Far too early in the morning, I am woken up by the shuffling sounds of cloth on cloth and what I can only assume is someone walking about upstairs. I let out an irritated groan. Groping around for a pillow to pull over my head and drown out the sound, I realize I don’t have to exert the effort, because one flops onto my head. Oh, I’m not alone. I forgot. How nice. I sit up slightly, pressing my face into the warm back facing me. Stuck between pillows and blankets and Sanford, I think today is going to be a good day.

“Mm, good morning, Mr. Clarke.” He’s still moving about, but I can’t see what he’s doing. It’s probably sock or shoe related. This is only important because it means he’s getting ready to leave, which is a choice I do not approve of. His aunt and uncle – whom we are visiting – make us do work around the house and garden in return for letting us stay. It’s a fair trade, I’d say, since we showed up completely unannounced, but it’s probably about five in the morning, and no one should be weeding tomato plants at this time of day.

“Oh, hey,” he says quietly. “Did I wake you up?” He knows full well he did. Pillow-throwing bastard, he is. I wrap my arms around his stomach in retaliation. Plus, it’s fucking cold here. We’re in Ciran, and even though it’s spring, I’m colder than I’ve ever been in my life. I don’t like it at all. Cold hands, cold feet, cold air. It’s not even snowing, like I had hoped; just the occasional rain. Very disappointing. I can’t understand why anyone would want to live here.

“You did, but that’s alright,” I tell him truthfully. “I slept well, even if it was just for a little while.” I’m assuming it’s only been a while, at least. It’s still dark outside, you can tell even though the curtains are closed. I only went to sleep around one in the morning, long after Sanford fell asleep. I have trouble sleeping in strange beds. You think I wouldn’t have a problem with it after traveling so much and sleeping either outside or on the couches of strangers, but I just never got used to it.

“I noticed. You were snoring.” What? How dare he!

“I do not snore, de-“

“Sanford!”

I didn’t even hear the door open, it all happens so fast. Sanford is up, out of my arms, and across the room in a second flat. Falling on my face since I was leaning against his back, I mutter into the mattress. Propping myself up with my elbows, I squint as my eyes adjust to the light from the hallway that is silhouetting him and his aunt – who I would venture to say is currently furious and/or disgusted. It takes me a moment to figure out what the problem was, but when I do, my heart sinks. This is the very thing Sanny has always been afraid of.

Bourne, Hayvon, all these little places are so afraid of any change, anything new. Something about preserving family and tradition – bullshit. Claire – Sanford’s aunt – didn’t like me from the moment she met me. There aren’t many people around here who aren’t pure human, which I am most certainly not. That was already a point against me. I smoke, I drink, and I don’t eat my vegetables. I’m just a horrible role model for poor, impressionable Sanford – who I feel compelled to add can hold his liquor a hell of a lot better than I can, and eats nothing but vegetables. This tiny, freckled tornado of a woman only barely put up with me before, but I believe even that small thread of tolerance has come to an end.

“A-aunt Claire, what’s wrong?” He’s playing it safe. As if there’s any way she’s screeching about something else. I sit up straight, still wrapped in rarely-used blankets that smell of vanilla and dust. They must not have many visitors here. As we walked into this room on the first night, we practically choked on the dust hanging in the air. The room was tidy, but in a way that made it obvious it hadn’t been touched in many years. It looks more lived in now that Sanford and I have dumped the contents of our bags all over the floor.

“What was he doing to you?” she demands. “He was all over you! Are you alright?” I’m surprised she hasn’t barged in and made this ‘shocking’ discovery earlier. She refused to let me sleep in a room by myself in case I stole something (Sanny informed me earlier that she thought I looked like a shady character). I did knock over a lamp the other night, but that was because I got up to go to the bathroom and I thought it was a person. Poor thing, it’s still lying on the ground. Did she expect me to sleep on the floor though? How ridiculous.

“I’m fine!” says Sanford, somehow unconvincing even when he’s telling the truth. “Nothing’s wrong, Aunt Claire.” He says it like ‘auhnt’. I find that strange. He’s nothing like these backwards small town people, but certain things just give him away. Saying ‘auhnt’, the way he always seems so intimidated by our building back home, and how he still hasn’t learned that there are more than six cars in Rondé Grunde and that looking both ways before you cross the street is important. This is a nice enough area to live in, I suppose. Once you get past all the ‘tradition’ crap. Everyone knows who I am, and I’ve only been here a week and a half. The trees are just starting to bud and the air is filled with that smell that just screams spring; the smell of rain and new flowers and growing grass.

“Sanford, I saw what was happening. You don’t need to cover for it.” Oh, what was that? I’m not even a person anymore, how fantastic. I turn my attention away from the conversation momentarily as I attempt to locate my pants. If she’s going to talk about me like I’m not here, I might as well do something useful. I slept in a shirt last night, because as I mentioned before, it’s really godsdamned cold.

“Nothing was ha- wait. ‘It’? Did you just call him ‘it’?” Defense? That was unexpected. I pull on the same jeans I was wearing yesterday and perch myself on the edge of the bed. This has just gotten interesting.

“That filthy halfbreed has his hands all over you! How long has this been going on?” Oh, I haven’t been called that in years. This woman is bringing up such fond memories now. You think it wouldn’t be such a big deal, not being one hundred per cent something-or-other, but to some people it can mean a world of difference.

“Halfbreed? Aunt Claire, really!”

“Look, I understand that you may have been afraid before, but I saw what happened! He can’t hurt you anymore, I can get that thing away from you!”

“Stop it!” Sanford raises his voice and his aunt’s manic hand gestures suddenly stop. “How could you say that? He’s sitting right there, don’t insult him!” He jabs a finger in my direction. I would never have imagined that he’d stand up for me under these circumstances, let alone raise his voice at a relative. It’s all very surprising. I can’t help but wonder if the people upstairs can hear us. His uncle and two small cousins are probably still asleep and oblivious to any disruptions in their peaceful golden house.

“Why are you defending him?” She asks, with more than a hint of disbelief in her voice. I’m not sure why either.

“Because he’s my friend,” he says, then lowers his voice and mumbles. “He wasn’t doing anything wrong.”

“Oh my gods,” replies Claire, voice flat and quiet. That’s a family thing. He does it too, when he’s really mad. “You can’t possibly mean that.”

“Well, I do,” he snaps back. “Aunt Claire, I’m sorry, but I’m not gonna let you insult him.”

“You’re like him.” Her voice is quiet, barely more than a whisper, but I can hear the rage trembling through it.

“What?”

“He’s corrupted you,” she shouts, picking up speed again. “He’s made you a disgusting freak like him!” Sanford just stands there. His hands drop to his sides, a signal that he has nothing he can say. I take this as a cue and get up. When I sidle my way into the door frame beside him, I practically tower over both of them. I don't get mad often, but this wretched woman has simultaneously shocked and insulted the angry right out of Sanford, not to mention interrupting rare, and greatly appreciated quiet time.

“Excuse me, but I prefer to be called a freak to my face,” I say shortly. Politeness aside, I fix her with a withering glare and await a response. It’s almost as though she’s going to back down; a bully whose bluff has been called. I wouldn’t hurt her, of course, but I suppose I can be a little intimidating. She’s pink and blotchy with anger, and it clashes with her brilliant orange hair horribly.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I offend you?” She snarls and stomps right up to me, jabbing me in the chest with a finger. “Who are you to kidnap my nephew – you kidnapped him, he did not go with you willingly – and then waltz in here and… and molest him?”

“I didn’t kidnap him, he’s a grown man! I convinced him to come with me, yes, but I didn’t bloody lure him with candy or anything. If he hadn’t wanted to travel with me, there’s no way I could have made him. He’s quite capable of making his own decisions.” I can’t believe the lack of faith this woman has in Sanford. She’s making it sound like he’s a five year old I snatched out of the park. Perhaps waiting so long to let his remaining family know that he was alright was a stupid decision, I won’t argue with that, but he made it on his own. As long as I’ve known Sanford, he’s had a reason for everything. He doesn’t just do things.

“He was scared and confused, and you tricked him! You just bullied him into doing what you wanted, don’t try and fool me!”

“I haven’t got him on a leash, you know. He’s more than welcome to do whatever he wants, including leaving!” There have been many occasions when I feared he would do just that, to be honest. He did leave once, for two weeks, but he came back, obviously. If I were talking to anyone else I’d make a joke about being irresistible.

“Well, good! You’re a disgusting pervert, and I don’t want you anywhere near him! Get out of my house!” She pokes me again, as if that’s supposed to intimidate me. I’ve only known her for a few days, I couldn’t care less if she’s disappointed in me. I’d be happy to leave, but I’m not about to abandon Sanford with this madwoman.

“If you kick him out, I’m going too,” says Sanford, quietly from beside me. He’s looking at the floor, at his scuffed old shoes, hidden in the shag carpet. He doesn’t say anything else – he doesn’t have to. Statement made loud and clear, he looks up and stares his aunt square in the eye.

“I won’t let you leave with him, Sanford,” she growls, though she’s starting to sound worried. I think she realizes she’s not going to get her way. “You are going to stay here, and we will fix you.” Old hardwood creaks as she steps towards him, and he shies away, closer to me.

“I’m not broken, I don’t need fixing,” he says. “I don’t want to leave, okay? I love you, you’re my family. All of you are my family. The Author, too.” Talking slowly and deliberately, I can tell this is taking a lot of effort for him to say. He’s never said any of this to me, probably wasn’t really planning on it. I always thought he did consider himself ‘broken’, because it’s not like he’s ever seemed all that happy about liking me. More like ashamed.

“Sanford, if you refuse to let us help you, then you are not welcome in my house. I don’t want either of you anywhere near my children, do you understand me?” Her face is so red it looks like she’s about to explode. I wouldn’t put it past her, if she thought it’d let her get her way.

“I’m not any different! I thought I was, I guess, but I’m not gonna do anything to Emma or Jake. What could I do? I don’t even know what you’re thinking about!”

“This man ruined you, you don’t have any sense of what’s important anymore! I don’t want you tainting their minds. Just get out of my house! Now!” I look down at Sanford, who has already turned around silently and started gathering up his things.

“You’re just going to let her kick you out?” I ask, shocked. I’ve never seen him give up so easily. I guess he still respects her, even if she is a bigoted idiot.

“Yep,” he mumbles, tossing socks and shirts into his bag. I give his aunt another glare and join him, pulling my watch and papers out from under the bed where they fell when I fell asleep the night before. Sanford doesn’t look up from what he’s doing, methodically arranging things in his haversack in silence. Pulling on my socks and shoes, I don’t have enough time to tie the laces before he stands up and walks out of the room without a word.

By the time we get to the front door, Sanford’s uncle is downstairs and looking confused. I liked Tim, he seemed nice enough. He married into the family, which is easy to tell with his distinct lack of fiery red hair and freckles. A lot quieter than the rest of them too, he wasn’t around very often, because he works. He stands in bare feet at the bottom of the stairs, not saying anything, which is a good choice because I’m sure he doesn’t want to be yelled at like we just were. Sanford pulls on his coat haphazardly and is practically shoved out the door by his aunt. I get my coat thrown at my face and stumble out after him. As the door slams shut behind us, I take it as a sign that the time for civil discussion is over and whirl around, banging on it with my fists.

“You’re a bloody troll, you hear me?” I’m shouting as loud as I can. I don’t care if anyone else hears. “You’re disgusting and horrible, and I’m fucking glad we’re leaving your sorry ass because I couldn’t stand having to be polite to you for one more godsdamned minute! I have been trying so hard to put up with your bullshit, for his sake, because I care about Sanford, but I think you’ve made it pretty fucking obvious that you don’t! You’re a despicable woman, and I hope you’re bloody happy about what you’ve do-” My enraged tirade is halted by a tug on the back of my shirt. I turn around and see Sanford, hair mussed up and shoes untied and looking completely miserable, and he just shakes his head.

Taking my hand, he pulls me away from the door. For some reason I can’t comprehend, he doesn’t want me to do anything, even after this awful woman kicked him out of her house, out of his own family. It shouldn’t even be possible for people to do that, the very thought shouldn’t ever cross their minds. I would have no problems about breaking back in there and have a go at her, but that would only make things worse, so I let him lead me away. I pause only to put my coat on to ward off the cold of the early morning air, and we walk down the street. He doesn’t say a word.

-----

“Sanny, you haven’t said a thing in three days,” I say quietly, leaning over him. He turns his face away and buries it in the smelly sheets of the motel bed. We’ve been walking, on our way home now. He hasn’t spoken a word since we got kicked out of his aunt’s house, not even a sound that could be loosely translated as speaking. He’s quiet, but not this quiet. I’m getting worried about him now. We got here around three in the afternoon and he just flopped down on the bed, silently. I gave him a kiss on the forehead and left him to himself. After a good three hours of wandering around the shitty strip mall this place is a part of, trying to find food and toothpaste and other things we’d need later, I’ve come back in. He hadn’t moved an inch.

I take hold of him carefully, getting him to sit up beside be on the bed. He looks at me for a brief second, then turns his gaze back down to the sheets. The paint on the walls is chipping off, leaving bit white spots of drywall underneath the beige. It’s relatively clean, for a motel. I don’t really know what to do. I would be okay if he just said something. This isn’t like him at all, and it’s scaring me. Is he going to be alright after all this?

“Look, kiddo, I know you’re upset and everything is pretty fucked up right now, and it’s basically my fault so it’s understandable if you never want to speak to me again,” I start rambling. “But you’re so depressed and it’s just killing me. Can you just say something? Just say hello, or tell me to bugger off, or anything, I don’t care. Please.”

Silence. He’s acting like a little kid who is afraid that whatever they say will get them into trouble, so they just refuse to say anything at all. Nothing he could say would make me mad at him right now, and I wish he’d realize that. Hopping up off the bed, I pace back and forth in front of him, just trying to think of something useful to say. Family is one of the many things I’ve never had – not a real one, anyway. I have Phoebe, and I had Odin, but that’s not the same, I don’t think. Being disowned isn’t exactly something I have any familiarity with, so how am I supposed to tell him it’s going to be okay? I don’t fucking know, I’m just bloody useless. I want it to be okay. That doesn’t mean it will be.

I kneel down in front of him and take a hold of his shoulders, making him look at me. He seems so unfocused, like he’s just off in his own world and nothing can bring him back.

“Come on, if this is because you hate me now, just tell me, and I’ll stop bugging you. Just say something and I’ll go -“

“I love you,” he announces, a little bit frantically. Sliding off the edge of the bed, he sits beside me on the floor and pulls his knees up to his chest, peering up at me. “I… yeah, I do. I’m sorry if you don’t think I do…” His face is hidden except for his eyes, wide and sincere.

“Oh. Oh, well, that’s a good something,” I stammer. “But why wouldn’t you talk, kiddo? Wouldn’t that have been better?” I reach out and take hold of his hands, still concerned, but feeling a lot better now. I talk practically nonstop, but it seems that approach doesn’t make everyone feel better. He presses his cheek against my fingers. His face is really warm, like he has a fever. Gods, I hope he’s not sick on top of all of this.

“Dunno, I guess,” he says. “I’m just scared, okay? I-I don’t want to be alone. I really don’t want to be alone, and now I don’t have anyone left now. I don’t have any family anymore. They don’t want me.” His eyelashes brush against my hand as he closes his eyes. Shit. I hope he doesn’t cry. That probably sounds really selfish, but don’t think I can handle that. I’ve never seen him cry, not even when his parents died. He’s so strong, it’s almost ridiculous.

“Hello, I’m right here. Don’t I count?”

“You’re not gonna stay.”

“What? Of course I am, what are you talking about?”

“Maybe for a while, but not for forever… I know you, you couldn’t stay put if someone nailed your ass to a chair.” That hurts. I try and find a hint that he’s joking, but he’s completely serious.

“You don’t know me as well as you think, kiddo,” I tell him, sort of offended now. “I’m not just going to get tired of you and move on, if that’s what you’re thinking. I can’t believe you’d think that.” He looks away from me like he’s ashamed, afraid.

The people in the next room are having a party, and in this moment there’s a thump and a raucous cheer. It makes us both laugh as it reminds us how absurd this is, sitting on the floor beside a bed in some two-star motel in the middle of absolutely nowhere. The only thing around for miles is wheat and farmland, and we’ve been walking through it for the past three days. My intense fear of cars slows us down quite a bit, since we can’t drive anywhere, and I always end up practically walking in the wheat in a desperate attempt to stay away from any oncoming traffic. Sanford always just puts up with it. He hasn’t said anything, so I start again.

“Look, I’m not gonna leave you alone. Ever. You always tell me to go away, but I haven’t listened to you yet, right? I promise I’m not gonna start now. I love you more than anything, and that sounds cliché, but I really do, because you’re wonderful, and more intelligent than I could ever hope to be, and so patient, and – are you laughing at me?” He’s looking down at his hands and grinning, just slightly. Shaking his head, he actually does start laughing, and I smile. I guess that made him feel a bit better.

“You’re rambling, ‘______,” he mutters, moving his face away from our hands. “I’m glad you’re gonna keep on being a huge moron. That’s the only way you could like me, so I hope you don’t get any smarter.” It’s no wonder he’s so insecure, if this is what he’s been thinking all this time. There’s no reason that I’d leave him, not that I can think of. He’s smiling, something he rarely does, and that’s the nicest thing I’ve seen in a long time. I don’t mind when he uses my real name. That’s one of the reasons I don’t tell people. It makes it seem more important whenever anyone I care about uses it.

“Oh, see, that’s better,” I chuckle. “You’re making fun of me again, and I’m trying to tell you how much I love you.” Shuffling closer to him across the carpet, I use my free hand and pull him close. As he buries his face in my chest, I feel his hands grabbing hold of my shirt. I rest my head on top of his and don’t say anything, just holding on to him. The party keeps raging on other room, cheering and music barely muffled by the thin walls. It seems strange that other people are so happy when the only person who really matters is so upset.

“I love you too,” he says, moving closer until there’s barely any space left between us. I don’t want to let him go, which is okay, because I don’t think he wants me to. Walking along the side of the road for three days, his hair is all full of dust and wheat, and it tickles my nose. I sneeze, and he laughs into my shirt. He seems a clearer now, less disoriented, and content to just sit here and be hugged. Everything is going to be okay, at least eventually, and I think he finally realizes that.