<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">Blood coagulating in syrupy puddles, black molasses in the yard, remnants of pride fading, gone but never forgotten, into the dirt. Beasts not so monstrous anymore, picking up their shards, collecting whatever was left of their bravado. Skulking things. Their vanity shattered like the Blazer’s headlight, stomachs wrenched less from the punches and more from their loss. They wouldn’t be so barbaric when they clambered back home, nursing their wounds. Some of those wounds would never heal. How pitiful it seemed- Collin, barbarian boy, festering in his own defeat. He had longed for this triumph, turned it over in his thick skull for ages. Reno wondered how it cut him, how it ached, to limp away with shame sobering that oh so empowering buzz he had when he rallied his Burning Bear flag.<br/>
<br/>
It didn’t belong to him, anymore. It was inappropriate but unsurprising that Volk -escapist, deserter, betrayer- now flew that tattered rag, reclaiming the stake he had never really lost, just passed on, like a torch, or one of his cigarettes. The traitor had a soul like candy. Sweet, irresistible. Oh, dark temptation, sink your teeth in and they’ll rot. And the decay will taste so, so good.<br/>
<br/>
Reno would have cavities, soon. <br/>
<br/>
Great defender stood, weakly, on his reclaimed territory. It was a strange sort of rite, boy turned man standing in his childhood realm, no longer the breaker of houses but the protector of one. But one admirable conquest could not rid him of the shadow stretched out behind him. Reno couldn’t see it now, in the flash of headlights and in the midst of crimson blur but it still churned at his back- Volk was not all shining armor and winning timid hearts with righteousness. Pretend paladin was still a sneak thief. Werewolf just narrowly avoiding his full moon. Reno couldn’t see it now. Dumb girl. There was still a beast in him, too. He just didn’t wear it on his flesh.<br/>
<br/>
She couldn’t feel it on his skin when they touched, now. When he took her to him, he was all slick reds and sweat. Guardian Volk. She ate it up. Fairytale baby vied for knights and princes, blind to all the less virtuous castle denizens. Young princess, watch your step, there are dungeons beneath your feet.<br/>
<br/>
“I did stay,” she sounded like a kid who got away with something on technicality. “I stayed in the truck.” <br/>
<br/>
He reeked of iron and salt, his hair matted and glossy skin blemished by mud and scrapes. The boots in his sides would leave tender marks, browns blossoming into blues and cobalts. Estranged siblings, how they would match, mulberry strokes like paint. And as much as they had pretended in youth, butterfly kisses would do nothing to heal them.<br/>
<br/>
She didn’t answer his question. She knew she would lie if she did. So she stayed quiet, slight little thing taking on his weight, easing him across the battlefield marred by tire treads and a stray pair of underwear Reno hadn't the time to recollect. She relied on her skirt, now, to be a bit longer than it had been in the Blazer.<br/>
<br/>
It relieved her to see the bike untouched, glistening edges reflecting moonlight back at them. She had loathed it, the first time she saw it- boast of grandeur, the epitome of the splendor Volk had experienced <i>out there</i>. It had mocked her, somehow; an object, opulent and beautiful, worth more than Reno could ever hope to. But Volk adored it, and after his troubles he could at least be awarded by its safety. The trucks were not so lucky. <br/>
<br/>
None of it mattered now, though. The house accepted them with its own bizarre brilliance, expansive foyer not so dusty, anymore. The door creaked as Reno flung it open and Volk’s heavy, labored steps whined against the floorboards. There was safety here, one that Reno hadn’t felt in a long time. <br/>
<br/>
They struggled, flawed duo, to the lower floor bathroom. Reno hadn’t touched it in years- it was plagued by the same depressing blandness that the rest of the building bore, but at least the marbled tiles offered interest. Volk had diligently cleaned the surfaces earlier, and they shined beneath the glower of the amber lights. It didn’t last long. As the injured runaway tumbled in, he smeared the sanguines across the creams, muddying them together like watercolors. <br/>
<br/>
It was nostalgic, somehow. The Tiffany-style lampshades above the mirror, flickering in their disuse, reminded Reno of simpler battles. Volk taking a too-sharp turn on a bicycle while trying to catch up to Reno, who, unfairly, had gotten a head start. Volk taking a leap of faith from one tree branch to another, inevitably missing, and crumpling like the leaves at the base of the trunk. Burning Bear boys picking petty fights with Volk, who, in his leanness, seemed like an easy win- and of course, sneak thief won, but he had the cuts to prove it. Every time Volk would wander home, with or without Reno, and insist that he was just fine- until the jacket came off or the scabs became apparent in the tears of his jeans. <br/>
<br/>
Reno had her fair share of skirmishes fixed up in this cramped bathroom, too. Bee stings and knee scrapes from the times she had tried learning to skateboard. Bumps under her hair when she whacked her head on whatever she was trying to hide beneath in games. Volk had always been good at playing doctor, bandaging her and getting her to laugh, even when she wanted so badly to pout. <br/>
<br/>
In recent first-aid ventures, Volk hadn’t been there to squeeze her until she inevitably broke the sulk. These memories were not so sweet. Reno patching up her snake bites and wolf sores, all the places where it had gone too far. Or, according to Collin, not far enough.<br/>
<br/>
She tried not to think about it as she eased Volk onto the edge of the tub. Her heartbeat raced- in the past she had only been responsible for the kisses on the injuries <i>after </i>mother or Volk himself had treated and bandaged them. Mother had been so good at it, so nurturing, gentility spilling from her in heaps. Reno could barely take care of herself- how could she take care of Volk? <br/>
<br/>
With an overwhelmingly deliberate caution, Reno slipped the tank top from Volk’s body. It was barely that, anymore, with tears at the seams and down the front where nails had gotten hold. The jeans remained- Reno’s innocence was nauseating. She brushed her own nails across his shoulders, lightly, as if his skin would split if she weren’t careful. It wouldn’t, but little Reno was mild in spirit, anyway. He was no brick, not like Collin, but he wasn’t fragile. Not like the doll that tended to him, warming the water and whispering softly from her place beside the tub.<br/>
<br/>
“I’m so sorry, Volk, I didn’t think- I didn’t think they would come after you like that,” her weepy voice still warbled in her aching throat. “I- I’m not so good at all this first-aid stuff, not like mom-”<br/>
<br/>
She didn’t mean to say it out loud. “Do you think… do you think you’ll be okay? I mean- I guess what I mean is- I don’t know- can you stand?” His hand was still tight on her wrist, and she had no intention to ask him to let go. <br/>
<br/>
She bit her lip, fucking bad habit of hers.<br/>
<br/>
“Volk… you didn’t have to…” under the lights, she looked like a statuesque mess, makeup smeared yet again, face plastered with a mixture of dried and damp tears, “thank you- that’s what I’m trying to say- thank you- I don’t know what would’ve happened, you know,”<br/>
<br/>
She was sniffling again.</span>