Tyler takes Chase back to the house in the woods, fighting his instincts the entire time.

He isn’t sure how he ended up with an angry grief-riddled kid in his care, but here he is, and he does care—enough that worry and fear have lived in his gut all day, enough he didn't protest when John DeWitt pushed him around and demanded answers.

Chase is quiet until he pulls up to the RV, and then mumbles, “Are you mad?”

“Not at you,” Tyler says honestly. “Come on.”

Inside, he pushes Chase into the tiny bathroom, and the boy changes as Tyler heats up a small cup of soup and a grilled cheese. He nudges Lucas to the side and feeds him a spoonful of soup as Chase fidgets.

“What you did was dangerous,” Tyler says softly.

Chase hunches in on himself. “I wasn't—”

“Chase,” Tyler snaps, “You ran away. I get you’re upset, but you put yourself in danger, and you can't do that.”

Tears gathers in his eyes, and he sniffles. “I'm sorry.”

Tyler is silent, feeding Lucas and watching him until he finally huffs. “Eat your soup and take a nap. We'll talk after you wake up.”

Chase startles, looking up at him. “You aren't going to call my dad?”

“I texted him when I found you,” he says, “You can stay here tonight.”

Tyler has a feeling that’s more because DeWitt has no idea where Tyler lives than because of anything else, like a sudden change of heart. He doesn’t care, though—there’s enough to deal with in the morning, and right now, he wants to just pretend that he isn’t about to lose this boy.

So he watches Chase as he drinks his soup and picks at his sandwich, makes himself feeds Lucas, none of them very hungry. Finally, Tyler huffs and stands, gathering their plates and bowls, cleaning up. Chase creeps around the table and curls against Lucas, unmoving but somehow warmly inviting. Between one breath and the next, he's asleep.

~*~

He dreams—of heat and stars spinning overhead, of running, running that is strange and alive and alien. He dreams of howling and a warm pressure against his side, guiding him to something. He runs, mouth open and panting, and he can taste the world, the fresh rich earth and decaying underbrush, the paths of rabbits and mice.

A sharp yip drags his attention back to the path, to the run.

His companion steers him deeper into the forest, moving faster and faster, with a desperation that makes him whine and shake, and then they spill out into a star-spangled clearing where there’s a scorched spot of earth that smells like death and decay. It makes him whine again, fear clawing at his throat.

There is heat suddenly under his paws and a sense of wrong that claws at his gut, and he hears a howl, broken and sad.

His companion is gone and he shivers in the dark wood, anxious.

The smell comes to him then. It's familiar, warm and soothing and faintly medicinal. He takes a hesitant step forward and hears, “Hello, Chase.”

~*~

When Tyler shakes him awake, the sun is shining and coffee is on the table. He yawns widely, pressing hard into Lucas's side before he pats his arm affectionately. “You make a good pillow, Lucas.”

Tyler snorts and pushes the coffee to one side as he puts a plate of eggs down. Chase eyes the mug speculatively and Tyler firmly moves it out of Chase’s reach, ignoring his pout as he points at the orange juice he set in front of Chase.

“You have to go home,” he says and Chase wilts. “He’s worried about you, you know.”

“That’ll be a first,” Chase grumbles.

“Do you remember the accident that killed the Reid family?” Tyler asks abruptly.

Chase twitches. He does, vaguely. It happened before his mom got sick, when everything was still innocent and good and he didn’t believe the world could be bad—when he was a stupid kid.

“A little,” Chase says, and Tyler settles deeper into his seat. He won’t look at Chase, his gaze downcast and shifty. It slides into place then, like a key into a lock, and something in Chase breaks.

“Tyler,” he breathes, and then he stops, because there’s nothing to say. Nothing that actually does any good. He learned that with his mother and how fucking much it hurt to hear empty platitudes that did nothing but rub an open wound.

“Tell me?” he asks.

Lucas shivers next to him and Chase burrows into his side while Tyler watches.

“My parents and youngest sister were killed on impact. The car rolled. The brakes had failed and we lost control going down the mountain. Lucas and I—and my sister, Chelsea—we’re the only ones who survived. And Lucas... You can see how well that went.”

“Where is she?”

Tyler’s face goes chillingly blank and Chase bites his lip. “She—she wanted to leave Harrisburg. Start over. I felt—for a little while, I felt like I had to be with her, because I couldn’t help Lucas. But she never wanted to come home, so eventually I just came without her.”

He says it almost flatly, his voice empty, and maybe someone else would believe it doesn’t mean anything—but Chase isn’t someone else. He makes a noise, soft and wounded, that draws Tyler’s gaze to him. For a moment, he doesn’t look like Tyler, imposing and grumpy and authoritative. For a moment, he looks young and lost and so sad it makes Chase want to cry.

Then he blinks and it’s gone.

“Family is important,” he says.

Chase stiffens.

“This isn’t the same thing.”

“Don’t do something like this—you don’t want to push him away.”

“What about him pushing me away?” Chase shouts.

“Chase, he’s your father. You’re family, and that’s important. I know you’re angry—you have a right to be—but you have to go home. You have to talk to him.”

It’s on the tip of his tongue to protest, to say you and Lucas are family.

Tyler lost his family, and maybe he tolerates Chase. Maybe he’s even fond of Chase, but there is no way Chase—fumbling, clumsy, never shuts the fuck up, Chase—could ever hope to be family.

“He won’t let me come back here,” he says instead.

Tyler raps his knuckles on the table. “Hey,” he says sharply, and Chase’ eyes jerk up to his. “I think all three of us have lost enough. I’m not going to let him take you away. But I’m not going to be the reason you lose him, either.”

~*~

Chase is angry.

Tyler knows he is. He doesn’t even blame the boy—he’s angry too. But he’s also quietly implacable, refusing to back down as Chase dithers and dwaddles. He stands nearby, arms crossed, eyebrows lowered, glaring until Chase finally huffs. He ruffles Lucas’s hair and Tyler smirks.

“Bye, Lucas,” the boy calls and shrugs his bag onto his back, glaring at Tyler’s outstretched hand, pushing past him with a muttered, “Let’s go.”

Tyler holds in his sigh and follows quietly, knowing damn well Chase needs to work through his initial anger before he’ll be even close to reasonable.

The truth is, he doesn’t know how he ended up with Chase. He thinks about it sometimes, when he’s going home after dropping the kid off, or when the RV is quiet in the wake of his departure, and he just doesn’t know. There was that first afternoon when Chase, gaze so full of fear and grief that felt so familiar he couldn’t help but recognize it, had snapped at him, protected his brother of all people, and Tyler—Tyler had been so bewildered he couldn’t protest when the boy came back.

And then Chase helped him.

Maybe it was that. Maybe it was the fresh sting of Chelsea’s repeated refusal to return, to even care. Maybe it was Lucas, who seemed more alert than usual when Chase was around. Maybe it was just this sad, lonely boy who carried a coat of grief and determination and cared.

He doesn’t know. And at some point, it stopped mattering. The why didn’t matter, because Chase did.

So he walks in quiet silence and Chase stalks along in petulant anger, jerking away every time he stumbles and Tyler catches him.

“Lemme alone,” he grumbles and Tyler pushes back the sharp pain the words summon. It’s not fair to be mad at Chase. He knows that, but he is so angry.

So he stops him, just before they reach the treeline where Chase goes home and Tyler turns around toand returns his crumbling cabin.

“You have to go back, but I swear—Chase, listen, I swear I’m not going away. I’m not sending you away. I will do everything I can to make your father understand that you need this.”

Chase stiffens, and his eyes are very young when he stares back at Tyler, hurt. “I need this.”

Shit. Shit.

“You aren’t the only one,” he murmurs back and does what he so rarely lets himself do, does what is dangerous, with the Chief’s accusations still ringing in his ears.

He draws Chase into a hug, tucks the boy against him and presses his cheek against the boy’s head, inhaling the scent of his soft hair. Chase is stiff for a moment, then he lets out a shuddery breath and goes boneless, melting into the hug as Tyler holds him close and safe, whispering, “You’re family, Chase. I’m not going to let him take you from us.”

~*~

He texts Chase on Monday morning, after two days of silence, a quick check-in that he doesn’t want to admit settles his nerves.

> Have a good day

< I’m still mad at you

< tell Lucas I miss him and I’ll read him the rest of our book next time i’m there

< might be a while though—dad wants me going to the station after school.

> Do what he says. I’ll talk to him.

> have a good day—and study for your history final, you’re still shaky on dates.

Chase doesn’t respond and Tyler smiles.

Then he steps out of his Mustang and walks into the police station. John DeWitt is still standing at the counter, talking to his deputies. His smile goes flat and cold when he sees Tyler.

“We need to talk.”

~*~

“He needs someone who understands his grief.”

“He doesn’t need a man ten years older than him to commiserate. He needs to be a kid.”

Tyler arches an eyebrow. “Was he a kid when he was taking care of his dying mother? Or the past year, when he was taking care of himself while you drowned in grief? Chase isn’t like kids his age. Asking him to be one is cruel.”

John grits his teeth. “Telling me how to raise my son is dangerous, Reid. You aren’t a parent.”

“But I have lost mine. I know what he’s going through.” Tyler stares at him, his eyes blazing and furious.

John shakes his head. “No.”

It feels like the bottom of his world drops away, something he’s familiar with, achingly so. “Sir?”

“No. Chase—you are not what he needs. And even if you were, he lied to me, Reid. Even if I thought you were good for him, I can’t just ignore that.”

“What are you going to do?”

John stares at him, and for just a moment, Tyler hates him—for having Chase still, for hurting Chase, for taking Chase away from him.

He hates him, and he understands him, too.

~*~

He has three weeks of school left before summer vacation, and it’s like being under house arrest. Ben’s mom drives him and Ben to school, and a deputy picks him up after, dropping him off at the station.

Chase hates it.

He hates the way kids watch him, even more now than before, and the way his dad stares, like Chase has disappointed him. He hates the way Ben keeps trying to make him laugh and gives him wounded puppy eyes when Chase snarls or stays quiet.

He hates how much he misses Tyler and Lucas, and the house they were building.

He has nightmares again, something that had begun to abate, and wakes up disoriented and aching for his mother, for Tyler and Lucas.

He doesn’t talk to his father.

There’s a part of him that knows he’s being unfair. He just doesn’t care, is lonely and angry and hurting enough that it doesn’t matter.

“Do you think you’ll be under armed guard during the summer too?” Ben asks and Chase—

He doesn’t know.

There’s hope that he won’t be—even John wouldn’t be able to put up with Chase in the police station for twelve or fifteen hours a day—but then again, he sees the way his dad’s mouth tightens when he glances at Chase’ phone.

He doesn’t text Tyler. Tyler doesn’t text him. But it’s like John knows that Chase is just waiting for the opportunity.

“My dad wants me to come down to San Francisco for a couple weeks,” Ben adds.

Chase goes very still, because he knows. He knows exactly what his father will do with him. So he sends the text, knowing he has nothing left to lose.

> do you know?

Tyler answers almost immediately.

< yes.

< i’m sorry.

Chase blinks back tears and steadies his shaking hands.

< do your exercises, ok? You don’t need me for them and they’ll help.

< we miss you.

Chase hiccups and the tears spill over as he sends one last message and then drops his phone in the toilet.

> I miss you. Tell Lucas I’m sorry, I’ll come back as soon as I can. I’m sorry.

> I hate him.

He stays there, as the bell rings and the halls fill with noise, and he feels his world shaking.