You fucked up.
Fucking piece of trash.
Not good for a single fucking thing.
Keep him safe?
What a joke.
You're a fucking joke.
You attacked him.
Fucking monster.
Can't do anything but fuck up.
Worthless shit.
You're a fucking death sentence.
He'll never be safe with you.
He'll never be–
"Keary?" The sound of a voice filled with apprehension, Nigel's voice, swam out of the whirlpool of thoughts churning in his brain. Of course the redhead would have known to look for Keary on the rooftop, a high place where he came when he was seeking peace.
The dark-haired boy didn't answer immediately, couldn't answer, because he was in the middle of an attempt to drown out the onslaught of condemnations with the contents of a bottle of bourbon, only surfacing for air when his lungs forced him to break away. He felt the drink burn through him, but it wasn't enough to quell the horror at what he had done.
"Keary? What–"
"I fucked up." It was a whisper. He had tried to keep Cardin safe from the monsters out there, but had forgotten that he was one himself. "I'm fucked up."
Very cautiously, Nigel topped the ladder and approached. He had had to pick the lock because nobody had answered the door, and had flinched when he had entered the house and seen the splintered television and smashed phone lying on the ground. It had been years since he had had Keary screaming bloody fury at him like that, but this was the worst part: when his friend's rage turned inward. But Keary's anger could be unpredictable.
When he was reassured that he wasn't in danger of being instantly hurled off the roof, he settled himself a careful distance from Keary. "What… what happened?"
There was torture in the silver gaze that stared unseeingly forward. "I– I turned on him. He was injured, and I couldn't stand to–" He choked on the words. "He can't stay."
Lost for words, Nigel watched him with disquiet as he lifted the bottle for another long drag. It was only the middle of the morning, and Keary was sitting bare-topped in the chill winter air, seemingly oblivious to the cold, close to emptying the bottle. Finally, the rust-haired boy said, "You saved his life. He'd be dead right now if it weren't for you."
"If I let him in, he'll be dead because of me."
"He isn't fragile, Keary. We saw him fight. He's strong, and very skilled; more than enough to be a part of us." When Keary didn't reply, he added gently, "He fought hard for you."
The laugh Keary gave edged on the brink of hysteria. "I'm beyond saving. He needs something… different. A decent, normal life. Not messing around in the mud!"
Nigel took in a slow, deep breath. "Well, he has the right to choose for himself, doesn't he? The same choice you gave all of us."
"The decision to take him in is mine to make."
"Sure, but… Do you really want him to push him away like that? Do you really want him to leave so badly?"
Keary stayed silent, but his face turned even paler. It had only been a few weeks since Cardin had arrived, but already Keary couldn't bear to think about the huge, empty house without the golden-haired boy. In such a short time, he had filled the spaces, had brought light to the days. Salvation had been so, so close…
"You'd better check on him," he mumbled.
Nigel still looked worried, but got to his feet with a sigh. Just before reaching the ladder, he paused.
"Keary," he said quietly, "don't… don't leave any room for regret here." He turned his head slightly to address his friend, uncharacteristically sombre. "Don't… push any chance for happiness away. It will haunt you."
The words continued to ring in Keary's mind long after the redhead had left. He knew that Nigel was speaking from his own personal, painful experience. But whether he let Cardin in or walled him off, both ways held pain, and danger. Although it seemed as if he would be granting both their wishes by letting him in, he didn't know what he would do if Cardin were to end up being another name on the long list of people whose blood was on his hands.
...