didn't stop.

For over fifteen minutes, the entire group sprinted madly from line to line. Or tried to.

Nick was the second to stumble and fall to the gravel. "Shit!" the slender cheetah gasped, sucking in oxygen desperately and struggling to get his legs to cooperate. A sharp sting in his paws indicated he had probably skinned them a little.

As expected, from the side of the yard came a cry of "Davis, get the fuck up!" Before Nick could even get himself upright, the whistle had been blown and he knew he was screwed, but the preteen managed to get up and jog to the line.

When the fox counselor called an end to the running, Nick stumbled to his paws and knees and started coughing. As did several other boys, all retching and fighting the urge to throw up.

Then Nick realized the wolf was no longer next to him at the line; he was at the other end of the yard, heaving into the grass at the edge. Crying loudly enough for them all to hear. As expected, the fox strode over to him.

"I can't breathe!" the young teenager wheezed, before puking again. The staff member callously pulled him over to the side and handed him a bottle of water.

Nick closed his eyes and tried to ignore the pain. His entire body felt like it had been doused in acid; this wasn't meant to be a punishment session! Just because they had a fucking new guy-

Another dry retch made him nearly collapse.

He realized why they had switched to these weird 'shuttle sprints' now. There was no way to cheat. They had to match whatever pace the assholes wanted and the constant stopping and turning made it far worse than simply running.

What had started as a relatively easy, light exercise had turned into torture.

... Just another day at Wilder Springs.

With a contemptuous shake of the head, the asshole fox walked in front of the line again. "Get back down on the ground. Pushups again, let's get it right this time. The princess over there gets to sit and watch - again. You can thank him for this."

At last, the workout wound down with just a few more basic exercises, made incredibly difficult by their exhaustion, and another stretching session.

But as the group was forming up to be led inside, the fox counselor stepped aside and motioned for Nick and the wolf boy to remain. Nick cursed mentally as he shuffled across the gravel to wait at the yard's edge.

A thin film of sweat had matted his fur, and he felt weak all over. His head was starting to swim, almost like it did when they injected that stuff into him - which they thankfully hadn't done in a few days now. Yet he was going to get more runs or something because he missed the whistle or whatever.

Fuck.

Nick swayed on the spot, while the wolf teenager was directed to stand next to him.

What happened next was highly unusual. The angry looking counselor left them alone while he went to oversee the rest of the group to the showers. He didn't even make them stand at opposite ends of the yard, or facing away from one another.

The wolf was fighting back sobs, likely still coming to terms with the gravity of his situation. Nick didn't look at him, still contending with his harsh breathing. The cold night air was painful going down, grating his throat and lungs like he was inhaling knives.

After a minute, the wolf glanced at him nervously. "What's gonna happen now, man?" he whispered choppily.

But Nick didn't respond.

There were no friends here. He didn't want to know this older boy.

Everyone here was an asshole, everyone. Nick didn't trust anyone.

"Oh shit..." moaned the wolf, starting to cough again. He was older than Nick, but his voice was still youthful, though tremulous with fear and exhaustion.

But Nick suddenly remembered something, and he glanced over at the teenager. Or rather, his old, tattered sneakers. Before he knew what he was doing, he was speaking.

The first real words he had shared with another kid aside from her in over a year.

"Don't talk," he croaked hoarsely. "If your levels don't add up to three, can't say anythin'."

"B-but he isn't here..."

"Everyone fuckin' rats on you. Don't talk." Nick took a deep breath, finally feeling his heart-rate return to normalcy, or a semblance thereof.

"Are y-you gonna...?"

Nick shut his eyes briefly, his vision turning a brilliant crimson from the harsh glare of the floodlights. "Nah, man..."

"How old are you?" asked the teenager, also trying to slow his breathing. There was a desperate quality to his tone; lost and scared, the newcomer needed someone to talk to. Comfort.

This was always the first thing they took away.

"Twelve." Nick shuffled nervously. If the staff realized they were talking, communicating at all...

"I'm f-fourteen... Name's Garret. I-I'm from Chicago."

"Nick."

The wolf nodded urgently, though Nick only saw the movement in his peripheral vision.

"What's gonna happen now?"

Nick shrugged. "More running and shit, I dunno."

"Fuck!" The wolf coughed some more, clutching his chest. "This is crazy!"

"... Tonight was easy."

"I g-gotta get out of here... w-when do we see our parents?"

"I dunno, don't got any." Nick shuffled some more. "They ain't gonna believe you. They tell them not to."

The look the older teen shot him then was harrowing, and Nick shut his eyes again just to avoid seeing it.

"What the hell am I gonna do?!" Garret whined, voice cracking like glass. "This is fucking bullshit!"

Nick raised his head, letting the floodlights' stabbing brightness pierce his eyelids directly.

"Just do what they say..." he whispered, a wave of nauseating self-repugnance unsettling his already acid-ridden stomach. "Don't say shit."

"But they can't do this to us!"

"Yeah they can." Nick swallowed, wincing in pain. "Nobody cares about us."

There was a horrified silence, and before long Nick heard the crunching of gravel that indicated the counselor was returning.

He exhaled slowly, forming quiet words upon the flowing air.

"... And nobody's gonna get us out of here..."

*

November 24th

Several loud impacts jolted Nick into wakefulness, and he swept the pillow he had been clutching to the floor with a gasp, pulse racing.

It took several seconds for him to realize it had been a knock on his door. His room door.

Groaning, the cheetah pushed aside the simple blanket and stood, clad in just his tracksuit pants.

He had been allowed to return to his room, and that meant his period in seclusion, and the associated other restrictions, was over. Now he had a bed again, albeit one with a thin, spring-less mattress, and his own tiny room, scarcely eight foot by five, with simple, unadorned, painted walls.

As he looked around for his shirt, realizing his shoulders ached like hell, Nick recalled the words of a counselor he had heard some time ago.

There was a reason the kids at Wilder Springs had individual rooms, he had said. As strict as their program was, the director believed that the kids should have a room to return to that would be 'their own.' They could do whatever they wanted in there so long as it didn't break the rules or damage any property. If they had anything in their rooms, they could use it during free time - not that they were allowed much in their rooms.

It wasn't truly privacy, as the viewing ports on the doors were practically always open. But it was better than nothing. As a young male, Nick was particularly grateful for it - one of the best ways to lull himself to sleep at night involved doing something he'd rather not have an audience for. Though he almost never had the energy or inclination to do it here.

Now that he thought about it, he resolved to do it tonight.

Eventually, Nick found his orange shirt in the corner by the bed. He looked at it sadly, holding it in his paws. Something told him they'd keep him in brightly colored shirts until the day he got out, and he couldn't even work up the resentment he used to be able to about that.

Nick slipped it over his shoulders slowly, his mind lost in thought.

He had turned twelve yesterday. There were three-hundred and sixty... five? He wasn't sure how many days were in a year, he'd only been told once or twice.

Quickly, he did the calculations in his head.

Two-thousand, one-hundred and eighty-nine days before they'd let him go.

He let out a quivering breath.

Activity could be heard out in the corridor as the other rooms opened and the others started to get ready. Nick could only wait for a staff member to unbolt his door; he wouldn't be allowed out until the others were already outside.

Then he would be let out and led to the morning exercises, told to shower, then locked away again, hopefully with breakfast, until group development. Unless they had something else for him to do in the meantime. He hoped they'd leave him alone.

Nick swallowed and sat on the edge of his simple cot. At least he wasn't in seclusion anymore. At least they weren't going to keep screaming at him about his friends. It was back to the way it was before.

It wasn't good, but it was better. It wouldn't last, but... it was better.

Nick buried his head in his paws and before he realized what was happening, he was crying. Sobbing quietly into his palms.

It wasn't the first time that had happened. Sometimes it just did. It wasn't anything in particular, just a little bit of everything.

His life was shit. It always had been, and when he was happy, it got taken away from him before he could blink. Nick wasn't allowed to be happy.

His friends. Gary. Talking with the doc. It never lasted.

Nick just wasn't allowed to be happy.

The kit sniffed and shook his head. "What the fuck?" he whispered to nobody in particular, not even sure what he was asking.

There was a clunk, and Nick looked up to see his door open.

Beyond stood the strange leopard guard, the one that Nick was still wary of but that seemed to be less of a dick than the others. It took several seconds to register the expression on the adult's face.

Sympathy. Something rarely seen.

Nick reluctantly stood, ready to trudge off to the morning's menial labor, but the guard shook his head. "Sit down, Nick."

The kit did so, wiping his eyes self-consciously. A brief pang of intense anxiety struck as he realized the guard planned to sit next to him, and he quickly scooted away.

"It's alright," the guard muttered, seating himself at the far edge of the bed. "I won't touch you. Listen. I heard last night that you've been taken off the medication. They won't be doing that anymore, okay?"

Nick didn't reply.

... Was that meant to make him happier? It was bullshit that they did it to him in the first place. It was all bullshit.

And he couldn't stop them, and he'd have to deal with it until he was eighteen. A time so far away he could barely imagine it. He couldn't even imagine being eighteen.

Again, Nick felt the overwhelming impulse to burst into spontaneous tears.

The guard coughed, distracting him. "I just thought you should know that."

Nick nodded. After a moment, he shifted uncomfortably. "I gotta go..." he mumbled, unsure exactly what to say.

"I know. Morning exercise." The guard scratched his head and stood, keeping a respectable distance from the much smaller cheetah boy. "Come on. I'm supposed to take you."

Nick felt very strange as he followed the broad-shouldered adult.

As nice as he seemed, every fiber of Nick's being reminded him firmly that first impressions didn't matter. Especially not with adults.

After all, he'd just spent three weeks with an asshole that proved that.

Entirely by reflex, Gary's paw reached out and thumped down on the digital alarm clock on his bedside cabinet, silencing it after the third irritating beep.

"Ughh..."growled the cheetah, roughly shoving his sheets aside and sitting up.

His brain rebelled instantly, demanding he collapse onto his pillows again and return to sleep. His vision swam.

Gary was nowhere near fully functional before his first coffee.

Regardless, he somehow found the will to shift his body and step out of his warm bed. It was less a struggle with his tiredness and more a reliance on muscle-memory.

Gary staggered a few steps over to his dresser and leaned on it.

"Fuck," he muttered, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

Last night hadn't been particularly restful.

Worse, today was going to be a long day. After work, he had to head to a bar he hadn't gone to in over a year, with another person for the first time ever.

Even though he told himself it wasn't a date - he had no idea if Jared even was interested in him, or males at all, like that - he still found himself fretting about what to wear.

The notion of cancelling lurked threateningly at the back of his mind.

But, he told himself, how could he go ahead with the other thing if he couldn't make himself show up to a bar to have a few drinks with a guy he found cute?

Of course, thinking about 'that other thing' had been what kept him awake all night, and now he felt like a drugged up zombie - on a work morning, no less.

He came to a decision.

If he wasn't a million times spritelier after his coffee, he was calling in and pleading to telecommute. He could still meet up with Jared after work hours, but if his vision didn't clear up, there was no way in hell Gary was leaving the house.

Yawning again, Gary moved to drag himself away from his dresser to the bathroom, but he paused.

Atop the dresser, by the tiny stereo system he bought for his room but almost never used, was a piece of paper, with a small post-card like slip nestled on top.

Gary knew what it was, but he picked it up regardless, turning it around.

A pair of hard, aggressive gray eyes looked up at him.

It was hard to imagine those eyes would be any different if they were truly looking at him right now.

Gary bit his lip and replaced the picture on by the stereo. With a sigh, he lifted the document it had been resting atop.

The colorful crest of the Agency of Children and Families dominated the header, and Gary scanned it quickly.

It was the information he had been sent upon agreeing to house Nick, over a month ago; the boy's personal information. It really did seem like such a long time ago that he'd taken the plunge and agreed to the bizarre experiment.

Gary blinked.

November twenty-third? That was Nick's birthday? Yesterday? Oh, holy shit.

"Fucking hell," Gary sighed. He frowned and looked a little lower down on the page.

'Supervision rating: four out of five?' What was that meant to mean? He had left Nick alone in the house often and no real damage had resulted. Unless they were thinking about the likelihood of him running away, which he probably hadn't been willing to risk with that irremovable ankle bracelet.

The cheetah groaned and put the paper down too.

Knowing he had made such an impression on the kit made the guilt so much worse, but it was also such an incredible feeling. It was a feeling of self-worth, even of purpose. The kit's good opinion mattered to Gary, and the trust and respect Nick eventually granted him humbled yet validated him on a level he couldn't express, and he wanted to return it all a hundred-fold.

... Perhaps it was the closest someone like him could ever experience to paternal instinct. Or maybe he just gave a shit.

Gary swallowed and turned away. Trapping himself in the house, even while ostensibly working, was just a poor idea. Even the most bizarre things would trigger episodes of maudlin contemplation, and he'd been fighting to avoid that.

Maybe it was time he stopped ignoring the unpleasant thoughts and feelings, and actually processed them. But he wasn't willing to do that yet.

He needed time. But he needed urging too. If he took too long to make his decision, it would be too late.

And he'd have to live with what he'd done for the rest of his life.

A tiny, shrill ringing made him jump, and he whirled around to face his bedside dresser. His phone was vibrating its way to tumbling off the edge, so he staggered over and caught it before it could.

Clearing his throat, he lifted it to a perked, furry ear and hit the button. "Gary speaking," he croaked.

"Hello, Gary, it's Baja here!" came the inappropriately cheerful response. Gary winced; the office phone was loud, and having a jubilant young lady's voice blared into his ear was not his ideal wake-up call. "Did I wake you?"

"No, I just got up." Gary cleared his throat again. "I didn't think you'd be in so early, Baja! What's up?"

The vixen chuckled. "Oh, no, I'm at home. I was on my way to open up when Randy called me. Something's happened with the wiring at the office and the power's out. He asked me to call and tell everyone they could either just telecommute or take the day off."

Gary had to bite back a curse. "Oh. Well... alright."

"Randy says to give him a call if you want to telecommute. The server is still available." Baja sighed. "I've got another six people to call, all of them are probably not going to be too pleased..."

"Oh, don't worry about it." Gary sniggered. "They should be up by now. It takes an epoch and a half to get to work with the roads this icy."

"True! Okay, Gary, I'll see you later, okay hun?"

Gary smiled at the endearment. "Sure will. Thanks, Baja. I hope you're not doing this for free."

"Oh, believe me, I'm not. Have a good morning!"

"You too." And with that, Gary hung up. "Fuuuuck."

Well, the decision was made for him.

The cheetah growled to himself and made for the shower.

To hell with this, he was going to the gym. He had to get outside, get some interaction. No matter how freezing it was out there!

The doorbell jingled lightly, and Czejak looked up from his monitor, gazing out the window.

The sun was as yet barely up. Who would be calling in on him at seven in the morning?

Groaning with effort, Czejak hauled himself to his paws and ambled towards the door. He was already dressed in his favorite comfortable shirt, sweater and pants combination, but the lack of shoes made him feel a little awkward.

Regardless, he answered the door, tugging the ornate, polished wood aside.

A grinning lapin stood there, holding a large bottle of champagne and a small basket.

"Karen!" exclaimed Czejak, a genuine smile blossoming on his muzzle. "How are you?"

"Fantastic!" the lapin responded exuberantly. "I just finished my finals, and I thought I'd stop by to give you this."

Bemused, Czejak reached out and took the basket and bottle. "Oh, my. Thank you very much, Karen."

"I owe you, Andrei." Karen shrugged. "Aaand I always see you giving, never getting. I thought it was about time I changed that."

"Is this a goodbye present?" Czejak asked sadly.

But Karen shook her head, her long ears dancing. "Absolutely not. Just a present. A plain old present. I'll be right back as soon as I can."

"Thank goodness. I don't think I could find anybody else who'd tolerate my foibles as you do." Czejak motioned at his house. "Are you on your way somewhere else? I could probably get a few coffees ready."

"No, no." Karen sighed. "Thanks for the offer, but I have to meet my boyfriend for breakfast. He's just finished nightshift at the hospital."

"No problem. Thank you, Karen. For everything." Czejak smiled broadly, almost moved to tears.

"Don't mention it, doc!" With a chortle, the lapin started to back away. "I'll see you soon. Don't you work yourself into an early grave in the meantime. Have a happy Thanksgiving!"

"You too! See you soon, Karen." Sighing, Czejak shut the door and turned back to his study. He carried the presents over to the desk and placed them by the keyboard, taking his seat once more.

It was astounding just how much Karen did for him. Now that she was indisposed, the coyote realized how much nonsense she had to deal with to spare him the distractions.

Yet she was the one bringing him thank you presents. That was absurd.

Czejak made a mental note to return the favor. His secretary was the most fantastic lady on the planet.

The coyote glanced upwards and saw his monitor once more.

And the visage upon it immediately dispelled every ounce of good feeling from him.

It was a cheetah, but it wasn't a face he recognized.

Agate-hard eyes belied the smile, and thick black 'tears' streaked his muzzle in a manner almost ominous. Menacing.

It was a thick, heavy face, with rough-hewn, pronounced features despite its seemingly normal expression. There was no evidence of the slender delicateness that typified most cheetahs.

Even though it was unnecessary, Czejak clicked to bring up Gary's portrait, the same picture he had first shown Nick.

The faces weren't remotely similar. Not even slightly, not as far as he could see.

Czejak sighed. What did that mean? Why had Nick been so sure of a similarity?

... Was he just lying to get the experiment cut short? Czejak couldn't make himself believe that. The sincerity in the boy's voice was all too clear.

Besides even that, if Nick didn't want to stay, he would've taken the chance and gone with the furs that attacked him. Unless he was afraid of them.

No. It still wasn't even that. Despite it all, Nick asked to stay several times, even that very morning.

Nick was telling the truth, and the truth was that the terrifying face Czejak was looking at right that moment on his screen still haunted the boy's dreams. And when Nick remembered that face, it wasn't smiling, falsely or otherwise.

The coyote sighed and turned to the little basket he had just been given.

A brilliant idea had come to him that morning: to see if Nick's father had cleaned himself up and perhaps would've taken his son back, at least for awhile.

But he was dead. Died before Czejak had even met Nick. Died from alcohol poisoning... on November twenty-third. Two years ago.

Nobody would ever know, but Czejak got the feeling the feline alcoholic had been drinking to forget the significance of that date.

The primary abuser was the mother, so Czejak ruled her out immediately. That was fine though, since the monstrous bitch had moved to Miami six weeks after her son was removed. She didn't care.

It was highly unlikely any of Nick's previous families wanted him, and he certainly didn't want them or any new placements.

Until Czejak could change his mind, the only one who Nick might want to be with would be the same one that, as far as Nick was concerned, tossed him uncaringly back to the hellhole he was desperate to escape from.

He was so desperate that he was willing to give his body to Gary with nothing else in return but the chance to stay off the streets, and out of the place where he had been locked up for over a year. Czejak wasn't exactly sure what element of that was the most disturbing.

A quiet voice asked him whether what he was still sure he was doing was the right thing.

But Czejak ignored it, at least for the moment.

Because he didn't know what the right thing to do at this point was. But he was damn sure what the wrong thing to do was.

The wrong thing to do was to do absolutely nothing.

Sighing, the coyote shut off his monitor and pulled a heavy folder across from the side of the desk, picking up a pen as he did so.

Paperwork, his cruel and uncaring master, called yet again.

As for the basket, he would save the surprise of what it contained for later when he really, really needed cheering up.

Break time was over.

A staff member had ordered Nick out of his room, and now he stood in line with six other boys, staring at the toes of his new shoes.

Already they had some serious scuff marks on them. The gravel pit they called the exercise yard had taken its toll already. Thankfully, the morning's activities weren't too strenuous. That was saved for the nightly drills which were reserved for the level ones, twos and orange shirts.

A nightly reminder of their place before bed.

Some of his group was familiar, some were new. The groups were shuffled around at times, but there were newcomers this time - including the wolf teenager Nick had shared a few precious words with the previous night.

They all stood in a line outside the group room, which was one of several reasonably sized rooms down the corridor from the seclusion cell. One of the burly guards - a densely muscled liger or something, Nick wasn't sure - watched them from the side, as if he were a military officer surveying his unit, waiting for the counselor to let the group in.

No talking was allowed. No movement. Nothing. Break time was over.

Not that this meant anything to Nick. The orange t-shirt he wore meant he wasn't allowed to say anything, at any time, unless directly addressed by a staff member.

The wolf beside him was breathing audibly, likely unsure what to expect, but cowed into obedience. They had told him to stand there, wait and stay quiet. Whether he would've been so docile back home was irrelevant - here, he knew better already.

Even Nick had eventually learned to toe the line. Little things like this, there was no point fighting over them. At least most of the time.

Quickly, Nick glanced to his sides. Standing in a line, almost at attention, it was hard to see, but Nick was fairly sure he saw some boys in regular, drab street clothes.

Level fours.

He recognized them too. They had been in his group since he got here. A husky well over a foot taller than he, and a skinny-faced fink. Last time he had seen them, they had been in blue shirts.

Nick felt his stomach tighten unpleasantly. This was gonna suck. Big time.

Once again, he resolved to stay quiet. That was the best way to cope. Every time he revealed anything about himself, they destroyed him for it. Everyone, even the other boys. That was what these sessions were about. Everyone ripped everyone else apart.

So it was better to say nothing. Give them no target. If joining in was what needed to be done to get out of his fucking orange shirt, Nick didn't care. He'd wear it forever then.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted an adult approaching. A staff member.

His stomach tightened even more. It was the deceptively moon-faced Mister Wadlow, clutching a clipboard. Evidently, he was taking their group now.

At an unspoken signal, Wadlow led the way into the room and the line of teenagers followed, with Nick and the liger guard bringing up the rear.

In a half circle sat their chairs, simple, plastic school chairs, and the boys shuffled to the chair relative to their position in line outside - the first teen took the farthest chair, and Nick sat down on the first. Wadlow walked to the front where a single chair stood apart, and the guard stood at the door. Watching.

"Good morning, boys," Wadlow said softly, opening his clipboard idly.

Without a spark of enthusiasm, the entire group mumbled their response. Even Nick, though his was even more of an incoherent mumble. "Good morning, sir."

The opossum sighed and looked over at them. "Let's get this over with. As you noticed I'm sure, we have one new member of the group, and an old hand is back with us now." There was a pause, and Wadlow's eyes bored into Nick's, even as the slouching kit tried to avoid his gaze. "Nick was away with a foster family for a few weeks, but they sent him back here. Would you like to tell the group why they did that, Nick?"

The cheetah felt his stomach utterly upend like an hourglass being reset. He didn't expect them to start with that. Keeping his eyes and ears down, he shook his head.

"Nick." The voice had turned commanding and cold. "Tell us why you were sent back here."

Nick froze, staring hard at the carpet. "... It was just for three weeks," he whispered at last, immediately wishing he hadn't spoken at all.

"Is that all?" Wadlow said insouciantly. "Really? Because we all know that you're lying, Nick. You could've stayed for longer. Are you going to tell us what really happened?"

Numbly, Nick shook his head.

Wadlow watched him for a few seconds. A chill seemed to wash through the room, and Nick felt every eye in the room on his downturned head. He was fairly sure not a single one of them was friendly.

"The group and I have been discussing you while you were away, Nick." The possum crossed his legs. "As I've only recently taken over this group, I wanted to know what they thought of you. Would you like to hear what they have to say?"

Nick shook his head again, feeling a hot wetness in the corner of his eyes.

"Daniel, you can go first."

The husky teen growled softly. "He's a little asshole," he declared, glaring at Nick malevolently. "He doesn't care about anyone but himself, and he's not even trying to cooperate with his program. He just blames everyone else for his problems."

Wadlow nodded. "Kim, you next."

A coyote teen of about fourteen leaned forward in his chair. "He's just a little spiteful shit. You can't act the way you do outside, Nick! I can't believe how fucking screwed up you are that you think you can behave like you do to us. It's bullshit that you get let off so easily for everything just because you're young! You're only a few years younger than me and you're such a dickhead!"

Nick closed his eyes, trying to block it out. Trying to protect himself with a shield of numbness. Holding on as best he could to what his counselor said - his real counselor.

A second later, another boy, a short-haired skunk, sat up. Eager to get his turn.

"I hate Nick," he spat, putting all his pent up venom into his words. "He's gotta realize that if he doesn't get himself together, he's gonna die once he gets out. I hate him because he thinks he can just ignore us when we're all trying to help him. It makes us look bad."

Wadlow shifted. "Alright, that's enough for now." The possum narrowed his eyes slightly. "On the recommendation of your group, I've told the rest of the staff to stop going easy on you, Nick. From today on, now that you're off the medication Doctor Thornton recommended for you, you'll be getting the full set of punishment exercises."

Nick only vaguely processed that.

One-hundred each time. Per rule he broke. Instead of just fifty.

He couldn't do that. It was impossible.

"We'll come back to you, Nick. Now that you know that we're not going easy on you anymore, sit there for a few minutes and think if you really, really don't want to tell us all why you were sent here again." Wadlow waited a moment, and then directed his harsh gaze at the wolf boy.

Garret let out a tremulous gasp. He had been watching Nick and his critics with a horrified expression and realized that now it was his turn.

"Our new member is Garret," said Wadlow, nodding at the wolf. "Before we begin, Garret, come here. Your parents sent an email for you."

Garret stood unsteadily and walked over to the possum, who simply held out a folded piece of paper. The wolf took it, but he was pointed back to his chair.

When the teen had returned to his seat, Wadlow smiled coldly. "Read it out to the group, please."

Unfolding the paper, Garret started to read. Nick tried to ignore him. Ignore everything.

But when the teen spoke, it was in a tone so scared he couldn't blot it out.

"'G-Garret...'" whispered the wolf, clutching the paper with shaking paws. "'W-we are tired of your behavior. Y-you don't show any respect to us... or our b-beliefs. We are e-entirely committed to seeing you go through the program. It won't be easy, but we know you c-can do it... I-if you don't...'" He trailed off.

Wadlow tapped his clipboard. "There's more, Garret. Finish reading."

The wolf sobbed. "'If you don't, we don't want you back home.'" He sniffed loudly. "Th-this can't be right... mom wouldn't-! I've never been in trouble with the police or anything! I-I didn't do anything to deserve this!"

"Is that true?" demanded Wadlow. "Because your parents told us differently. I'm giving you a chance to own up, Garret."

Garret looked at him, lost.

Wadlow looked down at his clipboard. "Your parents said on your application form that you are disrespectful, selfish, have done drugs, truanted school, argued with teachers and started missing out on church."

The wolf quailed. "N-no... I only smoked m-marijuana a few times, and I don't believe in God..."

Wadlow scowled. "Really? And it isn't your decision whether or not to go to church, Garret. You're just a foolish boy, worrying your parents sick because they're concerned about you. You go where they tell you, and be grateful for the roof they put over your head. And what do you know about God?" The possum looked down at the clipboard again. "And worst of all, you lied to a school counselor that your step-father used to 'abuse' you."

Now Garret absolutely blanched. "I w-wasn't lying..." he whined.

Wadlow sighed angrily. "Garret, I cannot tell you how often I've heard this nonsense. Selfish, spiteful little shits like you threatening to go running to the police and get their parents thrown in jail if they so much as touch them, or don't let them do what they want." The possum's voice got louder. "How dare you think that you can get away with this here? You're just another little selfish child that refuses his father's correction, inventing lies and exaggerations, running to the police to get your way. Your step-father steps in to take care of you- he's even paying for this program- and you're still trying to spread false accusations and worse!"

Garret had huddled up, collapsed in on himself. Afraid. "I swear! He hit me with a s-stick... a thing..."

But Wadlow just narrowed his eyes some more. "So? Let's say I believe you, the drug-taking, school skipping, disrespectful child, over your grown father." He paused. "Are you going to tell me that you never once deserved it? Don't your parents deserve for you to stop making them sick with worry? For your disrespectful behavior to stop? You might think about them, and what you put them through, before you tell me they were wrong to discipline you."

Garret was staring at the adult openmouthed. In abject shock and dismay, his eyes watering. "I..."

"You say you don't deserve to be here. Not only do you deserve to be here, Garret, but your parents deserve for you to be here. Don't you think that they deserve some peace and quiet without you disrupting their lives and scaring them with your idiotic experimentation with drugs and crime?" Wadlow sat back, calming down a little. Nick realized that the possum counselor really, truly enjoyed his work. "You have issues to work on, Garret. Issues with accepting responsibility, issues with authority, and issues with understanding consequences. You're going to be here until they're worked out." The possum looked around. "Does anyone want to tell Garret what they think of his story?"

Paws shot into the air, and Nick closed his eyes.

He wasn't going to listen. He certainly wasn't going to contribute. Once more he tried to wrap himself in that numbness, that uncaring dissociation he had once been so used to. He had used it to survive four years ago, and it served him well during these sessions. Usually.

For over ten minutes, the other teens weighed in on Garret's tale. Not a single one of them was supportive.

They couldn't be. They were told not to be.

Garret was sobbing aloud by the time they finished, crushing the scrunched up remnants of his printed email in his paws as he wrung them repeatedly. For over ten minutes, he had been called many things, torn apart mercilessly.

Attacked and ridiculed on a level he'd probably never experienced before, the destroyed teenager wilted in his chair.

Wadlow's beady eyes fell again on Nick.

"I hope you've been thinking about what we told you, Nick."

The kit didn't respond.

"I told you earlier that I thought you'd made some good improvements, Nick." Wadlow laid his clipboard down on his legs. "If you share what happened with the group, it would go a long way towards getting you back to level one. Or you can keep acting like a brat, and we'll treat you like one."

Nick bit his lip momentarily. It would do no good, no matter what he said. If he said anything, they'd twist it around on him. His pulse started to race; he could feel it in his neck.

"... It was just for three weeks," he tried weakly. "I wasn't s'posed to stay longer."

There was a brief silence. Wadlow sighed. "Does anyone want to tell Nick what they think of that story?" he asked then.

Oh fuck.

Five paws shot into the air.

Wadlow nodded approvingly. "Kim."

The coyote teen looked sharply at Nick, his eyes narrowing. "You're a liar," he said. "You could've stayed for longer, but I'll bet anything that you were just such an asshole that they wanted rid of you. You got, like, six different families and they all got rid of you. What's the common element, huh? You."

Nick's muzzle went desert dry, and he kept his eyes affixed on the carpet just in front of him between his knees.

Daniel, the husky, went next. "You're always making excuses and blaming others, Nick." His voice was angry, accusatory. "I bet that next you're gonna say that your parents were 'just assholes' or something. It was their fault, they just didn't want you. Not that you were such a jerk that they couldn't handle you."

Nick scrunched his eyes tightly.

But Daniel continued. "The way you act just screams out 'get rid of me!' and 'I'm a little shit!' It's no wonder one of your foster parents got pissed off and tried to fix your behavior. You fuckin' deserved all of it."

The cheetah couldn't stop a choked sob from breaking out of his throat.

They didn't know! They didn't really know what the guy did to him, not all of it. But he couldn't tell them. It wouldn't matter anyway.

Another teen, a short-furred ferret called Jacob, started next. He was another that Nick remembered from previous sessions. He was eloquent and intelligent... and vicious.

"Yeah, you keep saying you got abused. Yeah right. You're a liar, you steal, you manipulate and you're just a fuckin' psycho!" The ferret shook his head. "You're askin' for someone to 'abuse' you. You deserve it! You deserve it more than I did! You should hurry up and admit it like I did. Then maybe you can get a family to take you home when you finally finish your program."

"I don't wanna go to a family!" Nick blurted, almost incoherently. "Fuck you."

Wadlow snapped at him immediately. "Be quiet, Nick, it isn't your turn! Shut up and listen for once."

But Nick shook his head.

They were wrong. They were assholes. He just wanted them to stop and leave him alone!

... His own doubts were already clawing furiously at his mind, and he had nobody but Czejak to help him with them.

It was his fault Gary sent him back. That hurt enough already! He'd been trying; he did the best he fucking could!!

"You need to learn to be responsible," Wadlow declared from the front of the room. "You keep acting out and blaming it on everyone else, Nick, and you'll find yourself in jail for the rest of your life. We're trying to help you learn to be a good person." He glanced over at Garret, smiling slightly. "You see, Garret? Nick here is a thief, a drug-addict, an alcoholic and a violent criminal who ran away from home before he turned nine. He blames everyone aside from himself for the consequences. Do you really think his parents weren't justified in taking extreme measures to rein him in? You might want to think about that."

But Garret was still staring in shock at the floor, the scrunched up email held loose.

"I'm not a violent criminal..." Nick whined softly. "I didn't hurt anybody..."

"Nick, speak out of turn again and you've got PEs." Wadlow picked up his clipboard again, but kept a steady stare leveled at the cheetah. "Stop lying, to us and yourself. That's enough about you for now. You know what to say, Nick. Say it."

The kit belatedly realized he was hyperventilating. Suddenly, Gary's voice sounded hollowly in his mind. "I-"

"Nick."

"I'm a delinquent..." moaned Nick at last, collapsing in on himself like a falling building. "A-an' I need help. Shit!"

"Next time, try it without the curse." Satisfied, Wadlow shifted his piercing gaze to another of the boys, who immediately shrank back.

Whatever the counselor said next was lost to Nick. A shrill ringing sound had started in his ears and slowly intensified. His eyes started to sting, everything got sharply brighter.

He froze in place, shutting his eyes tight as his breathing picked up even more. Getting faster and harder, yet higher and higher in his chest and he couldn't hold it for even a second.

The flush that had crept throughout his body got hotter while his abdomen tensed uncomfortably.

A primitive instinct urged him to hold still. To try and stay unnoticed.

Wadlow continued talking, but Nick could barely understand it. He pinned his ears down and shut his eyes, but the resultant feeling of suffocation made everything worse.

"You've done well, Aaron," the possum counselor was praising one of the level ones. "It's encouraging to see you make an effort to better yourself. I still remember when you came here over two months ago now."

Nick shifted in his chair, unable to help himself. His shoulders heaved with almost every breath.

"I'm very happy to see your - Nick, will you fucking stop that!"

The cheetah started violently, every muscle in his body snapping taut. He didn't dare look up.

"I've had enough of your pointless dramatics!" the possum snarled. "We're not going to let you manipulate us. Sit there and shut up, or I'll have you dragged to seclusion by your fucking ear!!"

But Nick's breathing got yet more ragged. He pinched his eyes shut tighter and pulled himself inwards. Making himself as small as possible. He didn't know what to do, what to say. So he did nothing.

"Nick, do you hear me!?" The counselor put his clipboard down. "Do you think I'm joking? Nick, look at me!"

... Don't move, a tiny voice echoed in Nick's frozen mind. Don't move!

With a loud curse, the possum got to his feet. "I said, look at me!"

Nick spotted the movement at the top of his blurry vision. "Don't!" he screamed, pushing backwards. He slipped awkwardly off the side of the chair and tripped, falling to his backside.

Immediately, the panicking kit scrambled away a few feet then curled up.

Wadlow swore and stalked right over to the boy. "Do you think this is going to work, Nick?!" he demanded, hovering just above the distressed cheetah. "What the hell are you doing? Stand up!"

Yet Nick didn't hear him. He just cried and gasped, contending with his out-of-control breathing.

"H-he's not faking!" Garret protested, distraught himself. "Holy shit! Can't you tell that?!"

"Shut up, Garret!"

"It's a panic attack!! He can't help it, shouting at him just-"

"Last. Warning." Wadlow's voice had suddenly turned icy. With a sigh of disgust, he motioned at the guard, then turned to sit down again.

Nick's screams and sobs only got louder when the liger took hold of him. The entire group watched, eyes wide, as the unresisting boy was picked up and pushed out of the room.

Their masks of outward obedience and antipathy penetrated all but briefly.

No matter what they would say later or what showed on their face, it would stay with them all for the rest of their lives.

Time neither crawled nor flew. In the seclusion room, it all but ceased to exist. That was what made it so disturbing.

Nick was almost sure he was going to die. The 'panic attack' or whatever it was called had been the worst he'd ever experienced, even beating out the ones he'd had at Gary's house, and being forced into the lightless cell made it all the worse.

It eventually calmed down, as usual, leaving him weak all over and with yet another headache.

So he lay on his side again, alone in the inhospitable seclusion room. Trying to regain his energy.

Trying not to think about the possibility they'd just leave him there all night.

He had to get out. His room was cramped, but it didn't suffocate him like this place. If he didn't get out, he was very sure he felt another attack coming already...

He jumped and scooted away from the door when it suddenly rattled, the thick deadbolts being undone. It swung open.

Nick blinked in bewilderment.

It was the ferret asshole - the psychiatrist, the one who injected him right in the ass with that stuff...

Oh, shit!!

But as he drew away even more, his eyes wide with dismay, Thornton only looked at him sadly.

"That's not why I'm here, Nick..." he said in a thin, reedy voice. "I'm letting you out."

Nick stared.

Doctor Thornton looked around and slipped inside the cell, shutting the door gently. Almost immediately Nick felt wary again.

Why would the ferret be doing that? Shutting them both together alone in the tiny room?!

"I told them it wasn't your fault." The psychiatrist smiled weakly, but avoided the kit's fearful eyes. "Sometimes, I can't believe this place. Not recognizing an anxiety attack... Can you believe that fool used to be a scoutmaster?"

"What?" murmured Nick, charily.

But Thornton leaned against the door, a strange, haunted look in his face. "I have to talk to you, Nick. I... I owe you an apology." He wiped nervously at his muzzle. "I could've gone my entire life and never said anything. To anyone. I-"

The kit scooted into the corner of the carpeted, featureless cell, watching the intruder carefully. This didn't make any sense.

At last, the psychiatrist sighed. "Oh, fucking hell," he moaned softly. "I'm sorry. What I did to you was... Thank God we stopped before things got worse. Aloraprozine takes a week or two to reach full efficacy. You didn't deserve that, Nick. Neither did she."

Somehow, Nick knew exactly who he meant. He felt his heart plummet to the very bottom of his belly. "E-Evie?"

Thornton nodded, an anguished grimace on his features. "Yes, Evelyn. I know, I saw you both talking. You were friends, weren't you? I never said anything." He paused. "Her parents barely cared... If there's one person who deserves to know what happened to her, it's you."

Nick gulped painfully. "What happened...?"

The ferret nodded some more. "I- She got distressed during a group session. Just as you did today. Lashed out at everyone. They took her to her room, told me to give her something to calm her down, make her controllable. It wasn't like what they wanted to do to you, Nick; it was supposed to be just once..."

For a second, Thornton stopped. It seemed to Nick as though the grownup had spaced out. But after a moment, he let out an explosive sigh.

"I never knew she was asthmatic!" he whispered hoarsely. "I checked. I swear, I checked her records. Aloraprozine triggers asthma attacks, I know that. I fucking checked!" Then he tensed, and his voice cracked. "The stupid bastards! They ignored her! You never deny a child their rescue inhaler! The incompetent bastards!"

The sheer fury infusing that last word made Nick flinch.

Thornton looked at him finally. "I knew you weren't, Nick," he said quietly. "I knew you weren't in danger. I said I wasn't going to do it ever again, to anyone here, not without good reason, but I thought with you... I told myself it would help you. I was pretty sure you had anxiety problems." His expression became beseeching, pleading. "You never had any when you were on it, did you?"

Nick just stared at him. "I hated it," he said flatly. "Fuck you."

Thornton swallowed hard. "I had no right or reason to do what I did to you. I could've gone my entire life, not giving a damn about what I was doing, telling myself I was somehow helping troubled kids but... Th-that... It changes things. It changes how you look at everything. I don't expect you to understand."

The kit's eyes narrowed fiercely, and he felt a hot flash of hatred. It burned hot enough that it seared straight through the miserable torpor he'd been in ever since Gary had sent him back. Since that numbing drug had flooded his veins for the first time and he realized how hopeless everything was.

It was like an old friend. Anger had caused Nick many problems, but feeling anything was better than feeling nothing. It gave him a focus, something to care about.

And right now he really felt like focusing on hating the ferret standing scarcely six feet from him.

Yet Thornton recognized the expression on the child's face and sighed. "You hate me," he muttered. "Naturally. I don't blame you. Come on. You can go back to your room, and get ready."

Nick hissed and looked away. "Ready for what?" he demanded truculently.

"You're on holes until the evening drills. I've bought you some time to recover, but at four-thirty you have to report to the sandpit. So let's get moving."

Nick took a deep, furious breath through his nose. "I hope you die."

"... I know."

*

November 25th

"Oh, caramel delights, you complete me so..."

With that, another chocolate bon-bon disappeared down a coyote's mouth.

Its passing was only mourned in the sense that this meant there was one less to enjoy later.

Czejak chuckled happily, reclining on his bed comfortably and picking his book up again. It was one of his old favorites from his youth, and it made perfect sense to lie down with it and the excellent chocolates his secretary had bought for him.

It was the coyote's one day off this week. He had seen six different young furs in the last three days, but today, Rachelle Ewing had called him early and informed him she was as sick as she'd ever been in her life. The fifteen-year-old skink asked to chat on the phone instead, and her counselor obliged.

Seemed like she was going alright, and that made Czejak a happy guy. She was a good kid, really, and her current family seemed to be just perfect for her. Heck, she said she was even getting into netball thanks to her foster father, a coach at a local sports club.

So Czejak ploughed through the relevant paperwork and finally opened that basket.

Now he was a really happy guy.

His bedside phone started to ring chirpily and he groaned, reaching over for it. He plucked the wireless handset off its stand and brought it to his ear in one smooth movement.

"Hello?" he mumbled, pressing another chocolate into his muzzle.

"Hi, is this, uh, Doctor Andrei Czejak?" The caller was a woman, and the voice was not one Czejak recognized.

He frowned. "It is indeed! May I ask who is calling?"

"My name is Maria Launceston, from the Illinois Child Protection Agency, Chicago office. I'm sorry to bother you, but there's a very unusual situation here and someone has asked for you specifically."

Czejak blinked. "Oh? What's the situation?"

The lady paused. "We... we have a boy here that has specifically requested to meet with you. We'd really appreciate your help."

"Alright..." Czejak murmured, bemused. "Is he at the agency building right now?"

"Not exactly, no. He's been coming to the street outside the building for over a week now, and he won't come in. I've had to speak to him out on the street; he's definitely afraid. But he says he wants to talk to an Andrei Czejak, and we're pretty sure he means you."

The coyote sat upright, crossing his stiffened legs. "What's his name? Is he one of mine?"

"No. No, he isn't assigned to any caseworker. We had to run a search on the Runaway & Missing Persons Database. He's been on the streets a very long time."

Czejak frowned. "Now that is odd."

"He's a cloudy-leopard, fourteen-years-old. His name is Chase. Sound familiar at all?"

"... It does. I'll be there as soon as possible."

The bar was quiet and warm, with varnished wood surfaces that gave it an almost homey touch. A popular look in this small town.

Gary bit his lip in concentration as he turned away from the service area, two tall pints of foamy lager in his paws. He navigated his way back to the small corner table where Jared was waiting, frowning at his phone.

Placing the glasses down, Gary took a moment to observe the distracted serval.

Wearing a sleek, gray t-shirt with an almost satin-like sheen and simple black pants, Jared looked quite snazzy. Thankfully, Gary had the sense to dress up a little too. Conscientiously, he adjusted his white shirt's collar and sat down.

"Tsk, dammit, mom..." Jared mumbled, shaking his head and putting his phone away. "Sorry about that."

"No problem!" Gary grinned. "Was she just checking up on you?"

"Exactly. She's worried about the roads in this weather." The serval shrugged. "I'm sorry about cancelling yesterday."

The cheetah made a dismissive face. "Nah, don't worry about it. It's better to go early, in my opinion."

Jared nodded. "Oh yeah. Beat the ass-hats here and not get stuck in traffic on frozen roads."

"Did we ever find out what actually happened to the power in the office?" Gary raised his pint and took a sip.

"Yeah, Randy mentioned it online. I don't remember exactly, but he said it'll be a few days before it'll be habitable again." The serval shuddered. "Man, I do not want to be in there without the heating."

"Heck no." Gary paused thoughtfully. "So we won't be back until after the Thanksgiving break?"

"Nope, and that suits me fine."

"Me too."

Jared eyed him speculatively. "You have anywhere to be on Thanksgiving tomorrow?" he asked.

"Not really." The cheetah smiled wryly. "I don't have any family."

"Oh."

They both raised their pints. Gary kept his eyes averted even after they replaced the glasses on the table.

Way to sound pathetic, he reprimanded himself.

"... Me neither," declared Jared abruptly, looking directly at his bright golden beer. "My mom and sister are on the other side of the country. I can't afford to see her this year."

Gary blinked. "Oh... so you live alone?"

The serval nodded, looking a little shy. "Yeah, I, uh, moved here with my dad about ten years ago when my parents split. He passed away and left me a mortgage to pay off."

"Ouch." Gary almost couldn't believe the coincidence.

"It's alright. It's a decent house." Jared grinned, dispelling his momentary embarrassment.

Yet there was still a hiatus, and Gary groaned internally.

It was obvious what both of them were silently asking, and somewhat humiliating that neither of them could seem to summon the courage.

"This is a nice place," Jared tried. "Do you come here a lot?"

"Not really. I need to come more often though, they have fantastic food."

Jared licked his muzzle very quickly, concealing it by lifting his pint again. When he put it down he looked nervously over at the cheetah. "So what, uh, kind of places do you normally visit?"

"Oh, bars, yeah. I just don't get out much."

Jared nodded. "So, no clubs or anything? I thought you would, you know."

Gary blinked, then fixed the younger feline with an amused stare. "Why, what kinds of clubs d'ya think I should be visiting?"

The serval's ears twitched as he fought the instinct to flatten them. "Oh, no, I was just wondering if, uh, there was anywhere else around here that you knew... was good. You know?"

Gary chortled, taking another sip from his beer. It wasn't bad at all. A crisp, full-bodied lager. After a suitable pause, he looked at his friend again. "Nah. I didn't even know there were any clubs here. You know of any?"

"No, no, not really." Jared smiled, taking a long draught of his own. "I don't really go anywhere either."

For some reason, Gary doubted that. The younger serval's dress sense and appearance was simply too sharp for him to be a homebody. Too stylish. Too conscientious.

"I really am not looking forward to tomorrow night," muttered Jared, shaking his head. "Every year, the neighbors have the most obnoxious party. The fireworks don't stop until midnight."

"Damn, really? Where do you live? The council lets them do that?"

Jared nodded. "Yeah, and nobody bothers to file a complaint. It's Thanksgiving, everybody's up at midnight." The serval shrugged. "Maybe I'm just bitter."

"You never struck me as the bitter kind, man," Gary contradicted. "I think I'd be pretty pissed off if my neighbors sent firecrackers into the sky right above my house when I'm trying to get some productive wallowing in self pity done."

The serval laughed brightly and Gary grinned so hugely he thought his muzzle would split.

"Nah, I just end up doing my usual," the serval chuckled, "play a few video games, get a little annoyed because every place in this town is closed so we can devote an entire day to scoffing flightless birds. Just the usual."

"Tasty flightless birds, to be fair."

"That's right. No argument there."

The conversation started to meander from there, and another two beers each were brought back from the bar. Other patrons came and went, but the two felines continued their rambling conversation for well over an hour.

In that time, Gary was surprised to discover they had much more in common than he initially thought. Games, movies... drinks. Even politics, which was a subject Gary had viewed with a certain dread at first. The wrong stance on a trivial issue could be the death of a friendship before it even began, in Gary's experience.

At last, Gary finished his third beer and shook his head. "Whoa, far too fast," he chastised himself, looking over the three empty pints. "I've got to drive home, too."

Jared chortled and raised his glass. He still had half to go. "You sure can put 'em away."

"Practice." Gary grinned at the serval, noting his ears had gone slightly pink on the inside. "I try to keep away from the beer though."

"Yeah, I don't usually touch it either." Tilting the glass back, Jared drained about a third of the remaining liquid. "Like it, but not much point in workin' out through the week if you're just going to undo it all at the weekend. Hard spirits are far more efficient!"

"Oh, drink a lot when you go out, do you?" Gary probed.

"Yeah." The serval froze for a moment. Realizing his blunder. Gary acted like he hadn't noticed. After a minute, Jared drummed his fingers on the table. "So, uh... can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"You said on Monday you had a big decision to make." Jared scratched his head. "I mean... you don't have to tell me, I was just wondering. Are you thinking of taking that kid back?"

Gary started. "I- Uh. Yeah, I'm thinking about it."

The serval smiled slightly. "I thought so."

"A-at least I think I will, you know?" For a moment, Gary found himself staring at the warped reflection in his pint glass. "It's not gonna be easy."

"He a bit of a handful?"

"To say the least." Gary straightened slightly. "Well. That's not true. He wasn't that bad, really. The problem is, you know, looking ahead."

"Like, school and all that?"

"Yeah. I don't think that's gonna happen." Gary sighed. "I liked the kid a lot. But three weeks of vacation time spent with him is not the same as ten years of... just... bullshit. I can't jump into this."

"No, of course not."

"But I can't leave him where he is..." The cheetah shook his head, aware he was getting tipsy. "Maybe, I dunno, doing the right thing makes up for all the crap I'm getting myself into."

An obese tanuki squeezed past their table and Jared shifted in a little to let her pass.

"I get you," he mumbled, his eyes sad. "But you'll never be alone on Thanksgiving again, right?"

Gary gave a wan half-smile. "That's a plus, assuming he doesn't run away."

"Didn't you guys get along?"

"We did, until I sent him back... and like I said, everything was kinda simple. I had three weeks to do nothing but win him over."

"So... why did you...?"

"Because I'm an idiot." Gary bit his lip gently. "Because I'm stupid, and I didn't realize what I was doing. I just hope he'll forgive me."

"I'm sure you had a good reason. You can make it up to the little dude."

"I sure hope so."

Jared lifted his beer and finished it. "It's a good thing I can't adopt," he said softly. "I'd never know what to do."

It slipped out before Gary could catch it. "Yeah you can."

The serval froze for a second. "O-oh, I mean, I don't want to, not that... I'd make a bad parent, I mean."

"It's legal here, especially if you have a partner."

A mortified expression snuck onto Jared's face. He laughed sheepishly. "... Is it really so obvious?"

"No." Gary couldn't help it. He broke into a wide, toothy grin of relief and amazement. "I wasn't sure until now."

The insides of Jared's ears turned red. "So. Uh..."

Gary just nodded curtly. Then he grew curious. "Did you know?"

"I- Well, sort of." Jared looked away coyly. "Look. Uh, are you dead-set on that whole 'wallowing in self-pity' idea for tomorrow? Because I think we should do something."

Butterflies had started flocking deep in Gary's belly, and the cheetah suddenly felt like an awkward child asking out his first date. "Yeah. I think that's a great idea."

"It'll give me a chance to meet this kit, huh?"

Gary snickered. "Not likely. Even if I decide to take him back, I won't have him back by tomorrow; and besides, he'd need plenty of warning if I plan to bring a guest around and sit him at the table."

"Where is he now? Juvie or something?"

"No... Not exactly."

Despite his best effort, hurling it downwards with as much force as he could muster, the blunt-tipped shovel barely penetrated the frozen dirt.

Nick hissed in frustration, stomping the bit into the ground with a shod paw.

'Holes' was one of the most annoying activities, especially in the cold. Deliberate busywork to sap their strength and annoy the hell out of the lower level kids. But there was a lot worse they could do; Nick couldn't help but be a little relieved to hear he wasn't going to be punished for his freak out in the group development room.

It was little consolation though. He was outside in the creeping chill, clad in only tracksuit pants, socks, shoes, a t-shirt and a hoodless sweater of gray cotton, while delicate particulates of snow drifted from the sky like a lazy dust storm.

The grayish dirt was almost rock-solid, and with every bite of the shovel Nick heard the crunching of ice.

For the rest of the year, the dirt was hideously soft and difficult to move, the holes filling in by themselves. It was fucking annoying.

Because that was all they had to do: dig holes.

Holes as deep as they were tall. They had to be able to stand in them up to their shoulders. When they finished one, they had to dig another. And another. There was no set limit to how many, they just had to dig and dig until they were told to stop digging and start filling the holes back in. Nick hated it, and the assholes had made sure to give it to him two days in a row.

With a deep sigh the kit paused to lean on his overly large shovel and looked around.

The Hole-Pit was a small dirt field at the rear of the grounds, about the size of the refectory. From here, Nick could see the perimeter fence, and, beyond it, a field of dreary grass and the dark, forbidding pine forest in the distance. He had always wondered if it'd be possible to escape once they got to the forest. As far as he knew, nobody had ever tried - they all headed in the direction of the roads, and never made it.

According to rumor, no escape from Wilder Springs had ever been successful. The staff had cars, and were willing to do what seemed to be anything to prevent escape. Each failed attempt only resulted in harsh punishments and increased security. The hole the would-be escapee used would be plugged.

The perimeter fence was very high. Nick supposed it was about as tall as three tall grownups standing on one another's shoulders, maybe more. Along the top, vicious razor-wire curled neatly along its length, draping slightly inwards. With the links in the fence so tightly woven, it was obvious at a glance that not even the most desperate teenager would make it over.

Nick looked around the field. He wasn't alone.

The wolf-boy was there too. Clearly still shaken, he set about his task with a kind of distracted lethargy that Nick knew would get him yelled at or restrained or worse.

There was also the new leopard guard, the one that seemed to be less of an asshole than the others. He stood off to the side, clad in a thick jacket and supervising them with a blank expression. If it had been any other staff member, Nick wouldn't have dared to look up from his 'assignment.' Especially not through the fence.

If a staff member thought for a second that someone was thinking of running away, or planning an escape attempt, they'd come crashing down on the supposed miscreant like an avalanche of bricks. Nick had seen something as innocuous as glancing out a window for too long be classified as planning an escape attempt. Even though they had windows in their room - those all faced inwards to the grounds though. Still, it made no sense to him.

Grunting, the cheetah hefted his shovel and started digging again.

What was the plan for today? Nick had already forgotten what day of the week it was. Would the guard insist they continue all the way until evening exercises?

That would fuckin' suck. He was already freezing.

Better than group, though. At least he would be more or less left alone out here. Maybe it would warm up as the day went on.

Nick's mind wandered as he worked, as always. Digging up the frosty earth was frustrating, and he tried to distract himself as much as possible. After a few minutes of silent contemplation, he settled on a numbers game. Randomly, he selected the number four as his starting point, and with each thump of the shovel on the dirt he doubled the figure in his head.

If he kept subtracting half the number every fourth time, how long would it take him to reach higher than the number of days he had left in this fuck-hole?

It made Nick smile - just a little - to remember how he got so good with numbers to begin with. Chris taught him how to quickly add numbers up... so he could count how much he'd stolen faster. Nick had found it fun, and since being incarcerated in the facility, it had brought him a lot of comfort and distraction.

Every time he put two numbers together, it equaled, to him at least, a tiny act of defiance. Using the skills he had learned during the time they wanted him to feel bad about and forget.

Soft footfalls in the dirt made him look up briefly. The lynx guard had approached the field, heading to the new guard. Nick quickly went back to his task.

The adults exchanged a few words and Nick heard the new guy curse quietly. They moved away slightly, still conversing, towards a metal shed near the fence. Whatever they were talking about, Nick guessed the kids weren't supposed to know.

He went back to his numbers and digging.

After awhile, he realized they were actually unsupervised. Blinking, he looked over at the shed. They had to be behind it.

The fuck?

Nick shrugged and continued. If they were lucky, it would be important and the guards would have to cut this short. In the meantime, Nick went back to his numbers again.

After a few minutes, though, he heard a quiet hiss.

The cheetah looked up and around, surprised. The sound came again, and he realized it was Garret, trying to get his attention.

"Hey, uh, Nick?" whispered the wolf.

Nick blinked. It was very rare for anyone to try and talk when they were doing these kinds of activities - it wasn't allowed. "What?" he hissed back. "They're right fuckin' there!"

"I know. I can see them from here. I'll tell you when they're coming back."

Nick pushed his shovel into the dirt again. "If they hear you, we're fucked."

"I-I just wanted to ask if you were okay."

The kit paused. "What do you care?"

"I just... this place is crazy." Garret's voice was shaking. "What they said was just such bullshit. I just wanted to see if you were okay."

Nick swore in irritation. Not so much at Garret, but at being reminded of the previous day's group session. "Fuck off," he mumbled, hefting a shovelful of dirt. "Leave me alone."

There was a stunned silence. Then Garret exhaled shakily. "Sorry for giving a shit, asshole!"

Almost immediately Nick regretted his words. "We can't talk, they're right there."

"I don't fucking belong here," Garret growled, "locked up with assholes like you, fucking faggot!"

The effect was immediate. Nick's brain shut down and his heart seemed to seize, then beat at twice its normal rate. He threw down his shovel and rounded on the bigger boy.

Garret flinched in surprise as Nick bore down on him. The report as the smaller cheetah's fist smacked him on the nose was like a snapping twig.

But the teen struck back, stepping away as Nick readied a second punch and throwing a haymaker of his own.

Cursing, the two boys started to swing at one another wildly, before Garret pushed the younger kit to the side and barreled into him aggressively, tackling the slender twelve-year-old to the cold dirt. Nick squirmed around to his back as blows continued to rain on his shoulders and torso, giving as good as he got. When Garret made the mistake of giving him a little space, he brought up a leg and kicked the teen off.

As they stood, Garret charged in again, using his height and weight to his advantage. In only a few seconds, he hefted Nick clear off the ground by his waist and threw him to the ground - hard. Immediately, the teenager pounced again, controlling and striking at Nick as best he could, but again the wiry cheetah squirmed to his feet and broke away with a forceful punch to the wolf's chest.

Inspired by his opponent, after a few more punches were thrown, Nick saw an opening and darted at the teen's legs. He drove in relentlessly, arms locked around Garret's knees, managing to bring the larger boy down with sheer surprise and determination.

It was at that point, struggling to hold down the stockier, older wolf, that Nick realized they weren't fighting.

By nature Nick wasn't a fighter, but he was accustomed to aggression from other youths and even had a halfway decent idea of how to fight back. His friends had taught him some truly nasty tricks. Yet he wasn't using any of them.

Still, Garret was bigger than he was, nearly a head taller at almost adult-height and thicker, and could probably overwhelm Nick in seconds despite the cheetah's better fitness. Instead, they were locked in a childish wrestling match, punching toothlessly at one another.

They weren't fighting.

But after only a few more seconds Nick felt a vice-like grip around his arm, and he was wrenched helplessly away from the teen he had managed to take down. He was pushed away, stumbling to his knees as Garret hastily got to his paws, alarm on his features.

The massive leopard stood between them.

"Don't even think about it!" he warned, growling. "What the hell are you guys doing?!"

For a second, the boys just glared back and forth from one another to the hulking adult, flustered.

"Fucking hell!" The guard's voice lowered to an angry snarl. "If Mister Hickman had seen you, he'd be carting at least one of you to fucking seclusion. What the hell was that about?"

Both boys froze up with no idea what to say. Intimidated and oddly shamed.

Nick planned to stay silent until the day he died if necessary, but, to his surprise, Garret spoke up.

"I-It was my fault..." he mumbled. "I said something stupid."

"That's not good enough." The adult eyed them both. "I know you're all under a lot of stress, but you can't go getting into fights like that. Garret, if any other staff member sees you like that, you're absolutely fucked. Do you understand me?"

Garret nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Nick, you should know better."

The cheetah kit stared at the hole he had just dug. They had almost fallen into it. "Go fuck yourself," he muttered bitterly.

"Uh-huh." The guard stared at him. "I see what they mean. You are mouthy."

Nick kept his eyes lowered.

"You're a pair of regular little scrappers though, aren't you?" The leopard sighed. "You did a number on each other. You've got to clean yourselves up; if anyone sees you like this, they'll know what happened."

Nick blinked. The guy was gonna cover for them?

"If I go get you guys a first aid kit, can I trust you to not start beating on each other again?" asked the adult, his eyes flicking from the wolf to the cheetah.

Garret nodded, but Nick continued to stare at the floor.

"Nick?"

The kit shuffled. "... Whatever." He paused. "I didn't mean it."

"Didn't mean what?"

"What I said."

The guard seemed baffled for a moment, then he smirked. "Don't worry about it, I've heard worse." He bent down and retrieved their shovels, staking one into the ground. Crossing the dirt pit, he shoved the other into the earth as well. "Garret, stand there. Nick, come here. I believe you, but if I come back and see you guys fighting..." He left it hanging ominously. Nick padded sullenly over to the upright shovel, eyes still downcast. "I'll be back."

Left alone, the two battered boys stood at opposite ends of the Hole Pit, facing away from one another.

Nick scuffed the soil lazily, shaking his head.

The guard was right. Although he was pretty sure he and Garret hadn't been serious, that didn't change the fact that Nick had lost control. Again. If it had been anybody else that saw them, he would've been slammed to the ground, then dragged to seclusion - a place he had seen enough of in the last two weeks.

They were just letting out their anger and frustrations. Nick didn't hate the wolf guy. Shit, he had acted like such an asshole.

"Nick?"

He blinked. "Yeah?"

"I... I'm sorry, man. I didn't mean what I said."

The cheetah rubbed at his nose. It ached - Garret had got it good with a head-butt when they were scuffling on the ground. "It's cool." He hesitated, unsure if he should explain why he exploded like he did. For some reason, he wanted to. "I... I'm gay."

Garret gasped. "Oh, shit... I didn't know. I didn't mean it like that. Serious. I'm not like that!"

Pointlessly, Nick nodded.

"I-I can't believe this place..." Garret moaned. "I'm sorry. I just, like, snapped."

Nick turned. "... Me too." Garret was already looking at him. Even at a distance, Nick could see the tears in the older boy's eyes.

"L-look, I know we aren't allowed to talk, but..." The teen bit his lip and looked away, apparently mortified. "W-will you be my friend?"

Nick frowned, looking the wolf over. After a second, a half-smile curled his muzzle and he nodded. "A'ight."

Garret smiled back. "Cool." He touched his jaw briefly, then rubbed at his chest. "You got a good punch, man. Ow."

"You too." Nick sighed and looked out over the small field of featureless, frozen dirt. "Fuck I hate this..."

"S-so... why do they make us do this shit? Is it a punishment or something?"

The cheetah shrugged. "I dunno. It's just what they make us do."

"What if..." Garret frowned slightly. "What if we just say no? We won't do it?"

Nick's ears flattened. "Don't. They'll spray you or hit you, or hold you down for ages."

"'Spray'? Pepper-spray?" The wolf swallowed. "Oh, shit... I've never been pepper-sprayed before."

"It hurts like fuck," warned Nick, his expression blank. "You just can't see shit for ages and you can't breathe."

Anxiously, the teenager processed that. He swallowed hard. "H-how long you been here?"

"About a year. I dunno."

Garret looked slightly horrified. "Holy shit!" he breathed. "They told me I was only gonna be here for a few months."

"... Gonna be here 'til I'm eighteen." Nick was amazed at how numb he felt about that now. That he could say it without feeling anything.

But Garret blanched. "Oh my God..."

"Whatever."

The wolf hung his head. "... I'm never gonna forgive my mom and dad for this..." he said softly, a crack in his voice. "Those fucking assholes."

Nick closed his eyes and sighed.

"Yeah..." he whispered back. "Same here..."

The only problem was, Nick wasn't sure who to blame anymore.

He hadn't been for a long time.

There wasn't much point in hiding anymore.

But Chase stayed in his wet alley, as alert as he could be yet so paradoxically calm.

He still had to be careful, but they knew he was out here now. If they chose to, Chase could find himself surrounded by cops in the middle of the night. They were watching him, coming out to check on him every now and then.

So at this point, it was probably too late. They were either going to help him or fuck him over. Oddly, he accepted that with serene resignation. The anxiety he had felt ever since he laid eyes on the building across the road had dulled until it became nothing but an undercurrent, a phantom lurking behind the other emotions he also fought to suppress.

If he freaked out and ran, this would all be for nothing.

The snowy furred leopard huddled against the wall, clutching more tightly at the oversized jacket he had been given by the vixen. It wasn't much, but it kept the rain off and warmed him a little. It was a male style, and Chase had found a cigarette pack and lighter in the inside pocket.

With a shuddering breath, he reached for the pouch near his heart, fumbling with the packet. He knew they were probably left there by accident, but whoever had let him borrow the jacket probably wouldn't mind.

The fourteen-year-old expertly lit up and withdrew into the alley a little further, concealing himself from casual passersby. Leaning against the wall again, he watched the office across the road, inhaling a lungful of hot, acrid smoke.

Truth be told, Chase didn't like cigarettes that much. He much preferred the taste and effect of marijuana. But the heat from the little paper stick in his paw was such a welcome counterpoint to the chill that stung his thinly furred skin. The hot smoke he inhaled was a delightful change from the cold air he had breathed for many nights now.

Besides, he didn't know anybody he could safely sell them to, so he might as well make some use of them...

Chase eventually spaced out, the raising and lowering of the vaguely menthol-flavored cigarette purely a reflex action.

The office across the street was hazy through the mist and wintry mix descending from the heavy-hanging clouds. As it had done for the several days he'd been there, incessant traffic cut in front of the alley; the sound of wheels on wet bitumen, strident horns and roaring engines combined to compose of a meaningless white noise that Chase gratefully lost himself in.

Worrying was just gonna make this harder.

The front door of the building opened and Chase squinted to see who it was.

It was someone he hadn't seen before. A medium-sized coyote, wearing a simple gray coat. His features were unremarkable, even demure. A kindly-faced, regular fur.

The middle-aged canine belted his coat shut and looked back through the still open door, exchanging words with someone unseen. When he turned back to the street, he was smiling good-naturedly.

Chase opted to ignore the unthreatening coyote, taking another drag on his cigarette.

He revised his decision when it was clear the guy was heading straight for the alley, shoulders hunched to protect his face from the falling slush.

The cloudy leopard frowned. Was this...?

"Hello Chase," called the coyote, shooting him a friendly smile.

Chase held his ground, exhaling the mentholated smoke slowly as the grownup approached him. "Hey..." he muttered warily once the coyote was within range of conversation.

"I heard you wanted to speak to me," the coyote said, standing at the entrance to the alley. "My name's Andrei. Andrei Czejak."

Chase felt his heart swoop down into his belly momentarily. Outwardly, though, he remained still as a statue. "Yeah. Uh..."

"Um, d'you mind if I join you in there?" Czejak chortled, closing one eye. "It's a little wet out here."

Unable to help it, Chase broke into a nervous smile. "Sure."

Czejak slipped into the alley, and together they stood in the shadow of the falling sleet, leaning against opposite walls.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. The coyote just watched him patiently, rubbing the rain out of his face, and Chase felt awkward. Though he had asked to see this guy, he hadn't put any thought into what he would say when he did.

To fill the void, he raised the cigarette again. Buying himself time.

The coyote didn't comment, seemingly unbothered by the smoking teen. That struck Chase as weird, but comforting.

At last he settled on something to say. "Nick told me about you," he said, exhaling slowly. The resultant cloud of pungent smoke lingered.

Czejak just nodded. "I thought so."

"So you're the guy? His social worker or whatever?"

"That's me."

Chase kept his eyes low, but the adult remained in his field of vision. "I'm his friend. I dunno if he told you about me."

"Oh, he did." The coyote chuckled humorously. "Rather a lot, I have to admit."

The teen flushed slightly.

Before the silence could go much longer, Czejak spoke again. "He told me you were going to leave the others."

Chase inhaled from the cigarette again, nodding curtly.

"That was very brave of you, Chase. I know I wouldn't want to get myself stuck out here at night."

The teen rubbed at his arm idly. "I had to get out of there..." he mumbled.

"Nick will be glad to hear you're okay."

"Is he alright?"

Czejak hesitated. "He's alright."

"Is he still with that guy?"

The coyote closed his eyes briefly. "No. He was sent back to the place he was staying before. Did he tell you about that?"

Chase swore softly, and a little of his trepidation snuck into it.

So it happened again. Nick was rejected. Was that going to happen to him, too?

Or would they just drop him right back into the paws of his father?

"It won't be for much longer, I think."Czejak smiled. "It was a mistake."

"Why don't you get him out of there?" asked Chase, dropping the butt of the cigarette to the gravel negligently. "It's fucked up."

"I would if I could, Chase. It's definitely not my decision for Nick to be in there."

The leopard boy nodded. His head still downcast, he eyed the adult appraisingly.

Nick hadn't said a lot about the guy but Chase got the impression the cheetah trusted the unassuming coyote, and that was astounding. When they'd lived together, Nick had nothing but bitter and angry words for people like social workers and police.

"Yo," the teen grunted. "I got a question for you."

"I thought you might. Go on."

"If I... y'know, let you guys..." Chase floundered and trailed off. "... You gonna put me back with my dad?"

Czejak shook his head. "That's not likely. Not if you don't want to go back to him."

Chase gulped softly. "You gonna put me in, like... a place like that? Where Nick is?"

For just a second, the coyote's eyes narrowed. "Chase, I will do absolutely everything in my power to make sure you never see the inside of a detention center or facility like that."

"... What if I wanna go?"

Czejak blinked. His expression became sad. "I'm sorry, Chase. That can't happen."

Chase nodded. "A'ight."

"I don't think Nick would have explained just how bad it is there. If you went there, you wouldn't be allowed to speak to him or anything. You'd just be putting yourself through hell for nothing."

Reaching into the jacket again, Chase lifted out another cigarette and the lighter. His breathing was coming faster now; why was that?

He paused. "Want one?" he asked the adult.

"No thanks. I don't smoke."

"It's cool." The teenager put the menthol to his muzzle and lit it. Once again using it as a ploy to buy time, even if he didn't realize it. "Man, this is bullshit..." He thought for a moment. "W-what happens now, man?"

"It's your choice, Chase." Czejak smiled wanly. "If you want to leave, you can. I'm certainly not going to stop you - you're either ready or you're not."

"For real?"

"Technically, I'm not supposed to let you go," admitted the grownup in his gentle, mild voice. "But do I really look like I'm going to run after you? At this age, I can barely get out of a beanbag."

Regardless, Chase hesitated.

The canine watched him for a few seconds. "Chase."

"Yeah?"

"This isn't your last chance. You don't need to decide once and for all, right here and now. But before you do..." Czejak inclined his head down the alley. "You should look over there."

Frowning, Chase looked.

The alley was long and trash-littered. Filthy water crept along the bitumen to a covered drain at the far end. Steam issued from the grate to mingle with the snow and frost, steeping the other end of the lonely, grimy path in a dense and reeking fog.

It was an uninviting sight Chase had seen many times before.

"You've been down there, Chase," he heard the coyote say. "You know what's on the other side of that. It's just more of the same, isn't it? It never ends. Does it?"

The leopard boy just continued to look. Letting acrid smoke seep from his nostrils. A massive semi-trailer truck howled past the alleyway behind him, buffeting them both with a reeking blast of displaced air.

"There's no real future there. It's not real freedom, living out here. Alone."

Chase lowered his cigarette. "What do I gotta do?" he asked weakly.

"You can walk down that alley, come back later. Whatever you want to do." Czejak paused. "Or we can go inside out of this cold and see what we can do about getting your life together, Chase. See if we can get you out of all this." The coyote actually chuckled then. "It's a little bit of paperwork, but I'm used to that."

After a moment, Chase took a deep breath and held it.

"Shit..." he whispered. "Whatever. I'm here, let's just fuckin' do it."

"Okay."

The feline boy hesitated for a second, but then he grinned irreverently. "And hey, I can always run away again if I gotta."

Chuckling, Czejak nodded in the direction of the agency building. "That's true. Come on, let's get dry and we can keep talking about this somewhere we're not freezing our tails off."

"... A'ight."

*

November 26th

The refectory was quiet, as always.

Level ones and orange shirts couldn't speak, and even the higher levels knew to keep the volume down.

Nick sat alone in the corner, his table and chair deliberately turned to face the wall. He was one of only four orange shirts among the eighty or so inmates, and every mealtime they were isolated like this. Forced to hear the others talking amongst one another, but not allowed to even glance over their shoulders.

At the least the level ones were allowed to look around, sitting with the others at the rows of uniformly laid out tables. Though woe betide them if they asked anyone to pass the salt.

The cheetah sighed, stabbing at the mush on his tray with his blunted plastic 'spork.' For some reason, insipid, off-colored pieces of mystery meat had joined their usual salty beef, potato and pulped vegetables. Nick wasn't sure, but he thought it was turkey.

It didn't taste too bad. Hell, anything was good right now. His stretches in seclusion since he had got back had often coincided with mealtimes - and there was no eating anywhere aside from the linoleum-floored refectory.

They wouldn't be allowed to leave, to even stand up at their table, until a staff member inspected their trays and took their utensils away.

Nick knew he was being watched even as he tried to eat. It freaked him out, always did.

As hungry as he was, it was hard to put the food in his muzzle. That was bad. If he didn't at least eat most of it they'd get him in trouble for wasting food.

He really didn't need another day of digging holes, or worse. Especially not with the lynx-bastard.

But meal and break times were always a great time for Nick to take inventory. To think. He was usually too tired when he was locked in his room later in the day.

Yesterday had been very strange. Nick was used to being punished for his temper - which seemed to be recovering nicely from the mind-numbing drugs that had kept him off balance for the last week or so. So it was disconcerting that the new guard had let them get away with that stupid fight.

Maybe the guy really was alright.

Nick wilted in his plastic chair.

His brain wasn't so muddled now, but it changed nothing. If anything, he just felt that hopeless depression even more keenly. Meant that his brain was starting to yammer at him again.

He was still stuck here until he was eighteen. Then he'd get out, and like Gary said, he'd have nothing.

Might as well just... He didn't want to go back to the streets. Or stay in places like this until the day he died. As he had asked himself before, what was the point of living when it wasn't his life?

Garret made him think, too. The wolf-boy had spoken to him out of fear and desperation, but Nick was surprised to find that he wanted to talk some more. He liked the guy; he reminded him of Chase, despite their different species. Even reminded him of Evelyn...

It was fucking bullshit. Nick just wanted to be left alone; if he was a level two by now, he could've spoken almost freely with the troubled wolf. He'd have someone to talk to.

A few weeks with Gary had reminded him of how much he liked that. He used to talk with the others for hours.

But that had been his way of coping since he got here. Blocking it all out. Shunning everyone but Evie, the indomitable, lesbian teenager who made it her mission to be his friend.

The kit sighed and closed his eyes.

"You have five minutes," a brusque voice warned from somewhere behind him. "Hurry up and eat."

"Fuck," Nick mumbled to himself, stuffing a piece of 'turkey' in his mouth and chewing.

He would leave the mashed up vegetable goop until last. That shit was gross.

From the other side of the room, he heard a staff member snap at what was probably one of the level twos. The offender was given a single set of PEs, whatever it was he or she had done. Nick tried to ignore it, spooning some of the off-color pulp into his muzzle.

The activity of the other youths and the loitering staff, their constant noise and motion, faded into insignificance, and Nick found himself thinking.

His earlier thoughts hung in his chaotic mind like a tenacious mist. So the cheetah boy took a firm hold and decided to examine them.

Perhaps they weren't wrong. He knew it was his fault that Gary sent him back here; maybe... maybe they were right.

Maybe there wasn't any point to this.

Wouldn't it be easier if...?

Before he could force himself to follow that worrying trail of thought any more, there was a call from the front of the refectory. Eating time was over.

Nick put down the plastic implement in his paw and glanced over his tray. He'd eaten most of it; that should be okay. After a moment, a guard came over to him and asked him to hand over his spork and stand, which he did, still lost in thought.

As usual, his tray was inspected, taken away, and then he was lead from the refectory to carpeted corridors. The lower levels were always taken away first, escorted to their rooms to wait for their next activities.

The cheetah quiescently let the liger guard take him to his room and lock him in, the deadbolts clunking into place heavily.

Good. Nick needed some time alone.

The kit sat down on the bed and sighed, kicking off his shoes. He had nothing in his room, nothing to do.

The higher levels had radios, TVs and stuff. The TVs didn't have reception, they were only able to play pre-approved movies and shows, for only an hour a day, but Nick wasn't allowed anything at all. So his rambling thoughts were his only company.

Fuck. He wished he had a beer or something...

Sleepiness reared its ugly head, and Nick lay back on the pillow. He had no idea how much time he would have before they dragged him out to another activity. He was fuckin' tired, as always.

Shit. He hoped he wasn't supposed to be digging holes all of today as well. The dirt from yesterday was still in his socks and fur.

With a mumbled curse, Nick rolled over and shut his eyes, embracing his ever-present, sour melancholia but simultaneously deciding to stop thinking about it. He felt like shit today for some reason. Really down.

Nothing new there.

After a few minutes, there was activity out in the corridor. Staff were shouting orders and paws were shuffling noisily along the carpets. Nick cracked an eye open and sat up.

What the hell was going on? It wasn't usually so noisy after lunch - it was supposed to lead straight into break time, but from the sound of things, the staff were leading every single kid back to their room.

Curious, Nick stood and walked over to his door. Standing on his tip-toes, he tried to peer through the double-glazed viewport. With such a limited field of view, he gleaned nothing.

"The fuck...?" he mumbled, stepping back.

Whatever. It probably was something stupid.

Yet as he was wandering back to his bed, heavy paws thumped their way up to his very door. The deadbolts were undone.

Nick turned slowly, unsurprised to see the heavy door swing open and the lynx guard standing there, alongside Mister Kincaid, the angry fox who directed most of the exercise drills.

"What...?" Nick grumbled warily.

"Watch it," growled the lynx. Seemingly irate. "It's 'can I help you?' or just shut your mouth."

Nick chose not to let himself respond.

The fox stepped into the room. "We're going to search you," he said shortly. "Turn around and face the wall."

"What for?" Nick asked, his heart missing a beat.

"Just do it, Nick."

After a few moments, the cheetah kit swallowed and complied, walking over to the wall at the far end. "Oh, shit," he thought, standing stock-still.

He still remembered what happened last time he fought with them on this. And the time before that, when he first arrived. Though his pulse started to race, he firmly admonished himself to stay perfectly still.

Behind him, he heard one of the grownups pull his simple cot away from the wall and lift the mattress off.

What the hell were they searching for? Nick had nothing, and nowhere to hide anything if he did.

"Did you steal a pen from the refectory, Nick?" the fox demanded suddenly.

Nick scowled. "What? No..."

That was an extreme offense. Pens, pencils, knives, sporks... anything like that could be used as a weapon. They were only allowed in supervised areas. Staff doled them out, only to the higher levels, at the start of lunch and counted them when they were returned.

Everyone knew not to take the damn things.

"Are you sure, Nick?"

"Yeah!" Nick shuffled slightly. Worried.

Irrationally, he worried they'd find something. Even though he didn't think he had anything forbidden in his room.

Did he even have anything in his room aside from his clothes and the bed? Could someone have snuck something in here to get him in trouble?

"Take your clothes off, pass them back here."

Nick gripped the hem of his orange t-shirt and lifted it over his head awkwardly. It was taken from his paws almost immediately. With a gulp, Nick fingered his tracksuit pants' waist. "Shit..." he breathed to himself.

"Don't be stupid, Nick, you've got nothing we haven't seen before. I've seen you in the shower for fuck's sake."

Oddly, that helped. A little. But it wasn't the nudity that bothered Nick - he had been nude before in front of cameras. But that was his decision.

It just made him sick to know they were forcing him to do it like this. He felt like such a useless...

Swallowing his pride with an audible gulp, the kit pushed his tracksuit pants and underwear down, stepping out of them.

Literally butt-naked aside from his socks, Nick stood a little closer to the wall.

"Spread your legs, and lean forward on the wall. Don't move."

Nick bit his lip and obeyed. This was such bullshit. He pinched his eyes shut in a mortified grimace as he forced himself to endure it.

After a second, something landed on his paws and he looked down. His underwear.

"You can put them back on if you're really that upset. Go on."

Nick had no idea if it was relief or gratitude he felt, but he immediately scooped the white briefs up and drew them up to his waist.

There was a grumble. "These are disgusting, Nick," the lynx murmured at him in that detestable southern drawl. "What the fuck? Aren't you putting them in for laundry? Are you sleeping in your day clothes?"

Nick didn't reply, staring down at the space between his sock-covered paws.

"They stink. You stink. God." The deep voice got a little closer. "You put these in for washing, Nick, or you're gonna be in deep shit. You hear me?"

The kit nodded, his ears pinned flat in dismay.

What could he say to that? He avoided the showers and never thought about the laundry. He'd never had to before; and nobody had ever told him he stank before. Shit...

He felt heavy all over, and slightly sick.

"Yeah, I'm gonna go ahead and dump these outside. They need a wash."

"Alright." The fox was inspecting the bed sheets.

"We should make sure he has his shower after evening activities. This is disgusting."

Nick wanted to die.

The adults just continued to search his tiny room. At last, they told him he could come away from the wall.

He turned in time to see them leave with his clothes in hand - leaving him with just the socks and underwear he wore. "Make your bed," growled the bulky lynx, moving to shut the heavy door.

Nick almost swore at them, wanting to demand if they were fucking serious. But the door was shut and bolted again, leaving him to just stare bitterly at their receding figures through the tiny viewport.

... What the fuck?

He let out a groan, infused with all his frustration and anger, and sat down on his bare mattress. The sheets were strewn out on the floor.

Fuck them - and fuck whoever was stupid enough to steal a pen. It had to be one of the higher levels, but the order of suspicion always went from the bottom up. What would anybody want with a pen, anyway?

If they didn't find the dumb asshole, they'd just punish everyone.

Nick hung his head and sighed.

He didn't need this. Not now. Fuck.

Today was just going to be fucking crap, wasn't it?

"Today," Gary muttered to himself, trying hard to convince himself of the truth of his words, "is going to be fucking awesome."

He stood in his kitchen, eyeing his pantry with distaste and confusion.

In four or so hours, he'd have a guest around for Thanksgiving. For some reason, Gary felt obligated to cook. Though he knew how, in theory, he had little practice when it came to making anything more complicated than his usual fair. He was a bachelor, and he ate like one.

He never entertained, so the only standards he held himself to were his own. Which pretty much came down to eating whatever he liked provided he could work it off later.

With such a sedentary life, Gary had made sure to do all he could to ward off the onset of fat-bastardy. That was pretty much all he cared about when it came to food. The only questions he asked were: did it taste good, and would it make him resemble a blimp.

Never before had he call to worry about whether or not a meal could ruin a friendship. Or, at the very least, a date. Because this time, it was exactly that.

What was it his mother had said?

When cooking a turkey, always... no, never do something at a certain time, or else something would happen.

He paused. "I'm screwed," he said aloud, shaking his head.

The cheetah walked over to the countertop and leaned on it heavily.

God, he was being such an idiot. Jared was a younger, sociable feline - and probably a better programmer than he. It didn't make any sense for him to be interested in Gary that much when he could obviously do so much better than a shut-in creep like him.

This was probably all pointless.

What was he doing?

A creeping sensation of wrongness, just some hateful part of him trying to warn him away, had settled into Gary's head - and he knew why. Fuck, did he ever know why.

A faint ringing sound caught his attention and Gary groaned. It was the phone upstairs - since Nick had smashed the downstairs phone to pieces, it was the only landline in the house.

Shoving aside his worries, Gary turned and ran up the stairs with the vivacity of a much younger cheetah. Having missed several calls already due to the lack of a downstairs handset, he didn't want to miss another.

Bounding into his office, he snatched the handset from its cradle and pressed it to a furry ear. "Hello, Gary speaking."

"Hullo, Gary, not too busy?" It was Czejak.

Baffled, Gary found himself frowning at his desktop. "No, not yet, no. I've got someone coming over for Thanksgiving dinner."

"Oh. Never mind then! I was going to ask to talk to you about something, but I won't bother you today."

"No, no, it's okay..." Gary paused. "Is it about Nick?"

"It is I'm afraid. Just got some paperwork for you to sign. I'd normally just mail it, but I also want to talk to you."

Gary hesitated. "Alright. I've got four hours before my guest arrives." Then the cheetah blinked. "Oh, um, not that I would mind you being here for that or anything. I'm not trying to be rude; it's just... And I have to cook too, so-"

"I understand, Gary," the coyote chortled. "I'll be up there quickly and try to not take up too much of your time."

"Alright, doc." Gary found himself smiling sheepishly. "I want to talk to you anyway. Just don't be offended if I have to keep getting up every few minutes to do something in the kitchen."

"I won't."

"Oh. And if you have any turkey recipes, feel free to bring them."

"Certainly." The coyote waited a second. "Though, I know I'm not up-to-date with this sort of thing, but couldn't you just look those up on the internet, Gary?"

Gary froze. "Doc, do you know something?"

"What is it?"

"You're a freakin' genius."

"Oh, I know that."

It was almost two hours later that Czejak's silver sedan growled to a halt out the front of the house, and Gary already had his honey-glazed turkey in the oven.

Gary crossed the foyer to the front door and had it opened before the coyote had even made it halfway up the path.

"Afternoon, Gary!" the coyote called brightly. He wore his usual comfortable sweater under an open full-length jacket. Absently, Gary wondered why the psychologist always seemed to be wearing sweaters. And if he still did so in the summer months.

"Come on in," Gary replied. "Let me guess, coffee, right?"

"Oh, thanks, but I think I'll start to cut back."

Gary shot him an incredulous look. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Be nice." Czejak smiled. "It seems I've been dropping in on you quite a lot lately, Gary. You must be sick of me by now. I'm sorry about that."

"Don't be. And I am not."

Chatting idly, Gary led his guest - the first of the day and hopefully not the last - through to the kitchen.

"That smells fantastic," Czejak said as they approached.

"Internet recipe," admitted Gary. "Are you sure you don't want a coffee? I won't be in here long; we can go into the den if you like."

"Oh, alright." The coyote gave a brief bay of laughter. "I have no chance of beating this addiction, do I?"

Flicking the already prepared machine's on switch, Gary tugged open a shelf to retrieve a pair of mugs. "There are much worse things to be addicted to, man," he grumbled. "Funny how we can't ever seem to addict ourselves to good things."

"Oh, sometimes we can. Though the very nature of addiction can make good things terrible. I once had a client who was addicted to exercise. He had practically destroyed his body by his thirtieth birthday."

Gary shivered. "In that case, if possible, I want to get only slightly-addicted." He turned and opened the fridge, lifting out the milk again. "So what's up? What brought you all the way down here?"

"Well, like I said, I have to deliver some paperwork, and I'm visiting another client not too far from here afterwards, so it's not that out of my way."

"You take clients from all over the place, don't you?" Gary smiled.

"Goodness no." The coyote returned the smile. "I don't visit anybody in Florida, for example. But I take clients where I can."

"I guess you don't like losing them either? Like if they move, or get a family somewhere?"

"Precisely." Czejak scratched his nose. "I won't lie, it's a nightmare. I don't know of any of my colleagues who spend quite as much as I do on fuel."

"I can imagine." Gary fixed the coyote with a brief, appraising stare.

The psychologist looked much spritelier today. Comparatively well rested to how he had appeared in the last few weeks. There was no way to not feel a little sympathy and awe for the middle-aged coyote; no matter how he tried to hide it, it was clearly his choice to take on so much work.

Probably not the best choice, for that matter.

"That really does smell nice. Honey-glaze?"

"Yup!" Gary lifted the pot of freshly made coffee and started to pour. Forget the doc, he needed one now. "I'm just hoping he likes honey."

Czejak shrugged. "I'm sure it'll be fine. Jared, is it?"

"Yeah." Gary felt a little blush creep onto his furry cheeks. "I'm actually more concerned that he'll be unimpressed, eating it in the den."

The coyote blinked. "Why not use the dining room? It looks fantastic in there."

Gary felt like a moron. "Oh. Well, you know..."

"Gary," admonished Czejak. "I have much less of an idea what to do in your current situation than you do but, from what you told me, your mother was a reasonable individual. Provided you tidy up after yourselves, I'm sure she'd very much approve of you using her dining area for this."

"I suppose so."

"I'm sure she doesn't want you hung up on some obscure facet of the past like that."

Gary's ear twitched and he looked suspiciously at the coyote's face. Nothing.

He led the way into the den and gestured for Czejak to seat himself on the recliner he usually reserved for himself. Then he cheetah sat himself on the couch and swiveled slightly so he could face his guest.

Czejak sipped at the coffee almost reverently. "Mm. Gary, you should consider a career as a barista."

That made Gary laugh. "So, what's sort of paperwork have you got for me today?"

Leaning forwards, Czejak opened his briefcase and withdrew a plastic sleeve holding several sheets of paper. "Well, I have two sets of paperwork for you."

"Great."

"This one is just some nonsense to help tie up your involvement in the experiment." Czejak placed it on Gary's couch. Then he hesitated. "And this... is for if you decide to change your mind."

This sleeve, Gary gently plucked from the coyote's grip. He stared at it. "... Alright."

The coyote just watched him as he read the sheet on top of the plastic-encased pile. Gary felt the eyes on him. Probing. Perhaps even pleading.

But all it accomplished was to make Gary feel worse.

Holding the paperwork in his hand was just a reminder. A concrete, physical icon of the fact that his choice would be serious. Real.

If he agreed, it wasn't going to be a three week vacation this time. He'd be taking a far more hostile boy into his house this time - and rightly so. If he went ahead with this, it wouldn't just be an idea anymore.

The concerns he was so afraid of would become real, as would ones he had failed to consider, instead of just hypotheticals. He would really be adopting a young, delinquent boy.

Worse, he wasn't even sure why he wanted to do it in the first place. Was it for himself or for Nick?

Gary licked his lips and slowly lowered the plastic sleeve.

For some reason, he felt scared. Totally locked up inside. And the coyote's tacit pleading didn't help at all.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath.

"Are you alright, Gary?"

"No." Gary swallowed. "I don't know what the fuck I'm supposed to do, doc."

"Neither do I." The coyote sighed.

"I don't even know what I'm going to do today..." For a moment, Gary forgot to breathe. "I mean, what the fuck am I doing? I... I don't even know if I'm doing what I really want to be doing."

"We've talked about this before." Czejak eyed him sympathetically. "Gary, you know what he said was wrong. You don't have to live in the shadow of his blind hatred and ignorance - he didn't even know what it was he hated."

"But I did." Gary leaned forward, elbows on his knees. His coffee mug held loosely in one paw. "You don't get it, doc. You don't know what it's like."

"I do, Gary."

But the cheetah shook his head. "Fuck sake," he exhaled. "Every fucking day, all I heard was the same shit. I still remember when - fuck, the things he said to our neighbors. That's what I heard every fucking day since I could fucking speak, man."

Czejak nodded slowly. "I know."

"I grew up denying, lying, and fucking wanting to kill myself, doc. I almost did, the day the guys next door moved out." Gary rubbed at his face. "Do you understand that? I'd turn to the television or the outside world to get away from all this shit and all I got was a constant fucking stream of even more assholes telling me I was a sick monster for another reason. It just went on and on. I had nowhere to go. I still don't. Think of what'll happen if Jared finds out, huh?"

The cheetah stopped and raised his coffee again, taking a hasty sip.

"On the other hand, Gary, think of what will happen if he understands." Czejak smiled comfortingly. "And, to be honest about it, Nick already does. He's gone through much of what you've had to."

"That doesn't make sense, Andrei. He's only eleven. I mean, twelve."

"Which is about the usual age for someone to realize they are interested in kits, Gary. They're kids themselves. When did you know again?"

Gary nodded. "Fourteen."

"Right, and I don't just mean that. Nick has been under attack from all sides because of his conviction that he is gay - he wasn't used to homophobia and hatred, then all of a sudden he's being mocked and insulted because of his attraction to boys his own age and older. I think you have a lot in common."

"That isn't the same as growing up with it from the very start - and we're getting off topic, doc... I don't think I should take Nick back. Not after what I did to him; I'm not equipped to handle him."

The look his therapist shot him then was not one he was used to. "Gary..."

"I'm sorry."

"Gary, please. You're the only one who can help him at this point." The psychologist was aghast. "It doesn't even have to be permanent or even long term! If you just get him out of there, give me time to find him another place if you really can't do it. I can't do anything for him while he's in there! Anything!"

Gary closed his eyes tightly.

The doc didn't understand. For over half his life, Gary had felt worthless; a fuck-up of nature, a disappointment to his parents and a total outcast. Even today, he didn't want to be what he was. Or who he was.

He was afraid of being himself, and had been for twenty-odd years. The power of logic and reason was nothing to the tenacity of a fucked-up mind.

Now his psychologist was urging him to take in an abused, vulnerable boy who he could easily take advantage of... and technically already had. Fucking Christ. It made his skin crawl with revulsion; but so did the very idea of abandoning the kid...

"You're trapped in a prison of your own making, Gary. He's gone; and more importantly, he was wrong. Frankly, I think your father was a stupid, mindless bigot. Was his approval so important to you?"

Gary shook his head. "It doesn't work like that... I don't want anything from him." He paused. "I told you before: I've often wondered how he'd act if he found out. If that would change anything."

"I don't know. But I do know that I trust you to look after Nick Davis. He trusted you more than he has ever trusted any other guardian - the entire point of this experiment was to provide these kids with mentors and friends, as well as parents. Someone who truly cared about and validated them - precisely what they really needed. A truly special relationship. That's what you were, and could still be. Someone who experienced the hate and dejection that Nick has." Czejak paused again. "You can't stay in this shadow forever, Gary. You need to let it go."

The cheetah took a deep breath for a moment, then released it explosively. "Bullshit."

"Pardon?"

In a single, agitated motion, Gary stood and stalked over to the curtains. "That's bullshit, doc!" he snapped. His voice cracked embarrassingly, but he ignored it. "Why me? Why would you put so much on my shoulders? Look at me, I'm too fucking scared to have dinner with someone and you're telling me I'm the only one who can help this fucked up kid?"

Czejak blinked. "You're not too scared to have Jared over, Gary. You're doing it, and I'm proud of you."

The cheetah ignored that, his ears flattening. "And you're talking to me about living in shadows. What about you, Andrei? What about you? Are there no shadows for you to hide in? Nothing you need to let go of? Look at yourself here! Just take a fuckin' look!"

The coyote's eyes widened slightly.

But Gary continued, desperately angry for some reason. "You work yourself half to death. I can tell that you give a shit! You're sitting there telling me I'm Nick's only hope, but what about you? That kid trusts you far fucking more than I could ever hope he'd trust me; you are his best hope. So why the fuck haven't you taken him out of there a long time ago?" He clenched his paws involuntarily. "' It doesn't even have to be permanent or even long term!' you said yourself."

Czejak looked away. "I can't do that, Gary..." he said softly. "I'm his social worker. I have to maintain a different sort of relationship. I-"

"Bullshit!" Gary cried, his eyes watering. "You know that's not true, doc! You could get him out of there. Just like that. Did you ever think to ask him? So what is it? What the fuck is holding you back, and does it make any more sense than my problems? What the hell could be driving you like this, but keeping you from doing the right fucking thing!? Why does it have to be fucking me?!"

For a moment, Czejak didn't respond. However, just as Gary took a breath to continue his tirade, the coyote's features hardened. "I have good enough reasons, Gary, or else I would've done it a long time ago and not just with Nick. And yes, he has asked me." He smiled tightly and reached for his briefcase. "I'm sorry but, yes, it does have to be you. I have to go."

Gary blinked stupidly. "Wait!" he exclaimed. "I'm sorry, I just..." The cheetah drew away. "I'm sorry, doc. It's just a lot of pressure. I didn't mean any of that crap."

"If I could just adopt all the children I wanted to whisk away from bad circumstances, Gary, I would. It's not as easy as you think." The coyote's eyes were narrowed. "If you'd think about it for a moment, I'm sure you'd understand that the pressure I feel is not unlike what you're starting to get a taste of now."

"Fuck's sake, doc..." Gary hung his head. "I'm sorry."

"So am I. I understand what you're saying, Gary. I do understand you; sometimes, it's not easy to explain the complex rationale behind the things we do and feel, even if we know they're wrong."

"I know. I mean, I know you know." Gary sighed. "I don't have any right to pry, doc. It's not an easy choice, Andrei. You know what Nick means to me, but you know why I'm... I just want to do the right thing without hurting anyone. I didn't mean any of that crap." The cheetah took a deep breath, and the conversation struck a hiatus. At last, Gary spoke up. "Look... I have to get back to cooking. I've not got long. I-if you want to stick around, you can. I owe you dinner at least. "

Czejak nodded and got to his feet, collecting his briefcase. "It's alright, Gary, really. Tonight's your night. I have to get going anyway. Thanks for the coffee!" In an instant he seemed to utterly push aside the melancholia and anger Gary had evoked.

"Don't mention it." Gary thought for a moment. His muzzle had gone dry with shame. "Listen, I'll contact you sometime soon, and I'll let you know what I decide. But I need you to ask Nick. Ask him. I can't take him back if he doesn't want to be here, it won't work. If he says no and you can't change his mind, all bets are off. I won't force him back into my house. It's down to you again, doc."

"I'll talk to him. I won't see him again for a few days, but I'll definitely ask him. The same goes for you, however. I can't bring Nick back here if you don't want him."

"Yeah, I know... If I can get my stupid head screwed on straight." With that, Gary led the way to the front door again. "If I don't have the balls to do this, I don't deserve to look after a kid like Nick."

The counselor chortled. "So, I'll tell Nick his future depends on the reception of a roasted turkey?"

"Not exactly. Try something a bit more inspiring." Gary tugged the door open. "Doc... Um, I'm sorry. I was seriously out of line there. Thank you for not punching my face in."

"Oh, don't worry, Gary. I got my fill of that on Monday." With a mysterious little grin, Czejak stepped out the door.

He was nursing his right paw absently.

The smell was dizzying. Overpowering. Even slightly sickening.

Nick sighed at the vivid orange t-shirt in his paws, before slipping it over his lean torso and trying to ignore the potent stench of detergent.

Thankfully, they hadn't made him just sit around in his underwear all day. A muscular orderly had delivered a new pair of tracksuit pants and a t-shirt in less than half-an-hour, just as break ended. A break that Nick spent alone, silent, in his room as always.

Numbly, he stood from his bed and stepped into the black, cotton pants. They had no pockets, no way to hide anything. They weren't allowed pockets until they reached level four, something Nick wasn't sure he'd ever manage.

Fully dressed again at last, Nick decided to lie down until they came for him again. He fervently hoped they had something different in mind for him than digging holes for the rest of the evening.

A wave of exhaustion crashed over him, and the kit placed a paw over his eyes.

His muscles felt like rubber that had been stretched beyond its use. It was going to take some time to get used to it all again. Worse, he had barely been sleeping.

The drug had helped a little, as much as Nick hated it. The dull apathy it tried to drape over him like a heavy, suffocating curtain. But now his brain was in turmoil again, with howling emotions and incessant murmurs keeping him awake at night once more.

"Oh fuck," he moaned to himself.

He wished it would shut up and leave him alone. All he wanted was to sleep.

To not feel all heavy and upset when he was awake. Like he did when he was with his dad. Or with his friends.

Hell, or even when he was with Gary, for a little.

... Man, fuck that guy.

Nick whacked the side of his head sharply. "Shut up," he growled.

Clearing his mind as best he could, Nick rolled over and tried to relax. Sleep wouldn't come, but maybe some rest would help when they came to rouse him. Fuck knows what they had planned next.

These moments of peace, privacy and rest, they helped so much.

Unfortunately, he got only a few minutes before there was a disturbance out in the corridor. Nick cracked an eye open and perked an ear as what seemed to be sobbing and pleading got louder.

They'd caught whoever the fuck stole the pen. Good. Nick didn't feel like being given PEs tonight because of some idiot.

With a grunt, Nick got comfortable and prepared to ignore the noise.

But then he recognized the voice.

The cheetah hurled himself off the bed, heedless of his stiff and sore muscles, then leapt over to the door, slamming into it clumsily in his haste.

Peering through the viewport, his worries were confirmed immediately.

Clad in yellow and black, Garret was being led down the hall towards Nick's room. His entire body was limp and he shuffled along between the lynx and fox. Crying so hard his shoulders heaved.

Nick felt himself wilt as well.

... That fuckin' idiot!!

"I didn't know!" he heard Garret moan. "I'm sorry! I used to draw at school, I just wanted to..."

"You should know the rules by now," the lynx grumbled heartlessly, grasping the teen's shoulder. "Move it."

"I swear I didn't know!" Garret stumbled.

Nick licked his lips anxiously.

Where were they taking him? Seclusion? That was where they were heading, but they could also turn down another corridor and go out to the yard. What the fuck was the punishment for taking a pen out of the refectory?

But they passed him without giving any hints. Garret himself likely didn't know. They could even take him to the seclusion room and 'restrain' him in there for ages - they'd done that to Nick a few times.

Once they were out of earshot, Nick's ears flattened. With a sharp curse, he punched his door.

Last time someone he cared about had fucked around too much, they...

Nick cursed again and turned around, his eyes closing tightly. The kit lay back on his bed, finding it even without the benefit of sight, and forced the issue from his mind. Even as he struggled to do that, a sour feeling started to fester in the pit of his stomach.

... Now he realized how he made Evie feel all those times.

Fuck.

*

November 27th

The sun wasn't even up yet.

But the alcohol wouldn't let Gary get a proper sleep. His brain yammer at him, flitting chaotically from nonsensical thought to babbling monologues about nothing - he had to wonder if this was what Nick experienced. After he awoke, his brain resurfacing from the drunken daze it had sunk into before he went to bed, sleep had evaded him despite feeling exhausted still. So he had surrendered at last, threw back the covers, and descended the stairs to the lobby, intent on making a coffee and getting ready to face the day regardless.

His plan went awry at stage one. Still addled by the prodigious amount of wine and beer he had imbibed in the last six or so hours, his motor skills were hardly at their peak. His bare paw slipped on the soft carpet and he almost fell down the stairs.

Cursing, the cheetah padded on down the stairs and into the kitchen, in a sort of half-drunken daze. He flicked on the coffee machine, got a drink of sorely needed water from the faucet, and staggered into the lobby again, scratching his bare chest.

It was only there that he remembered a very critical fact the booze had somehow managed to make him forget.

Particularly, the fact that he wasn't alone tonight.

The den was beshadowed and dark, but he could still see the shape on his soft couch. Stirring slightly. Gary paused to watch it, his brain fighting through the fog of booze and sleeplessness.

"Morning," an amused, slightly slurred voice called to him.

Gary's heart jumped. "Morning..." he replied hoarsely. He coughed.

Jared sat up, his head swaying. "Hm," he murmured. "I think we drank too much, huh?"

Gary shuffled slightly, licking his lips. "Yeah. You okay?"

"I'm fine..." Jared snickered. "I got up a few hours ago. Got myself a drink of water. Couldn't fall asleep again."

The cheetah smiled and nodded. "I would've offered you the spare bed... but you kinda passed out."

"Spare bed?" asked the serval archly. "I can think of a better idea." He stretched.

Immediately, Gary blushed and almost drew away. "I didn't think... you know." He quickly shut up.

But Jared only laughed at him. "I'm kidding, man. Sort of."

The cheetah blushed even harder.

Regardless, he headed down into the den, unsteadily making his way to his usual recliner, where he had spent most of the previous night talking for hours with his guest, until the latter had succumbed to the effects of the booze. Gary had gotten him a blanket and headed for bed himself.

But the serval shifted himself to the side of the sofa and Gary changed his mind. With an exaggerated groan, he sat down on the other side.

Jared snickered quietly. "Damn, I think I'm still kinda tipsy."

"Yeah." Gary nodded deeply. "It's wine, man. That stuff is evil."

"It isn't Thanksgiving without the champagne." Jared snickered again. Then he coughed and straightened. "Gary... that was the best Thanksgiving I've had in years. Thanks..."

Gary's attempt at a response was a little raspy, so he stopped and coughed. "Same here," he tried again. He took a deep breath. "Gah."

His heart almost stopped when Jared slipped closer to him.

"What's your plan for today?" the serval asked curiously, eyeing him appraisingly.

It was only then that Gary realized he had walked downstairs in just his pajama pants - as he always did - and, as Nick had done, Jared was taking the opportunity to check him out. The blush in his cheeks became positively radioactive. "I got nothing," he admitted. "Was gonna just play a few video games..."

Jared swallowed and looked away. Gary wasn't sure, but it seemed like the serval was embarrassed. "I got a better idea..." he said softly.

"What're you thinking?" Now Gary's heart was beating so hard he was convinced it was trying to escape.

"Um..." Jared's ears splayed. "I got nothing to do either. Is it cool if I just hang out with you today?"

Everything came to a crashing halt in Gary's mind.

This was it. Somehow he just knew it was time. He knew he had to decide here and now. Sober, mostly. For the first time ever.

A dozen excuses appeared in his mind, at the tip of his proverbial tongue. A simple matter of choosing one or the other. He was busy. He felt sick. They were workmates and he didn't want things to be complicated. He could be inventive.

A few simple words that masked his fear and uncertainty, and would end an unwanted, probably accidental and foolish, relationship before it even began. Before he could regret it.

"Jared, I..." Gary swallowed. "That would be awesome."

The serval smiled and inched even closer. "Thanks."

"Got any ideas what we should do?" asked Gary, simultaneously fighting to keep from punching himself in the head for it.

There was a moment of awkward, uncertain silence. Then Jared seemed to dredge confidence up from somewhere, and his expression turned playful. The serval shifted around on the couch until his knees were under him and he crawled closer, his ears perked and movements drunkenly clumsy. "I got a few..."

"O-oh?" Gary gulped again, a thrill somewhere between fear and excitement making it almost impossible to sit still, yet he somehow did.

Jared reached out and gingerly touched Gary's stomach. "I wish we didn't have a dress code at work..." he mourned. "I had no idea you were this hot. I was a little curious, but..."

Now Gary almost melted. "I work out occasionally," he managed to say casually.

"You know, me too." Jared reached up and unbuttoned the top button on his shirt. He paused and gazed into Gary's gentle, hazel eyes. "Are you scared?" he asked in a whisper.

Gary looked back, forgetting to breathe. "... Yes..."

"Am I your... would I be your first?"

"I-in a way." Gary examined the handsome serval's features; that thrill redoubling and swooping deep into his stomach like a diving falcon. Still he could smell the mild sweetness of Jared's cologne. All of a sudden he ached to reach out and touch...

"How do you mean?"

Gary lowered his eyes. He couldn't believe this was happening, but he didn't want it to stop either. "I don't just want one night."

A tender paw touched him on the chin. "Me neither," Jared breathed softly, leaning in closer. His voice as quiet as the serene breeze outside. Barely audible over their beating hearts. "Are you still scared?"

"Yeah..."

"Well. Don't be." Jared leaned even closer, locking eyes once again with the hesitant cheetah.

He kissed him then...

Nick was alert all morning for news of the wolf boy. Throughout the morning exercise drills he looked but couldn't spot him - although that worried him, the morning drills involved the entire camp, so it was possible Nick simply missed him. All four boys' showers were used in the morning too, so there was only a one-in-four chance he'd see the wolf at all there.

But not seeing him throughout breakfast was another matter.

Cursing silently, Nick lifted the pale-greenish goop and stuffed it into his muzzle with profound reluctance. Staring, eyes blank and unfocused, at the wall in front of him.

It meant seclusion. Garret had to have been locked in that fucking room.

Absently, Nick filled his spork again, but he didn't raise it again instantly. Instead, he rested the implement on the side of the tray and started levering the mush up and down with one finger as he thought.

Garret would be okay. Nick had endured a shitload worse than anything they'd do to a yellow-shirt.

But it was still fucking wrong. Garret wasn't a dickhead. He was scared, and he was new.

It was all wrong.

"Five minutes!" came a yell from the front of the room.

Nick sighed and started spooning the meat into his mouth. As tasteless and stringy as it was, it suited his pallet better than the vegetable matter they got for every single meal.

He sipped his warm, acidic orange juice.

Out of the corner of his eye, Nick spotted two level fours, easily recognizable by their street clothes or navy-blue t-shirts, in hushed conversation at the boys' side of the refectory. Daniel Lewis, a stocky malamute asshole, and a calico feline about his age.

Nick looked away with a growl. He couldn't sufficiently express his hatred of Lewis if he had two hours to do it. They had fought several times before... or rather, Nick had got his ass kicked then tackled by the guards. The canine always knew how to press his buttons.

Much like what happened with Garret. Except that had clearly been an accident.

Lewis was an angry asshole. Nick supposed he was the picture of perfect behavior most of the time; yet Nick knew for a fact the malamute had gotten into a fight almost every month since he'd got there eight months ago. Nick was a favorite target for his brand of bullying.

But they didn't seem to be looking his way, so Nick decided to ignore them.

Nick had been threatened by other youths on the street, but he could either fight or flee them. In Wilder Springs, he was trapped. There was no escape from the various assholes, and he didn't know how to deal with them at all - so far as he could tell, there was nothing he could do. The staff always assumed he started the fight - and he sometimes did, by snapping. Like what happened with Garret.

It wasn't his fault.

He spooned some mashed vegetables into his muzzle.

Sometimes, he was grateful for the restrictions and strictness of the staff. Whenever they were around, the bigger assholes behaved themselves. Sort of. So it was sort of good.

"Finish your food," grumbled once such staff member standing just behind him. Watching him.

"Piss off," the kit muttered under his breath, starting. He hated when they did that - it made him nervous just knowing someone was hanging around behind him. He cast a brief glance to the front of the room as movement caught his eye.

"Eyes forward!"

He quickly ate a few more mouthfuls, enough to satisfy the eighty-percent rule, then stared at the tabletop. Not really thinking, just waiting for time to pass.

It was straight into an activity after breakfast. Nick wasn't sure which one he was down for. It wasn't yet a week from the next group session - something he truly dreaded now. So, thankfully, it had to be something else.

The orange and yellow shirts were given meaningless busywork at this time or punishment exercises if they had been assigned. As far as Nick knew, the higher levels had other activities. Something that was kind of like school classes, and 'seminars', whatever they were.

When breakfast was over, Nick's tray was inspected and taken away. Soon, he was marching to the yard along with two other low levels - boys he had seen before, wearing the usual yellow t-shirts. Silently they walked, escorted by two of the staff. Nick didn't really give a shit which two, so he barely registered them.

After over thirteen months in Wilder Springs, he had learned to switch off.

They were taken to the shed by the hole-pit, and Nick sighed.

There were only two things they could be asked to do here, and if it was dig holes, Nick would have to seriously fight to not smash something with his shovel. That wouldn't end well.

To his relief, they weren't handed shovels. Instead, the staff handed them old, bristly sweeping brushes. They were on ground duty, cleaning the ranch-like grounds of leaves and litter.

Given the punishments for littering, it was mostly all about sweeping leaves, twigs and all that. Nick mostly hated it, but it was less active than digging holes.

All they had to do was walk in circles around a designated area of the grounds, sweeping aside leaves, picking up trash, and so on, so forth. The problem with it was, there was no end to it.

They had to continue walking and sweeping, doing laps of their area, for hours. Supervised, so there was no pausing. Lap after lap. Sweeping even if there was nothing there.

"You two will work here," decided one of the staff members, a gray-furred civet counselor. He turned to Nick. "You go to the front of the building. I'll meet you there in one minute. Go straight through the building or go around, just get there and don't screw around."

Nick nodded and turned. As he started to pad lethargically back to the door he had exited the building through, he heard the counselor begin to explain to the other two boys what they had to do. Nick was pretty sure they already knew; he definitely did, so he didn't bother to hang around.

Grunting, he tugged the heavy security door open and walked inside, carrying his ratty old broom. Heading towards the front entrance. He kept his eyes downcast and paid no attention to his surroundings until he was passing the shower block. As he did, movement caught his eye.

He glanced up and realized Garret was no more than ten paces away, standing on unsteady paws. The skinny teen was shirtless and clad in just black tracksuit pants, damp all over.

The wolf smiled wanly.

Nick appraised his new, exhausted 'friend'.

PEs. They'd kept him locked in seclusion all night, and given him an entire set of them. Unlike what Nick usually did, the wolf had put his clothes in the laundry hamper.

"You okay?" Nick asked quietly.

Garret nodded, but then he gestured meaningfully behind him. Nick averted his eyes and started to walk just in time as Mister Kincaid, the fiery-furred fox counselor, strode out of the shower block too. Garret had been 'supervised' in the showers.

As he walked away, Nick overheard the fox callously instruct Garret to go back to his room and change before returning to the yard. The wolf started to walk the same direction as him, but Nick knew better than to stop and chat. Subconsciously, perhaps, he didn't want to move away too fast, so he slowed down slightly.

Trudging along, Nick barely noticed the two heavyset teens pass him by in the corridor as he turned down the corridor to the front office.

Scarcely a few seconds later, he heard a quiet, youthful voice. The tone of it made the cheetah stop in his tracks.

He froze up, unsure if he should risk it. But then he heard it again.

Clutching his broom loosely, Nick slinked to the edge of the hard plaster wall and perked an ear.

"Nobody's gonna know shit," the voice grumbled. Nick recognized it as the cold, cruel voice of Daniel Lewis. "Nobody's gonna believe a word you say."

"Quit it!" Garret moaned with a note of fright. "Shit, c'mon, man..."

"Shut up!" Lewis interrupted. "You got no idea what it's like. You think it's bad now? Wait until you get to wear your own fuckin' clothes and some little new shit comes along and gets everyone strip-searched!"

Oh shit.

Nick peered around the corner as stealthily as he could. Garret had been backed into the wall by the much thicker, older boys.

"I didn't know!" The wolf was shaking - whether from fright or due to exhausted muscles, Nick couldn't be sure. "I just wanted to draw!"

The calico boy snorted angrily. "You can't act like you did outside, you asshole!" he spat. "You stole. You broke the rules! You don't get to fuckin' do what you want here, punk."

"I didn't know!" Garret was flattened against the wall now, crying. "I didn't know it was against the rules. They're already..." He paused. "Y-you'll get in trouble!"

Daniel Lewis shook his head darkly. "No we won't. We'll say you attacked us. You'll get PEs again."

"Level fours are hall monitors when we don't have programs," the calico explained. "Besides, they don't care if we do things like this."

"When you get to level four," Lewis said, almost urbanely, "you'll get it. Almost gonna get out of here. Worked so fuckin' hard for ages. We don't need punks causing trouble. You know they can hold us all back for things like what you did? Put us all back a level, because you tried to hide a damn pen?!"

"No, I fuckin' didn't! I won't do it again!"

The malamute cracked a knuckle dramatically. "You got that right."

"I-!"

There was a dull thud as the calico stepped forward and threw a crushing punch at Garret's jaw; striking while the younger teen's eyes were on the more imposing malamute. Immediately, he gripped the exhausted fourteen-year-old's head-fur and slammed him against the wall.

Lewis brought an even larger fist up into Garret's stomach.

The younger boy doubled up and collapsed to the floor with a sharp, painful wheeze. His assailants continued their assault with a cold, savage efficiency.

After a few more blows, the calico growled and stood, backing away with a kick to Garret's side. He turned, possibly planning to head to the corner and watch for staff members - or perhaps seek one out while his friend finished up.

He didn't get to do either, because the heavy wooden head of an old broom slammed straight into his face, swung like a heavy medieval mace. With a horrific cry, the feline spun into the wall, clutching at his suddenly bloody face.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" Nick screamed, so loud that it became a shrill, piercing echo, reverberating down the corridor. He clutched the broom handle in front of himself, one paw low on it, the other closer to the head.

Daniel Lewis stood, his dark-furred face like a thundercloud and shoulders bunched with pent up thirst for violence. "You fuckin' idiot..." he snarled shakily.

On the floor beneath him, Garret coughed hoarsely and looked up. "... Nick!" he managed to choke out. "Don't!"

But the cheetah didn't hear - and wouldn't have cared even if he did. His vision had shrunk to focus on the older teenager and nothing else. Pure rage and frustration roared through his head like a deafening wind.

He stepped forward and swung the unwieldy broom like an oversized axe, but it was obvious from the start it had no chance of striking Lewis at all. Ready for it, the malamute charged forward aggressively, grabbing both ends of the broom-handle and slamming Nick against the wall with it.

There was a loud crack as the old broom splintered and peeled apart over Nick's slender chest.

Despite being winded, Nick released the shattered pole and clawed instantly at Lewis' eyes, deliberately raking one of them with a thumb. The teenager roared like an angry beast and Nick drove a tiny, sharp fist into his face.

Lewis recoiled, flinching back just enough to get away from the little nails gouging and scratching at his eye. His counter-attack, however, was devastating.

A long, thick arm delivered a punch deep into the cheetah boy's slender stomach. Nick's entire body spasmed and he toppled forward. Lewis grabbed his head-fur and he was wrenched away from the wall.

A wild haymaker clipped the boy's temple, sending him crashing to the ground. A dull thunk spoke of his head meeting the ground, and for several feet he rolled like a discarded doll.

On the ground not ten paces away, Garret watched in utter horror, paralyzed from exhaustion, fear and pain. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. The cheetah was far smaller than Garret had realized at first, the size of a child at least a year younger than he claimed he was, and the teenaged malamute that had sent him sprawling utterly dwarfed him.

The kid was going to get utterly murdered - and Garret could go do nothing to stop it!

Incredibly, Nick hauled himself upright, coughing. "The fuck is wrong with you?!" the furious cheetah boy demanded, staggering. Glaring at his enemy.

"Shut up!" howled Lewis, barely managing to keep himself from rushing forward.

"He's new!" Nick yelled again, equally anxious to close with his much larger enemy. But words were more important than the fists - he held back. "The fuck is wrong with you? Don't you get it?!" Nick kicked at the wall, almost falling to his backside for it. "Why are you hurting him? Don't you remember?!"

"Remember what?! What the fuck are you talking about?"

Garret watched in utter bewilderment.

"You were scared too!" screamed Nick. His breaths coming in desperate, winded gulps. Starting to cry. "You were! Why are you doing this?! It's wrong!" He hesitated. He even whimpered. "This place is fucked up! Why are you helping them?!"

"You're fucked up!" the canine growled. A quavering catch in his voice.

"Why are you helping them, you fuckin' psycho?!" the cheetah sobbed. "They killed one of us! They killed her! This is wrong! Why are you doing this?"

The teenager took an aggressive step forward. "Shut up!!" He stiffened, faltering. "You're a fuckin' delinquent! They're helping us, you fuckin' punk! You don't get it!"

"Bullshit!" Nick didn't back away. In fact, the preteen stepped forward, shaking all over. "They're lying! They don't care about us! We just get them more money and shit! They're hurting us!"

Lewis somehow hulked himself even larger. "I just want out of here!" he bellowed at the ceiling, in tears.

"So do I!!"

The teenager rushed forwards. Again, Nick stood his ground.

A mistake. Lewis was enraged, and he didn't bother to throw a punch or anything of the kind. He seized the cheetah boy, closing one thick paw around his slender neck. Nick clutched at it, digging his claws into it desperately, trying to pull away.

But Lewis lifted his mere sixty pound body clear off the ground with a crushing grip around his throat, and hurled the kit into the wall like a mere pillow.

Nick slammed off the wall with a cry and collapsed to the side. A second later, a massive kick slammed into his ribs. And another - then another. Each eliciting a scream he couldn't keep inside.

Pinned up against the wall, he could do nothing at all except curl into a ball, protecting his ribs and spine as best he could as the teenager started to rain kick after kick on his defenseless body.

There was a loud shout, but Nick couldn't decipher it. He barely heard it. After a few more seconds, the blows stopped and he dared to crack open an eye.

Daniel Lewis had been dragged to the ground by one of the muscular orderlies. With expert skill, the teen was pinned and controlled with scarcely more difficulty than Nick had been many times before - but just in case, another of the guards practically launched himself on top of him.

It took a few moments for the new situation to dawn on Nick.

Mindless fury darkened his vision and he rolled onto his front. Ignoring the stabbing pain in his chest, he crawled forward determinedly.

His fingers closed around a half of the splintered broom handle before he struggled upright again. Brandishing the sharp piece of wood, he started towards the helpless teenager. The orderlies didn't notice him.

"NICK!" somebody yelled. Nick ignored them.

All he knew was the sheer anger he felt - and a desire to take it out on someone, somehow. The worthless asshole malamute was the perfect target. He deserved it.

... How could he fucking do that?! It was wrong.

Why... why did everyone just give in and do what they wanted?!

A few feet away from the limping cheetah, Garret pinched his eyes shut and struggled to stand. He couldn't. The pain was too severe and his muscles were useless. "No, Nick!" he wheezed, instead opting to crawl. Desperate to stop the brave kit from doing something he'd regret. "Stop!"

But Nick raised the stake to his head level, the sharp point aimed downwards. He still cried, hard, but seemed utterly focused. Oblivious.

A huge form rushed past Garret's head. Heading directly for his younger friend.

After a split second, Garret recognized the form.

The lynx guard reached Nick at a quick trot, grabbing the boy's wrist violently and twisting. Nick yelped aloud as the orderly ripped his weapon paw to the outside viciously, whipping him down to the ground.

Nick toppled backwards and the orderly pulled him roughly onto his front, dropping a heavy knee to his spine. Again, Nick cried out.

"You fucking maniac!" the lynx snarled, twisting the fragile wrist in his paw even more. It wasn't until there was a wet tearing sound that Nick screeched and released the weapon.

Garret felt dizzy and hot all over. "Stop!" he cried weakly, hoping that, somehow, someone would listen. But he knew nobody would. "Stop it!!"

He had never seen anything like this before. It was surreal. Out of control.

A nightmare.

The lynx brutally pulled one slender arm across Nick's face, then grabbed the other and did the same. Crossing the boy's arms underneath him down at his lower chest, pulling backwards on them. Constricting the kit with his own limbs. Then he shifted his knee away and dropped his entire weight on the boy's tailbone. "What the fuck you doin', huh?!" he shouted into the kit's flattened ears in his execrable accent. "Are you crazy?!"

Nick gasped, flailing and struggling desperately under the adult's weight. The orderly responded by constricting him even tighter with his own arms. "Stop!" the cheetah choked, kicking his legs weakly. Struggling to get some purchase with his shoes on the carpets, as if it could possibly help.

With two guards on him, Daniel Lewis was having no better luck.

It was only then that Garret realized his vision had gone fuzzy. He looked from the restrained malamute to the helpless Nick. Shaking his vision to clear it. It wasn't working...

"Let me up!" Nick rasped urgently. "Stoh-hop! I can't breathe!! I can't breathe!"

"Yeah, fucking sure." The lynx just settled down even more heavily somehow.

Other staff members arrived and the scene descended yet further into chaos. Someone came to Garret's side and helped him to his paws, and yet he didn't look away from his new friend.

"Oh shit!" he sobbed inaudibly, falling back. Propping himself against the wall. "Stop this! Let them up!"

The commotion around him faded away, and Garret found himself just staring. Lost. The slender cheetah struggled weakly under a massive adult, pleading yet more desperately. Sobbing so loudly.

Told over and over again that he wouldn't be let up until he calmed down.

Daniel Lewis had fallen still, just crying quietly to himself. They didn't let him up either.

Time lost all meaning. An unbearable tingling had crept over Garret's entire body. Each breath racked him like an earthquake, but he somehow forgot to notice.

Perhaps it was thanks to that, his utter shock, that he did notice something else, staring in shock at the suddenly unmoving form of his newest friend.

The blood drained from Garret's face and he felt his heart plummet into his stomach like a ball of lead falling to the sea. Taking a deep breath and trying to stagger over to the lynx so cruelly holding the kit's limp form, Garret was screaming before he even understood what it was he had realized.

"Jesus Christ, get off of him!! He isn't breathing! HE ISN'T BREATHING!!"

*

November 28th

It was like swimming in the blackest tar. A thick, heavy sleep that he just couldn't shake off, like a dark, dense but comfortable blanket had swaddled his thoughts, and he had not the energy or will to push it away. No, he could scarcely understand it was there.

It was a wonderful, pleasant peace. A slumber the kind of which he hadn't really experienced very much lately, and he was in no hurry to shake it off.

But, after what seemed like hours, a voice called to him. It was distorted and faraway, as if he was underwater, or had his fingers in his ears. Something like that.

It called again. "Nick," it mumbled. "Are you awake?"

Slowly, the words began to make sense in his stuffy mind. He made a conscious effort to open his eyes.

It took a little while, but he felt them open. A brilliant white light pierced, not his eyes, but his mind. He thought of nothing but an incredible, immaculate whiteness. Then he felt his eyes flutter - he couldn't see anything. Just that snowy whiteness.

"He's coming around, I think," a deep voice said.

Despite his best efforts, wakefulness blew into his mind like a gentle breeze, clearing out the fog and cobwebs. With a groan he opened his eyes.

A watery blur greeted him and he fluttered his eyes once again, trying to regain focus.

That came, but meaning to the image did not. He was in a room with white, creamy walls, and a white surface seemed to stretch out beneath his vision. A shape that looked vaguely like another person, another fur, hovered just slightly off to his side.

It was too difficult and tiring to look around, so Nick just groaned again and shut his eyes.

When his brain felt like cooperating, he'd try again.

"I think he'll be okay," the deep voice continued.

"He's been out for hours!" another voice fretted.

Did they mean him? What did they mean?

"I don't think so, Doctor Thornton. We got him breathing again pretty quickly. If he was unconscious for so long, he'd have brain-damage."

"That's what I'm worried about."

"I think he just crashed. I've seen it before. Sleep deprivation, starvation, stress... I've seen guys go out from a little tap on the head and not wake up for three hours."

"He didn't get tapped on the head!" muttered the worried voice. "He was suffocated by postural asphyxia. People die from that stupid hold, Mister Rankin!"

The owner of the deep voice sighed. "It's a good thing that wolf kid was so observant."

He felt a little more energetic, so Nick took a deep, steady breath and forced his eyes open again. This time the image was clearer and his brain slowly made sense of it. There was a big, dark shape right by him.

It was the leopard guard, the new one, sitting off to his side. Looking around, he realized where he was.

The medical office was dark. The lights were off, and only the evening sun lit the room through the closed windows with a cool twilight. He was under the white, itchy sheets of the simple cot. He felt sore all over, especially around his chest, and his head felt like it was packed with cotton wool, in spite of the pounding headache between his ears.

Dr Thornton, the ferret, was watching him intently from just behind the leopard guard guy.

"Nick, can you hear me?" the leopard asked slowly. "Let me know if you can. Come on, focus just for a second."

Bemused, Nick frowned at him for a moment. "Uh-huh..."

Thornton let out an explosive breathe of relief.

The cheetah boy blinked a few times, trying to gather his thoughts. The two adults were looking at him with concern on their faces. It was creeping him out already. "Wh-what happened?"

"What's the last thing you remember, Nick?" The guard inched closer.

Nick stared at him uncomprehendingly. "I dunno," he mumbled.

"Try and think back."

Frowning, Nick tried to do that. "I dunno," repeated the kit. Then he furrowed his brow even more. For some reason, he couldn't remember very much at all. He remembered eating in the refectory, so he stopped and focused on that.

The adults just kept watching him, which didn't help at all.

His breath caught in his throat.

Oh fuck. He had gotten into a fight. Again. A bad one. Why had...? ...Garret. They had been kicking the shit out of Garret, and Nick got pissed off.

He blinked. "What-?" he mumbled, looking around again. "What am I doin' here?"

The two adults exchanged quick glances. "Nick." The leopard's expression softened. "You passed out. We brought you here."

"... Why?"

"Why did you pass out?" Again they exchanged glances. "... You passed out from the way Mister Hickman was holding you down, Nick. You had a weapon. He had to stop you."

A weapon?

Baffled, Nick settled back onto his pillows and tried to think.

... The brush. It had snapped. He had picked it up, and then... he had been thrown to the ground and pinned there like they usually did. Then...

His gray eyes widened and he choked out a gasp.

The orderly closed his eyes momentarily. "At least you're okay, Nick."

Nick wasn't listening. He inhaled shakily, his eyes wide. "Oh fuck..."

What they were saying before made sense now. He had almost died. Again. Beneath the sheets, Nick clutched at the mattress cover.

That's why he passed out. He remembered choking, trying to suck air into his lungs, but he just couldn't. Remembered trying to beg; the lynx hadn't listened... didn't care.

"It's alright, Nick, you're okay now." The leopard pulled his chair a little closer. "Calm down."

Nick barely heard him. His recently restored vision blurred once again and he stared unseeingly at the roof.

What the fuck...?

The leopard sighed and sat back. "I can guess how you feel."

But Nick still wasn't listening. The fractured, blurry memories suddenly came together. Not in a rush. No, in just one instant, they resurfaced. Flowing together like a running stream, although in disconnected snatches. Blurs that led from one to another.

He had almost died again. They had almost killed him.

Oh, fuck... no...

"Nick, do you want a drink?" asked the leopard solicitously. Nick shook his head somberly. "If you need anything, just tell us."

The kit sniffed again. "Go away," he whimpered, begging with his very tone.

For a moment, the muscular guard stared at him. Then he nodded. "Alright. We'll leave you alone for a little while. We have to come back soon."

He stood and walked out of the small room with the ferret, talking in a low voice. Just as he left, they both cast a last, concerned look at Nick.

A look that Nick missed. He rolled over and clutched the pillow to his chest desperately, fighting back the shocked tears. Knowing that if they started he wouldn't be able to stop them any more than he usually could. Trying his best.

It was hopeless.

As always.

It was the heat that woke him up. At least, so he thought anyway.

Dozily, Gary pushed the covers away from his chest, breathing a sigh of relief as the comparatively cool air of his bedroom washed over his torso. This time, he remembered he wasn't alone. So he shifted slightly away from the source of the heat that had made him so uncomfortable, and stared at the dull, gray surface of the ceiling.

The silvery light of the false dawn leaked around the edges of his room's heavy curtains, offering just enough illumination to see.

Gary spread out on his back, hoping his furry body would lose heat faster.

He turned his head slightly, looking at the dark shape beside him...

Jared was fast asleep, curled up almost daintily on Gary's second pillow. In the silence, Gary could hear his soft, rhythmic breathing. Fast asleep.

It was strange. The sight of another male in his bed, in his room, fast asleep, was almost surreal. Yet it was happening; Jared was right there. Gary could reach out and touch if he wanted... Could smell him. Hear him.

His bed. Not another's. Not in a hotel.

Gary's first ever real date, the first young guy he had brought to his house, was sleeping with him right now.

... Was that a good or a bad thing? Not just his first date in his own house, but his first date with Jared specifically? Was it really okay that they had done that?

Somehow he got the feeling that it was. The apprehension and doubt he had expected to feel was banished by the sheer reality: Jared was right there, and they had shared one hell of a night. Two nights, actually.

Another urge to touch the younger guy almost made him move, but Gary easily fended it off. Jared was asleep, and he didn't want to wake him. After the previous night's drunken stupor that barely counted as sleep, they both had fallen asleep like logs when they finished.

Even though he was still half asleep, Gary felt his cheeks flush slightly.

So he had done it. Sure, he had done it a few times before, when absolutely trashed out of his mind, but not sober. Not like this.

This wasn't him using alcohol and drugs as a way of letting his desires out for a brief moment; using those things as an excuse, a feeble crutch. He chose to do it, he wanted to do it and he admitted he did, and that he really liked Jared in such a powerful way... and he didn't regret that as much as he thought he would. It had happened, life continued...

The night had been fantastic too. Without alcohol blurring his senses, Gary had finally experienced sex... and it had been pretty fucking incredible, he had to admit. Jared was experienced, and Gary was a bit of a natural. It had been nowhere near as awkward as he had thought, even though they were co-workers.

The serval was the sweetest, hottest guy he'd ever met.

A grin broke out on his sleepy face and Gary was sure his cheeks would be luminous in the dark if it weren't for his downy fur.

Out of nowhere, a pang of regret struck him like a runaway train.

It had all been so easy; once he had resolved to just give in, follow his desire and Jared's lead, it had been so easy. All his fears were for nothing.

It was those fears, of committing, of admitting who he was, of accepting intimacy as affection and pleasure, not something to be ashamed of, that had forced him to over-react in the first place.

Oh, fuck, it was sickening. He didn't deserve to be forgiven by Nick, not for this...

Gary sighed and told himself off sharply.

No, that wasn't entirely true. When he realized the obvious - that Nick was scared and desperate for some way to prevent Gary sending him back to the center - an avalanche of fear and self-disgust buried him. No matter what his counselor said, Gary was not merely afraid of a relationship with someone younger than him.

Accepting he was gay was one thing. Accepting the other thing nature had cursed him with, however, was another.

It went beyond even that... even so far as he could accept that. There was the unpleasant possibility that Nick was doing these things, but secretly hating, resenting Gary - knowing that could be true, and continuing to let Nick do it would've made Gary no better than any coercive, emotionally blackmailing, twisted child abuser. That was why he panicked.

Even if Nick placed less emphasis on sex than he did, it didn't change the sheer disgust the prospect caused to fester in Gary's heart...

... But was Czejak right? Had Nick only even considered doing what he did because, regardless of his fear and uncertainty as to his future, he really did like Gary? Could that be possible? Gary had been interested in other boys and even slightly older males when he was that age, but... had he really penetrated Nick's resentfulness and made such a connection of trust and even affection with him? ... Had the groundwork for such a connection been laid after that night, perhaps?

Gary had done all he could to show his affection and regard for the boy when he made the terrifying step to break the law. If what Czejak said was true, Nick had felt that. Nick had accepted Gary as someone he was willing to allow close to him.

And then Gary had betrayed him.

The cheetah swallowed, repressing a wave of nausea. He looked at Jared again, as if seeking reassurance that the serval was still there.

It wasn't just fear of responsibility; of the hardship adopting Nick could bring; or even of his own sexuality, which he hated so much. Everything was so complicated and twisted and the decision to try to make amends with Nick, who surely despised him now, was thrice as hard as the decision to let Jared kiss him...

Thrice as hard as that first decision to accept Nick's bold, obvious attempts to seduce him.

The memory of that relieved, satisfied, even blissful smile on the kit's face haunted him still. It made his heart leap but his blood run cold.

What had he done?

Czejak was right. Anything was better than what he did. Anything would've been accepting responsibility better than sending the desperate boy away in a manner so cowardly. He could've kept Nick there, refused ever to touch him again, and made amends for what he had done. Or thought he had done, whatever.

Instead he fucking ran away, and he was still running.

Now he was starting to realize that there was no need to run. Just the comfort and validation of having Jared with him here and now told him that there was no need to hide from what he was. Why should he live in fear of the way he was born?! To hell with everyone and everything! He didn't choose to be attracted to Nick any more than he chose to be attracted to Jared; he was stronger than this.

He could beat his desires. Or he could accept them and move on. Weren't they one and the same anyway?

In the darkness, Gary narrowed his eyes.

The choice he had avoided, struggled with for days - weeks, even before he sent the boy away, if truth be told - was clear now. And he had to make it now; he couldn't wait for months and months to make it, to let himself come around naturally: he had to decide now before it was too late. He'd never forgive himself for letting this pass him by.

Gary owed Nick. He would make up for this.

It was time to admit it to himself. Even if the time they had together was short, Gary loved that prickly kid, and the potential for an even stronger relationship was there. He could feel it.

The trials and difficulties be damned, he wanted Nick in his house, where he could love him, talk with him and protect him. He wanted Nick as his friend, and as his son.

But still, convincing himself was relatively easy.

Nick, on the other paw, probably wanted to see him dead.

End of Chapter Six

• Kichigai Kitsune, 2012