Marian
Another week had gone by, and Freddie figured that surviving until Friday merited a little fun.

Though he'd given most of his weekly pay packet to his father as usual (while he was a man now, Freddie was not yet the sort of man to be trusted with the running of a household and budget), he still had a few coins that weighed heavy in his pocket after restocking Angel's feed and straw, and buying fabric scraps from Miss Hazel to roughly repair a hole in her favourite blanket. So as the sun was just slipping over the horizon, he buttoned his coat and walked to the old barn, hoping to find somebody to talk to and maybe a drink to go along with the conversation. 

It was a quiet night, as most nights had been since the full moon. People didn't seem to want to spend too much time away from their homes and their loved ones after all that had transpired that night, and who could blame them? Freddie could only be thankful that he was used to leaving early in the mornings, coming home not long before dark, and that he didn't have to deal with weighted and worried goodbyes each day. Still he could see the relief in his mother's eyes each day he came home unscathed, taste it in the hot cocoa she kept hot on the stovetop waiting for him.

But he was fine. He would always come home just fine, he'd promised enough people he wouldn't go getting himself hurt. His parents, his sisters, Florian and Olivia... They were counting on him, some of them more than others. Particularly the Barcas had already been through enough lately, they didn't need him adding more to the loads they had to bear.

So Freddie made his way alone through darkening streets, and slipped in the door of the speakeasy unseen. Here, too, was quiet, but he'd expected nothing less. A lone musician played the fiddle in the corner of the room, and Freddie ran his thumb over one of the metal cover plates of the harmonica in his pocket. A drink or two and perhaps he'd be convinced to join in song, but he wasn't sure there'd be much dancing.

Still, he could see where the night took him. Home was only so far away. 

Up at the bar, the woman pouring the bottles gave him a smile and a wave of recognition. He'd still never asked her name, but she was older, and always looked upon him kindly when he came in. He didn't need to tell her what he wanted any more, before he knew it she was bringing him a short glass of the applejack he'd gotten a taste for at the Christmas soiree, and he slid over a coin in return and told her *Keep the change*. 

Then, she was gone again, and he was left alone with his thoughts, and with the company of the few people in the barn this early in the evening. A sweep of the room confirmed he didn't know any of them, though there were faces he might recognise if he thought hard enough about placing them. Maybe it'd be better if he waited to see if anyone approached him first.

He wasn't really sure *Why* He'd come tonight. But he was too restless to sit at home, and he'd seen Florian near enough every night this week and knew that the hospital allowed later visiting hours on Fridays, so his only real friend would be with his brother until after nightfall. There weren't many other places in Briar Ridge that a man could just *Go* To, and so he found himself here when he was at loose ends. Like now.

It was on his third glance around the room that someone caught his eye. Not a friend - no, a stranger just like the rest, but a somewhat striking-looking one, all long black hair and a stern expression, scars on their face like so many others in town these days, and a white cast on their arm.

It only took a moment for Freddie to slide down to the end of the bar and into a seat next to them.
"Hey."
**Great** Start.
"What happened to your arm?"
Somehow worse.
"Was it a werewolf?"
It was probably time, Freddie thought, to close his mouth.
"Sorry."

||
James
Going to the speakeasy had been a last-minute decision.

Charlie had been confining themselves to their shared apartment at the start of their recovery, both out of genuine exhaustion and to make sure Emery wouldn't worry their pretty head off even *More* About them. The thought of them with that same terror they had that full moon was enough to make Charlie's stomach turn, and they'd do anything to prevent it for as long as possible.

Still, by the time a full week had passed, they'd started growing restless. Life didn't slow down for anyone, and being confined to that apartment only seemed to stretch the hours forever onward. Unfortunately, by the time they'd grown enough courage to head out again, it was already nearing night, and there was only one place they knew of that would be open at that hour.

After telling Emery of their plan, smoothing over the furrow in their brow with their fingers as they lay in bed with their banjo, Charlie slipped out into the night, coat half hung over their broken arm.

It was... Surprisingly nice. The fiddle player wasn't half bad, though they didn't have any room to talk themselves, and the music drifted along the barn like the sweetest type of smoke. They'd waved off any offer of liquor and instead asked for water to keep their head clear, not that Charlie expected it to be needed.

...Truthfully, most of it tasted like swill to them.

As Freddie slid in beside them, Charlie didn't so much as blink, though their arms bristled with goosebumps. Of *Course* This stranger approached them on their left, which had been rendered vulnerable by their broken arm. If they tried anything, it'd be easy to get them-

*"What happened to your arm?"*

Charlie blinked.

*"Was it a werewolf?"*

They turned, brows furrowed.

*"Sorry."*

Charlie opened their mouth to reply but was only able to gape like a fish. Sure, they weren't stellar at conversation themselves, but by god, what a way to make them stumble.

"I... Yeah. Wolf got to me."

||
Marian
Thankfully, the stranger didn't seem too upset by Freddie's bluntness, which made a change; he often felt as though he'd put his foot in his mouth when it came to conversations. Maybe he had and they were just too polite to mention it. Or maybe they really didn't mind. Either way, he'd said it now, so there was no point in trying to take it back. 
"Sorry. Not the best way to greet someone, I know... Mama's always sayin' I need to think more before I speak." He grinned. "I'm Freddie, by the way. Sorry about your arm. Hope it's not hurtin' ya too badly." 
He nodded to them, and took a small sip of his drink. 

"I ain't known anybody get attacked by one yet. 'Cept for Mr Barca and he's not up to conversations just yet. S'why I asked. If you don't feel like talkin' about it, tell me and I'll change the subject." He was curious - he couldn't help it. Charlie had come up against a beast and wasn't lying motionless in a hospital bed. Either they'd fought it and won, or they had some kind of immense strength and resilience. Both would be pretty interesting concepts. Freddie hadn't really known it was possible to walk away from the full moon if you were targeted. His total experience so far had been seeing Valerian's bloodied bandages, and hearing about death.
Much more death than he'd ever thought there'd be in such a small town. 

"You must be pretty brave."
Where that had come from, he wasn't quite sure, but it felt like the right thing to say. 
"I mean, everyone here's pretty damn brave, stickin' around. Surely some people got better places to go to... Me and my folks only just got here and I'm sure Mama'd much rather we left quick as we arrived. If this happened back home there'd be families uppin' and leavin' without so much as a thought. But nobody seems to want to run from here."

His mouth could get him in trouble. But something about Charlie made him think he wouldn't be in trouble with *Them* At least. 

"I gotta learn to win against 'em like you did, I guess."
James
"Hardly anything to be sorry for if I'm still breathing." Charlie shrugged with their uninjured arm. "You're... Fine. I'm not good at small talk anyway, might as well say whatever you want. I'm Charlie."

He reminded them of Sylvia, all the way back in Chicago. She had an issue with saying whatever was on her mind, social cues be damned, but Charlie had long since gotten used to her outbursts. It was... A comforting familiarity, and brought a warmth to their chest that they'd sorely missed.

"Tugging at a chain attached to a mutt going for someone else's throat isn't brave- I just didn't want to see someone else get mauled, that's all." They shifted in their seat and a frown had begun to tug at their face. "I think I can say for myself, and a handful of others, that we don't have the resources to leave. Either we fight to stay here, or we lay down and die- and I'm not too interested in dying before I'm thirty."

*Learn to win...*

"I don't think it's something you *Can* Win. They're... People, afflicted with something horrible that they can't escape from. If a cure isn't figured out soon, people are going to die, whether or not they turn into one of those things or not."

||
Marian
"You saved someone?"

That was something Freddie needed to hear. Not only had Charlie encountered a werewolf and come away with their life intact, they'd protected someone else too. They'd taken on the beast themselves and *Won* - at least enough to save a life. 

"I still think that's brave. Throwin' yourself out there to stop someone else's hurt. Not just anyone'd do that." 
He still couldn't be sure what it was that had drawn him to Charlie besides childlike curiosity, but he was grateful for it. 
"I got a handful of people I gotta protect if it comes down to it. So knowin' that you *Can* Do that an' it's not just a fantasy... That's a good thing. Can you tell me how you did it? What happened? I mean - you don't gotta. Not if it's a traumatic memory or somethin', I know it's probably not all that fun thinkin' about it... We can talk about somethin' else if you'd rather." He bit his lip. "Sorry. Again. I get carried away a lot. I- I don't wanna die, either. And I don't wanna be watchin' anybody else die either. My papa says it's like a war, but I don't think he's all the way right about it. It's not a war if there's not an enemy, right? And even the wolves have lives and friends and- and people that love 'em?"

||
James
For a moment, all Charlie did was stare at Freddie. There was no malice behind their eyes, only a faint curiosity.

"You seem young, Freddie." They looked him over once, then shook their head. "Probably not much younger than me, but still. You don't have to apologize for this shit- I'd tell you if it was pissing me off, and it isn't."

Charlie sighed, "Whoever the wolf was, they had a bear trap stuck on their leg- one of Dallas Sinclair's, I think. It was a big red thing, and it saw Ms. Cooper on the ground and just gunned for her. She didn't even fight back, not that I can blame her, since the whole thing was a downright mess."

They paused again, eyes growing hard. "It would have killed her if I didn't do something, so I just... Jumped for the chain and tugged. My arm was on fire, and I remember how the blood pounded in my ears, but I still pulled until that trap hit bone. It screamed, the other wolves stopped, and then people started throwing shit to drive them off."

"That's... It. I pulled on a chain and saved a life." Charlie turned to look Freddie in the eye again, mouth opening to continue talking but stopped. Their gaze drifted over him again, more focused this time, and settled on the young man's collarbone, watching how his chest rose and fell with his breathing.

"...You've been wearing that for too long."

||
Marian
"I'm not *Young*," Freddie couldn't help but protest, but he didn't want to interrupt Charlie, so he forced himself to swallow back any further complaints and just listen. They were giving him what could turn out to be valuable information, after all. He didn't want to cut them off mid-flow and lose out. So he sipped from his glass and was quiet as they told their frankly horrifying tale. 
Freddie could only imagine the blood - spilling crimson onto snow, and the smell - and the cries of the wolf and the injured townspeople he'd heard from behind his barricaded window. He pictured Charlie yanking on the chain of the bear trap as if their life depended on it, and he closed his eyes for a moment against the image. He couldn't do that... Could he?

If someone he loved were in danger, would he be able to bring himself to it?

Charlie's next words pulled him right out of his thoughts, and his breath caught in his throat as he turned to see how they were looking at him, how their gaze had come to rest not on his face, but on his chest, the opened top button of his shirt. It was as though they were looking deeper, right inside his very self, with their oddly piercing eyes. 
They knew.
A few minutes of conversation and they had figured out for themself the one thing that Freddie tried to keep hidden from all but those who knew him best. 

"I- what?" Feigning ignorance was a last-ditch attempt to preserve his secret. "I'm sorry, I - I know it's been a long day an' all but I don't think I'm all that dirty to be needin' a fresh shirt just to come for a drink. I ain't got nothin' on I plan on takin' off."

||
James
It'd been a good number of years, maybe nine since Charlie's grandfather discovered their bandages. His voice had been soft when he asked them *Why*, only nodding a few times as Charlie spoke of their body, eyes growing sad when described how they *Hated* It. They hated their burgeoning breasts, the dresses their mother would force upon them, and how boys would stare. They wished for their younger days, of the line they could dance between the lines, never rightly staying within one.

*"How long, Charlie?"*

*"Until I go to bed."*

The look of horror he had still lingered in Charlie's mind, and how he'd asked about things that had become all too familiar: were their breaths shorter? Were their movements stilted? Did pain shoot through them whenever they *Could* Move?

After saying *Yes* To all of them, his lecture lasted an hour.

"I used to do it, Freddie- almost ruined my damn ribs that way." They waved their good hand. "There are better ways, you know; maybe a little warmer than what you're used to, but better than what you have going on. Pinning different fabrics together, or finding one of those... Bandeau things and ripping off all that damn lace. Maybe get someone to make you one."

Charlie shrugged their good shoulder. "Plenty of men do it like you do now, but I figure you'd like your ribs to stay somewhat intact."

||
Marian
Freddie's expression hardened. He'd never before encountered someone else who *Knew* Of his practice, much less someone who'd experienced it for themselves. The way Charlie spoke didn't seem as though they were lying about it. What purpose would they have to lie anyway? 
For the first time in his life, Freddie was able to consider that he was not, in fact, the only person on this earth who felt the things he felt - who knew such hatred for the body he'd been born with and the sex that had been thrust upon him when he was too small to understand its weight and what future it would hold for him. And what did Charlie mean when they said *Plenty of men*? Were there more?
He'd been young - *So*, so young - when he told his mama that he was a boy. She, bless her heart, had accepted his words without question and from that day forth he'd been allowed to bloom into the man that sat beside Charlie in the barn. No gaze that had ever befallen him had studied him so casually and dug his grand secret right out with such casual observations. 

He looked away from them.

"I ain't buyin' any a' them damned frilly undergarments," He muttered, cheeks aflame. "And by God I ain't standin' afore Miss Hazel an' askin' her to fit one on me. Can't you imagine the talk that'd be had should she tell anyone?" What, pray tell, would he do if she were to tell *Valerian*? Women had been banished from the mines long before Freddie was born. If the coal company were to hear even a whisper of what he really was, his job would be stripped from him before he could open his mouth in protest. And then what would his family do? He had no other trade. The mine was the only reason they were here, and they had nowhere else to go.

And as for when the word inevitably made its way back to Florian... Bile rose in Freddie's throat. It didn't bear thinking about. 
The rest of the town, well. Rumours he could deal with, whispers he could handle. But losing what little he'd managed to build in Briar Ridge didn't bear thinking about.

He couldn't truthfully say that the wrappings didn't hurt. That he didn't ache as he unwound them nightly, that he didn't cough and cough after they were removed. More often, lately, he'd be loading up a cart at Angel's back when white-hot pain would spike through his chest and steal his very breath away. The darkness of the mines was so forgiving, concealed so much. 

"What's gonna happen to my ribs? Say, if I tell you to kick rocks and take your nose outta my business? I mean- I ain't doin' that. I bothered ya in the first place. But if I weren't to heed your little warnin'?"

||
James
"With the way you're going about it, I'd say you're risking a broken rib, maybe more. If it goes on for much longer, you could risk warping the bones themselves." Charlie shrugged, but their face was serious. "Not to mention your lungs getting fucked from all the pressure- bruises, too."

They didn't know the local seamstress- they didn't need to. Any mending was regulated to either themselves or Emery, insistent on not paying any townsfolk to patch up anything that could easily be fixed themselves. Would it be pretty? Probably not, if Charlie was doing it, but it was better than having another expense that weighed on their already guilty conscience.

The solution that came to Charlie's mind was easy, though.

"If this 'Miss Hazel' has any sense in her mind, she'd keep her mouth shut about things that aren't her business." Charlie waved their good arm in the air. "It should be easy for a seamstress or seamster to make a bandeau without all those stupid frills and feminine shit, and you should get one so you don't fuck up your bones before you're forty."

They leaned back, huffing. "Hell, I'll get it for you, if you give me your measurements. I don't care what people say about me."
Marian
Freddie couldn't hide the way his nose wrinkled when Charlie mentioned broken ribs. He was no stranger to pain, but he'd never broken a bone before and didn't have any desire to know what it felt like. He looked at their arm, and decided it was best not to say that part aloud. 
Bones could *Warp*? That, too, was a new revelation. And he needed his lungs. The coal dust already made it hard enough to breathe. How much worse could it get before he, like the canary in her cage far below the surface, succumbed and fell silent, never to sing again? 

There was, of course, the chance that Charlie was just saying all this to frighten him into listening. But he felt a sort of kinship with them that he didn't quite understand, and couldn't put his finger on even one reason why they might lie right to his face. Perhaps they were truly looking out for him, and their concern was real. They were, after all, offering him things he'd never been offered before - they would go to the tailor *For him*. They wouldn't tell anyone what they knew. 

"You don't gotta. I don't know my own measurements and I doubt my mama'd take too kind to me raidin' her sewin'-basket for her tape an' not tellin' her what it was I wanted it for." He sighed softly. "I don't mean ta' shoot down the idea. Know you're jus' wantin' to help me, for some reason, but I can't. I can't do it, Charlie, I'm not ready for any a' that. There ain't a soul here or back home that knows about it past my family. I... I could lose it all. At the drop of a pin. I can't go takin' that kinda risk... I'll tie 'em looser. Or wear 'em less, or-or somethin', but I can't go without altogether. I won't let Fl- anyone see what's underneath."

||
James
"I know you could, Freddie." Their voice grew soft, something they'd only reserved for their sisters or Emery. "It'd be a big risk, and I'm not going to tell you what to do here, but you need to be *Careful.* Take breaks, wear them looser, something- you could seriously hurt yourself."

Charlie understood, of course- any other place outside of Briar Ridge had looked at them like they were a freak at the best of times, or the spawn of the devil at worst. Briar Ridge had some semblance of relief in allowing them to be who they were, and in finding Emery, but cruelty to their true self was still inlaid in most things they saw. They'd come to understand it, to roll their eyes and move their attention elsewhere, but the hurt and fear were still *Raw* For Freddie, and they'd be a fool to tell him his caution was worthless.

"Let me show you how to do it properly, then. I'll show you how to do it with cloth on myself- a material that can breathe alongside- and you'll feel better. It'll be warmer for you, too, since you've got to layer them up."

They looked him over for a moment, brows pinching together, then shook their head.

"Fuck, you remind me so much of how I used to be." Charlie dragged their good hand down their face. "I didn't *Have* Anyone like me when I did this, Freddie- just my grandpa worrying his fucking head off about my ribcage. He helped some, but he didn't get it. I *Get* You, and I want to help. We've got to stick together, Freddie."
Marian
Freddie nodded. Though he was loathe to admit it, he knew Charlie was right. They knew more about all of this than he did, and they were worth listening to - it was a rare moment when Freddie could hold his head high and admit that he was out of his depth, that he didn't know what he was doing and he was really just making it up as he went along and hoping, even praying, that it all turned out alright. It was all he'd ever done. Hidden away and pretended none of it was happening and until now, nobody had been any the wiser.

It was different, with Charlie. They were like him. Their words implied there were others. 
He didn't have to do this alone. 
Charlie wanted to stick together.
And Freddie did, too. 

He had to swallow hard before he could speak again. "Yeah- yeah. I'll do it looser, or less, or both. I'll try, Charlie, I swear I'll do what I can, I don't- I don't want it to hurt like this. Because sometimes it really goddamn hurts."

He took a long swallow of his drink, and hoped that he could disguise the way he needed to clear his throat as a simple cough from the burn of the liquor. "I'd... Yeah. I'd appreciate you showin' me, if there's better ways to do it than I'm doin' now. I ain't had anybody to teach me, you know? I just... When things started changin', I was only a kid. I didn't understand what was happenin' to me, I just knew I ain't like it a bit, so I covered it up an' nobody ever told me not to so I kept goin'."

He turned to face them properly, and if there was a watery element to his gaze he just hoped they wouldn't mention it. "I don't got nobody worryin' about me 'cause I don't tell 'em what I'm up to. You- you're different, you didn't need told about it. An' I... I'm sorry. That I been gettin' it all wrong so far. I didn't mean to. I ain't know it was dangerous like that an' I thought the coughin' and the pain was jus' the coal dust. All the men that've been down the mines all their lives - they all end up with it in their chests eventually. I thought it was jus' because I went down earlier'n I should've an' it was catchin' up to me... Stupid, right?"

He sighed softly, looking down at his hands, the dust under his nails. 

"I'll stick with you so long as you really mean you're wantin' ta stick by me. I ain't never had nothin' or nobody stick."

||
James
"You're not stupid, Freddie." The words were immediate, alongside the hand placed on his shoulder. "I'm not mad at you; you've got nothing to be sorry about. You and I both know how hard this shit is, and you've had *No one* To tell you how to do it, so you did what you could. *You didn't know.*"

They didn't mention the wateriness of his gaze, but Freddie would see it mirrored in Charlie's own, their lip having the slightest quiver.

Charlie never thought of themselves as soft, or a person who would cry openly and easily. They were made of jagged edges, their teeth sharpened against stones thrown at them their whole life. Freddie was the bright canary that went down to the mines each day, who you'd pray to see alive and well, anything to hear them sing again- only to have your heart leap to your throat once that bird collapsed in its cage.

Damn everything to hell if Charlie let that happen.

"I mean it, and I'm not letting you be alone with this anymore, okay? I'll help you as much as you'll let me, but you have to *Promise* Me that you won't call yourself stupid anymore. People out there give us enough shit for being ourselves, we don't have to do the same."
Marian
Freddie didn't realise just how much he needed to hear the words until they came.
*You're not stupid* And *I'm not mad at you.*

He had a tendency to screw up a lot. Whether that was through launching into things without truly thinking them over, or through sheer unbridled clumsiness, or whether they were truly out of control, one thing could be almost guaranteed when he woke up each morning - something would go wrong at least once that day. He'd gotten used to the sighs, to people shaking their heads and clicking their teeth in irritation. It didn't even register, most of the time, as he cleaned up spilled or broken things and dusted himself off and surged forward. 

Charlie didn't do that.
Charlie spoke of themselves and Freddie as kindred spirits. They understood - more than anyone in Freddie's life had ever even tried to understand. He didn't need to explain himself to them; they weren't asking him to do that, even if he could find the words to. 
Their hand on his shoulder was light, but warm. They weren't angry. They wanted to stay and to *Stick* And to help. 

Freddie fought to remember the last time someone had offered to help when he messed up.
He couldn't really come up with one.

A tear rolled down his cheek, too quick for him to catch it. He watched as it soaked into the fabric of his pants, and his gaze flickered up automatically to see if Charlie had noticed it too. 
Instead of the judgemental looks he'd come to expect when he cried, he only saw matching tears, albeit unshed, shining in their eyes. 

And he couldn't help himself, sliding off of the barstool and taking a half-step toward them, wrapping his arms around their middle (but gently, so gently, they were injured, he couldn't squeeze too tight) and pressing his cheek into their shoulder. 

"I'm sorry."

A shuddering breath forced its way past his lips. 

"And I promise. No more given' myself shit over things that are outta my control? I promise."

||
James
Despite their short span of having to share extremely close quarters with another (albeit beloved) person, Charlie hadn't gotten used to physical intimacy. They'd shared hugs with their sisters back home but after a year of rough traveling, the gesture brings them pause. At that moment, their good hand flexed at their side, eyes widening as the younger man curled his arms around their middle.

"You don't have to be sorry, Freddie." They croaked and slowly reached their hand up to pat his back. "Just be kinder to yourself, alright?."

Charlie had to take a few deep breaths to deny their tears any possible chance of escape, but it left a horrible burning feeling in their chest. They wouldn't, couldn't cry there- every experience with their sisters screamed at them to be strong, to be the rock that Freddie could cling to.

"You're okay, bud. Just... Breathe."
Marian
Freddie could be kinder to himself. If that was all Charlie asked, he could do it. It was something he often forgot, too determined to be kind to others to remember to preserve a little of that respect for himself. It had been too long since he'd last heard another voice tell him to do it. But following their request would be the least he could do, for the time being. 

He pulled away from the hug as quickly as he'd launched into it, but not without taking one final deep breath there. He wasn't alone. Not in Briar Ridge and not in... This, the tumultuous relationship shared between his physical form and what lay in his heart. There was Charlie, and perhaps there were others, too, others he hadn't met yet but would find his way to in due course. 

He turned back to the bar-top, and drained the rest of the 'shine from his glass. "I oughta be goin', I think. Got plenty ta' be gettin' home to... And a weight to take off my chest." Merely a flash of a cheeky grin, and he ran a hand through his hair before extending it out for Charlie to shake. "I'll be seein' you again though, don't doubt it. Was good to meet ya, Charlie."

||