Chapter 5

Thanks to Jim for editing!

The clouds were dispersing above, leaving the woods full of long shadows while the wind rattled the trees and made it nearly impossible for Frank to hear anything else around him. He inhaled the earthy scent left by the rain while his eyes watered and his lungs began to burn from exhaustion.

Frank didn't know how long he'd been running. He was certain that not much time had passed, but he'd run so hard that he could feel the heels of his feet all the way to his knees, and the aches from his fall earlier in the week were beginning to aggravate him. But he was too close to stop, he told himself. He had yet to discover who the assailant was. Small glimpses when Frank got close only gave away that he was dealing with a male who was very good at keeping the hood of his jacket up at all costs, and he knew the area. So well, in fact, that nothing had managed to slow him down.

Frank wasn't sure why it was so important that he catch the guy. It likely had a lot to do with the fact that he felt like his family had somehow been violated. He wanted to protect them. Protect Rudy. They were his. All he had. And he was furious. He had his suspicions over who it was, and if he was right, a certain member of the Martin family had a lot of explaining to do. He hadn't minded it when David took his picture without him knowing about it, but to think of a picture of Rudy which should have never been taken in the first place, wrecked his nerves.

The fact that Frank eventually had to stop, accepting defeat, wrecked his nerves, too. He'd come to a fork where two trails crossed paths, and there was no longer any sign of what he'd been chasing. No more glimpses, and as he strained to listen for more clues all he could hear was the wind, blowing like a whisper in his ear, that prickled the nape of his neck. He released the breath he'd been holding when he heard nothing of significance, and then couldn't seem to catch it as his lungs worked to slow down. His head ached, his throat was dry, and his face felt hot against the cool air as he absorbed it, wishing he would have slowed down sooner. For long moments he rested his hands on his knees until he caught his breath, but as he focused on his surroundings again, he found that he was not relieved at all.

Frank didn't know where he was. The shadows crossing over him were nearly suffocating, and he was disoriented as he realized that the brush surrounding him was so thick that nothing was visible, not even the lake. There was too much he couldn't see, and if he'd been the hunter only moments ago, he now had the uneasy feeling of being watched. He spun around to the sound of nothingness, his pupils dilating as his blue eyes took in too many dark places. When the possibility that he hadn't lost the stranger at all came to mind, Frank was no longer pleased by it. He was afraid of it.

He told himself that it was unwarranted, this fear. But it wouldn't cease. His skin itched and prickled, and the sensation caused him to feel trapped inside of it. Frozen to the point that he was too afraid to look behind him, as if the action itself could cause some unseen force to strike, like a little boy afraid of the shadows on his bedroom wall at night.

When Frank was a child, he'd gone through a phase of nightmares. It wasn't long after his first sleepovers, where a friend's older brother had told horror stories that no six-year-old had any business hearing. For weeks afterwards, he'd wake up with a dry throat, his small body frozen under the covers as the moving shadows in his room threatened disaster until the fear took over entirely. He wet his bed, and he'd cried. Back then, it had been his father who would rescue him from the terror. He remembered gentle hands cleaning him up, big arms holding him, supplying enough comfort to take it all away. Reassuring whispers in his ear until he could fall asleep again. He'd never felt more at ease. But his father wasn't here to chase these nightmares away. Likely never would be again. Despite Rudy's hopeful delusions the man was gone, and at the moment, Frank was alone.

He took in a steadying breath and attempted to appear unbothered by the uncomfortable sensations flooding his senses for any watching eyes, or perhaps his own mental well-being. His hands shaking at his sides were only one sign of his failure as he looked straight ahead to a thick span of trees, his vision narrowing down to a to a tunnel as he directed his attention to a shadow moving within the space. Instinct told him to run, but still he moved closer, his feet feeling like dead weight as he urged them to take small steps.

And then he heard something. Breathing. It came in short, harsh breaths along with hard, fast-paced footsteps nearing him at a dead run. Only, it wasn't coming from in front of Frank at all. Frank spun around and braced himself. His hands flew up in natural defense, and as a body nearly collided with his own from out of nowhere he gripped at its shoulders, holding the heavy force at bay as he prepared himself to strike back if necessary.

"Frank!"

Frank stared into familiar hazel eyes and a flushed face. But still, he wasn't satisfied until he took notice of his own clothes below the other boy's neck and allowed himself a relieved breath.

"Jesus, Oliver," Frank whispered in a hoarse voice. He let go of Oliver, but stood next to him so that they were shoulder to shoulder as he redirected his attention to the suspicious shadows. He wanted the contact. Any contact. Any comfort. At the moment, Oliver provided it.

"I don't know where he went," Frank said quietly. "Did you see him?"

Oliver shook his head, seeming uneasy. "We should go back, Frank. Your mom said to come back."

Frank narrowed his eyes, shaking his head. "Some asshole took pictures of my sister. Oliver, you've gotta tell me. Was it David?"

Oliver lowered his head. "David gets in trouble, Frank. I don't want him to get in trouble anymore."

Frank frowned, and his guard faltered as he turned to face the other boy. "Look, if it's David, you have to tell me, okay? What he did isn't right, Oliver. He can't... what he did was wrong. Very wrong. Do you get that? Oliver, please..."

Frank paused in mid-sentence as shadows moved around him. As he turned, all he could see was a flash of pale skin and a black jacket covering a tall figure that held a threat in his hand that promised an act of violence Frank could only begin to comprehend. The thick branch was swung with purpose, but not at Frank. It's target was Oliver, he realized as they were rushed from the side.

"Look out!" Frank shouted.

Oliver's eyes widened as he dodged to his right, gasping in shock when he didn't move quickly enough and the harsh wood cracked against his upper arm, just below his shoulder. It was the beginning and the end of the attack, but it was enough. Oliver fell as his attacker dropped the branch to flee.

This time, Frank was close enough. He dived and tackled, latching onto dark clothing as he wrestled the perpetrator to the ground. He grabbed a thick shoulder, intent on rolling over the body beneath him, but took a sharp elbow to the face for his troubles.

Blood flooded Frank's mouth as his top lip split against his teeth and the pain subdued him long enough for his captive to struggle his way to freedom, and then he was gone. Frank was left in a state no less than shock as he dabbed at his bloody lip with the back of his wrist, wondering if he should pursue another chase. It was Oliver's presence that decided for him.

"Are you alright?" Frank demanded as he crawled towards his friend, who was now sitting on the ground, clutching at his injured arm with a red face and gritted teeth. "Oliver?" Frank lifted his hand, but stopped himself from placing it on Oliver's shoulder, for fear of worsening the pain. Instead, he carefully pried Oliver's hand away from the injury and rolled up the sleeve. The welt was visible already, swelling and bruising with every second that passed. Frank cursed. "Did you see him?"

Oliver shook his head, and winced when Frank touched his tender injury, even with gentle fingers. Frank stood, and held his hand out for Oliver to take.

"Come on," Frank insisted. "Let's get back."

Oliver lifted his eyes to Frank's face, where they suddenly widened. "You're bleeding, Frank!" Oliver said, as if it were his only concern in the world.

"I'm okay," Frank insisted. "Come on, Oliver. I wanna make sure my sister's alright, and we need to get some ice on your arm. I don't think it's broken, but someone should look."

"It's not broken," Oliver replied. "Just hurts real bad."

Frank helped him to his feet, and while he was concerned over Oliver's injury, he was happy to have him there. Oliver knew the way back, and with his guidance, they reached the house rather quickly where Jessica Seaberg was waiting at the front door with Rudy. She took one look at her son's bloody face--which Frank insisted looked worse than it was--and went into a full-on motherly assault unit as she dragged him to the kitchen, forced him down at the table and forced a wet rag and bag of ice upon him.

"I can't believe you!" she said angrily. "And look at you, Frank!"

Frank glanced towards Oliver as he sat nervously in a seat next to him, still holding his arm while his mother turned her back and continued her tirade. He tried to offer a reassuring smile to his guest, but it came out as a grimace when Frank realized that that particular expression hurt. But, Oliver seemed relieved when Frank handed over his ice pack, sliding it beneath the other boy's sleeve.

"Do you have any idea how stupid that was?" Jessica demanded, rounding on her son.

Frank only sighed, and looked towards the kitchen entrance, where Rudy looked shaken, standing by the door. "You alright, Rudy?" he asked her. The question seemed to instantly calm his mother, who went to hug his sister.

"Of course we're not alright," Jessica said angrily, but when she faced Frank, she was calm again. "Did you see who it was?"

Frank frowned as he glanced at Oliver for a moment, but then shook his head. "No."

Jessica looked between the boys at her kitchen table as Frank used the washcloth to clean the blood from his mouth, but her eyes ultimately settled on Oliver as she noticed the ice had switched hands. "What happened?" she asked, going to the boy that was not her son.

"We cornered him and he attacked us," Frank said simply.

Jessica lifted a worried looking Oliver's sleeve, and gasped at the knot she found there. "Oh, Oliver... you hold that there," she ordered, moving to the freezer for more ice. "And no one saw him?"

"I couldn't say who he was," Frank replied. "Not for sure."

Jessica frowned as she took a long moment to look around the kitchen at her children, and one that wasn't hers. "I want everyone in the car," she decided.

"What?" Frank demanded. "What for?"

"We're going to file a police report," Jessica stated. "And we're going to see about getting some better locks... Oliver, I'm going to have to take you home first..."

"What? No," Frank stated. "Mom..."

"Frank, he can't come with us. His parents wouldn't like it. And we are going."

"I'm not going anywhere," Frank stated, and when he saw a warning look grow over his mom's face, he changed his tone. "Look, you take Rudy and go... someone should stay here, anyway."

"Frank, I don't want..."

"Mom, please," Frank said, his words becoming muffled as he held the rag closer to his sore lip. "I'll lock the doors. And the windows... just... I want to stay here."

"I wanna stay with Frank," Oliver chimed in.

Angela turned her attention to Oliver. She was beginning to look exasperated, and Frank knew they were pushing it, but still jumped in before she could say anything. "Take Rudy and go report this to someone, alright? I don't want to leave the house, in case the guy comes back."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Jessica stated.

"Mom, I don't want to go, either," Rudy suddenly said, and that was what did it for Jessica, and unexpectedly, gave Frank what he wanted.

"No--Rudy, you are going with me," Ms. Seaberg stated. "Get in the car. Now. Let's go. Frank, you don't leave the house, keep the doors locked. Unless the Martins come over to pick up Oliver. You'll have to tell them what happened."

"I can't do that!" Frank objected. Although, it was unclear which part he didn't like.

"You have to," Jessica stated. "And I'm stopping at Mr. Dron's on the way out to ask him to check on you. Open the door for him."

"But..." Frank started.

"I shouldn't be gone any longer than an hour or so... Frank..."

She was giving him her worried look, and Frank could understand why. He felt a little shaken himself. It hadn't been as bad since he'd made it home, and he was still numb with adrenaline, but he was disturbed over the afternoons events. But he didn't want to leave the house. Someone had been sneaking around their windows. If he left, Frank wasn't sure how safe he'd feel when he came back.

"We'll be fine, Mom," he finally said. "I'll let Mr. Dron in."

Jessica stared at him for a long moment, and then let out a breath. "Keep ice on your face," she ordered, and then looked at Oliver. "Oliver, does your arm hurt really bad?"

"It's not broken, Mom," Frank answered for him. "We'll be fine."

Frank wished that he felt fine, too. But, even after he'd locked the door behind his mom and his sister, he had trouble sitting still. He'd washed off his face and checked the damage. The split lip wasn't pretty, but it wasn't that bad, either. At least, not physically. It was unclear if it was his ego doing the thinking for him, but Frank felt like he'd just lost something more than a fight. He wished that he knew what it was.

He didn't feel safe. Since he'd moved, he'd always thought of his family's new home as a little... uncomfortable. But, this was the first time he didn't feel safe in it. He went through the trouble of making sure every single window was locked, drawing the curtains for good measure. Oliver followed silently, holding ice to his arm. In the kitchen, Frank swallowed down three full glasses of water. Oliver sipped one. And in the living room, Frank paced, repeatedly checking the front window for visitors, and Oliver waited patiently on the sofa.

Frank was happy Oliver was there. It would be worse, he thought, if he'd been completely alone. He suddenly stopped, allowed his breathing to slow, and looked over his friend. Oliver's ice had melted, and he was regarding the bag as if it had betrayed him. Frank found himself smiling at that, and feeling guilty. He opened his mouth to ask Oliver if he was alright, but suddenly Oliver's eyes lifted to meet his.

"You didn't tell your mom it was David," he said, as if he'd sensed that Frank was finally calm enough to talk.

Frank frowned. "Was it him?"

Oliver lowered his head, his brow knitted, and after a long moment of consideration, Frank decided that he simply didn't know. He sighed, and joined the other boy on the sofa where he rested his head back against the thick cushions and closed his eyes. He could hear the natural creaks in the house, and somewhere in the distance, the purring of a cat and the hum of the dishwasher. They didn't strike him as comforting sounds. "Some freak has a picture of my sister," he said quietly. It was wondering over the content of that picture that had him worried, but he was afraid to even think about it, let alone say it out loud. It was all too frustrating. There was too much going on. He'd been worried about Oliver. Now, he was worried about his own family. He didn't get this place. He didn't know if he wanted to. "I hate it here."

Frank felt the cushions beneath him shift, and didn't react when he felt his companion's head rest slowly and gently on his shoulder, but when he felt Oliver's hand climb over his own, Frank opened his eyes and watched the other boy's fingers play over his palm. "Don't say that, Frank," Oliver insisted. "You're my only friend."

Frank looked down at the top of Oliver's head at the messy dark hair and inhaled the scent of fresh lemons. He swallowed tightly, and without thought, found himself snuggling in closer to the warm body at his side as his hand closed over Oliver's. "Right now I think you're mine, too," he admitted, suddenly resenting everyone that used to be in his life. He blamed his father for the situation that he found himself in with his mother and his sister. It was his fault that they had to move away from all their friends. It was his fault that they had to live in a run-down dump that smelled like cat urine. And it was his fault that the dump they had to live in didn't feel safe. Because it certainly wasn't Frank's fault that he felt so out of sorts. He'd been uprooted, and now more than ever, he was feeling it. Between his mom working and having to help out around the house, making new friends, building a new life--it had all become a difficult task. A lonely task, since he hadn't even heard back from any of the friends he'd written to, another thing that Frank resented. At the moment, besides his mom and his sister, Frank truly felt that Oliver was his only friend, and that small detail did a lot of explaining as to why Frank was feeling protective of that friendship... and of Oliver.

Oliver suddenly lifted his head, turning so that he and Frank were face to face, with no apparent regard for personal space. Frank didn't seem to notice, but when Oliver smiled at what he'd said, taking it as a compliment, he wasn't able to return it this time. Frank's eyes fell to Oliver's arm, to the place where the other boy was now holding a bag of water.

"Does it hurt really bad?" Frank asked.

"It just hurts."

Frank met Oliver's eyes, frowning. "Why'd you follow me?"

Oliver looked at Frank as if he didn't understand why that particular question was being asked, not as if he didn't understand the question. Frank sighed.

"I'm sorry you got hurt, Oliver."

"I'm sorry you got hurt, too, Frank," Oliver replied in all sincerity as he put down the bag and lifted his hand, bringing his fingers close to Frank's face.

Instinctively, Frank flinched at the sudden gesture, but somehow managed to keep his own hands from interfering as Oliver's fingers hovered over his sore mouth for a moment, and then ultimately came to rest alongside it at his cheek.

Frank self-consciously wanted to look away, the close proximity beginning to affect him, but instead, his eyes remained on Oliver's, a task easily achieved only because Oliver wasn't meeting Frank's eyes directly, but looking at his injured lip instead. His gentle fingers and concerned expression seemed sweet to Frank, and as ridiculous as it seemed to Frank, he was touched by the indiscreet attention. Oliver moved his thumb, gingerly touching Frank's top lip near the cut before pulling his hand away. Frank could hear his own breathing, his vision blurring as he continued to watch Oliver at close proximity; and when his tongue moved from his mouth to touch his injury he could taste his own blood and salty flavor left from Oliver's fingers. When he suddenly realized that Oliver's eyes were once again meeting his, Frank pulled his head back enough to bring the hazel rings into focus. It was just in time to take in a surprised breath as Oliver leaned forward, and as the other boy's lips came to rest at the corner of Frank's mouth he counted off the three delicate seconds that the kiss lasted.

When Frank looked at Oliver again, he was sitting back on the sofa, still watching Frank in the calm manner that Oliver seemed capable of pulling off no matter what the circumstances, causing Frank to believe that he was the only one experiencing any amount of awkwardness. He told himself that he would have let the moment pass, accept the gesture of comfort for what it was. Innocent. Sweet like Oliver. And he would have. But then the corner of Oliver's mouth quirked up in a shy smile as he regarded Frank sidelong, and suddenly Frank wondered if Oliver was innocent at all. Innocent, perhaps. But something in the dark-haired boy's expression gave him away, told Frank that he'd known exactly what he was doing. There was something there. There had to have been, or Frank never would have lifted his hand to brush a stand of soft hair behind Oliver's hair, or slide his hand to the back of Oliver's head to pull him forward.

Frank's approach wasn't nearly as gentle as Oliver's, and he paid for it when a sting rose from his injured lip, but his aim was more intimate as his mouth collided with Oliver's. He heard the other boy's breath hitch, and then felt Oliver's lips parting beneath his, feeling soft and careful. Their tongues lightly touched, Frank acting first, but then Oliver startled him as he deepened the kiss in a way that suggested that the experience wasn't at all new to him. It was Frank who pulled back first.

Frank could feel the color rising in his face, but it had nothing to do with embarrassment. Staring at Oliver, he felt depleted. Perhaps it was the earlier adrenaline leaving him, and the excitement of the day, but that kiss had unexplainably drained him and he discouraged himself from wanting to do it again. Not only because he was afraid that to continue would exhaust himself, and perhaps Oliver, too, completely.