Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Stannis grinds his teeth. He takes a step, one carefully hand-polished dark leather loafer after the next. In the fluorescent lights of the hallway, his deep green suit seems almost black. Without noticing, he bumps into a big burly woman--about two Shireens wide--wearing a powder blue seersucker shirt. She turns and looks at him, large blue eyes wide in a sea of freckles and wide horseteeth, shaggy blond hair falling almost to her shoulders.

"Excuse me, ma'am. I have to attend to my work." Stannis is in no hurry to start a conversation.

She disregards his statement. "Would you mind telling me where the school board room is? I have a meeting."

He didn't realize that she worked at the school. "Down and to the right. You must be our new gym teacher." He walks away without waiting for an answer.

"I am." The woman responds, her long strides catch up to Stannis quicker than he would've liked. "I am excited to work at your...establishment. And to meet my co-workers of course. Would you introduce yourself?"

"Baratheon. Social Studies. I must apologize in advance for my co-workers. They are a sorry lot." Stannis adjusts his bag. "and your name?"

"Miss Brienne."

"Teachers usually are not addressed by their first names. It isn't proper. Unless Brienne is your-"

"I'd like to be down to earth with my students, not with all that high-and-mighty stuff."

"Do as you will." Stannis holds open the door.

Sitting around a molded plastic table are a sundry lot of educational workers, each in a different state of sleep. Stannis guides Brienne to the last empty seat. A small man with graying blond hair and a garish red embroidered vest begins to speak.

"Welcome, and welcome back to another year at Westerbrook High. We have--"

"--Even less funding than last year." most of the people in the room drone in unison.

"An astute observation. I assume you all have recieved your student lists and curriculum?" the room is filled with nodding heads. "Contacts?" Nodding again. "Well, that's great. We do have a new teacher this year, so, old hands, let's welcome Miss Brienne Tarth, here all the way from the Jersey shore!"

Someone claps. Brienne smiles softly and nods her head.

"Well, since Miss Brienne is new, I'd say some introductions are in store. I'll go first! I'm Kevan Lannister--"

"--head of faculty at the illustrious Westerbrook High school." most people say in unison.

"Indeed. Mr. Baratheon, why don't you tell our new hire about yourself?" Kevan strokes his gloriously curled mustache, green eyes glinting.

Stannis sighs. "We've just met. I do not need to introduce myself again, Lannister."

The man next to him looks excited. He's squat and heavyset with a coarse red-and-gray beard covering his thick neck. "I'm Tormund, but kids call me Coach T. You'll be with me in the P.E. office." He grins and vigorously shakes Brienne's hand. She is then introduced to Mr. Bolton and Mrs. Dustin of the English department, Mr. Stout from Home Ec, Mr. Stark of Math, Mr. Lannister, (Kevan's nephew, called by his name Jaime to reduce confusion) Mr. Thorne, also of P.E., and Mr. Qyburn, the small and stooped older man who gave at the same time a fatherly and disquieting aura. Everyone gets up to leave when Kevan stops them.

"I forgot something. After that...disaster with the lunch ladies last year, we now need two of you to watch the kids in the lunchroom while they eat each day. I'll post the schedules daily on the bulletin board, but here are the pairings for this week." Stannis groans as he is handed a piece of paper. He's got lunch duty. Twice.

Chapter Text

He picked up the phone when it rang for a second time.
The 'no caller i.d.' had thrown him off, but something instinct worried itself deep into the body of Robb Stark, and he decided to answer.
"Hello. It's Robb, who is this?" He felt his warm cheek pressing against the plastic of the phone, there was breathing on the other end, heavy and labored, but he couldn't hear a voice for a while.
"Hi, Robb. It's, It's Theon. I'-"

Robb's hairs stood up. Theon? Greyjoy? He fumbled with his sleeve and walked toward the door. It was raining hard outside, and fog and some wet slush had crept up to the walls of his house. He'd need to sweep the driveway later.
"Theon, where have you been? We haven't seen you for almost a month! My dad was worried that you'd overdosed in a Denny's bathroom or something, or that you were with Balon."
The voice on the other end of the line made a sad, squeaking sound. Long and low and full of pain.
"I..I'm really sorry. I'll tell you what happened later, but I need you to come pick me up. Please."

Robb heard the desperation in his voice, and sighed. "Yes, Theon. Of course I'll pick you up." He grabbed his fleece-lined leather jacket and a blanket, and motioned for his large wolfdog Grey Wind to follow him out the door. The night was biting cold, and rain beat down the wash away last week's snowfall. Robb unlocked and climbed into the back seat of his chipping red Honda Civic, and pulled out his phone again.
"Theon? Where should I pick you up?" Grey Wind settled next to Robb. He was old, and his muzzle and paws were white. Theon always liked the animal, so Robb figured it'd cheer him up.
"The..the bus stop. By Old Nan's Deli." Robb couldn't help but notice the urgency and pain in his voice. He stepped on the gas.

Theon was sitting under the bus awning, soaking wet and shivering in his customary deep gray hoodie and sweatpants. His long and shaggy black hair was framed with strands of unfamiliar and disquieting white, and it hung limp and dripping down the sides of his thin face. He definitely looked worse for wear since the Stark family had last seen him, but then again, Greyjoy didn't have look very well in the first place. He was clutching his ribs when Robb came, face splitting into a sort of half-grimace.
Robb got out of the car, panic rushing up the back of his neck. Something was wrong, very wrong. Theon's right side was soaked with blood, and one of his legs was bent at an odd angle. He heaved himself off of the bus seat and came towards Robb, shivering.

"Thanks for picking me up, man." as he spoke in a wavering voice, Robb realized Theon had several teeth missing.
"Theon! What in everliving fuck's happened to you?!" Robb half-yelled, half-cried as the taller boy collapsed into his arms, sobbing. This was wrong. So wrong. Where was the cocky asshole he'd known? Theon was all skin and bone, shivering violently.
"I'm sorry. I-I...after Cat-I mean, your mom and I had another argument, I just wanted to leave..." He looked away.

"No time, Theon. Just get in the car, there's a blanket and Grey Wind's with me. You can tell me when we're going home."
Theon nodded, limping towards the car. Robb helped him get in, staring at the blood seeping from his chest and ribs. Theon had always had trouble with his foster mother, and he had left the house after they had a particularly bad fight, but the whole family just thought he had gone to stay with his sister or uncles. They couldn't have done....this.
"I just wanted out," Theon began, Grey Wind licking his hand with a raspy pink tongue. "and when Ramsay answered one of my calls, I thought I...had to stay with him. I'm sorry, Robb, I know I shouldn't have-"

"Theon, you're the last person that needs to apologize here. I know he..makes you think things. That it's all because of you. Ramsay's wrong, Theon. He was the one who chose to hurt you, I'm assuming it was him. Just let me get you back to the house so I can stitch you up. My mom will have to deal with it." Robb scratched Grey Wind's head, and squeezed Theon's arm. Theon nodded sadly. He looked at Robb, then out the window at the rain and bright houses flying by. They were almost to the house.
"I know. It's hard to believe it sometimes, though. He really makes me feel like I'm nothing. Nothing at all"

In that moment Robb felt the world's measure of pity for the poor boy next to him. His parents had only fostered Theon to look good in the eyes of the town, and they only gave him a superficial and measured sort of affection. Theon was always laughing, always half-assing things, always cracking a joke. He didn't seem to be joking now as they pulled into the driveway.
Robb turned off the car and opened the driver's seat door. He walked around the hood and unlocked Theon's. He helped Theon out of the car and into the small and flat suburban house, Grey Wind at their heels.

"Theon, I'm gonna need you to lie down on the couch and take off your hoodie," Robb said, tentatively. "I'll get the first aid kit and see what we're dealing with."
When he came from the bathroom with his mother's plastic red box full of bandages and Neosporin, Theon was clutching desperately to Grey Wind, the old beast spreading out his warm body over the terrified man. Robb gently moved Grey Wind aside as he checked the cuts on Theon's ribs. He was bruised and bloody all over, but the his right side was rent bloody; purple and red tipped in black. Robb winced. He'd never seen his friend so weak, cast off and whimpering like a bloodied dog.

The night was cold and wet as Robb used his phonelight and a warm, wet rag to clean the ruin of Theon's chest and ribs. There were several deep cuts and a few smaller, longer ones, all covered in bruises. Grey Wind lay on Theon's legs, a grounding presence through his ordeal.

"You're doing so well, Theon. I'm almost done, and then I'll stitch you up with what I have. Is that okay?"

"Yeah." Theon's voice was little more than a whisper. Though it held a deep and dull pain, he didn't want Robb's fingers to leave his side.

Robb started to stitch the wounds with a sewing needle and dental floss. It's not ideal, but it'll work. He carefully rubbed Neosporin onto the wounds, and stitched them up mechanically. It was as if he's been doing this his whole life. In, out, in, out. Another round of cream and a light bandage, and the work was done.
"How do you feel?" Robb positioned himself at Theon's side, rubbing his less-injured back. Theon liked the repetitive and calming sensation, his eyes drooping.
"Like shit. You make it better, though." he smiled sarcastically.
"I'm glad."

Chapter Text

Satin

 

The morning was heavy and cold, dark clouds spread over the sky signaling another snowstorm. Satin Flowers got out of the battered burgundy Oldsmobile and stepped into the thick layer of slush that carpeted the school parking lot. Sam exited after him, clutching his large, dark-blue backpack. The first week was always the roughest, he thought to himself. By March, they'll grow to like me.

He'd spent a long time talking with his welfare agent about the idea of joining a new school in a new town right before winter holidays. At the few schools Satin had gone to, he had been likable enough: bullying wasn't too bad, teachers said he was fine, he'd had a few friends. Satin still felt a knot in his stomach as he stepped through the half-melted snow.

"I..I hope you have a good d-day. At school." Sam broke the silence. He was a sweet and quiet boy, prone to blushes and more oft than not buried in textbooks, but he was one of the best people Satin had ever had to share a room with. Sam shuffled forwards and adjusted the neck of his much-too-small mechanic's jacket. "The people here are nice. I think."

"I'm sure they will be, Sam." Satin smiled. Lyn had always said he had a moviestar smile, but, then again, Lyn's mouth was full of ugly silver fillings and he must have been in jail by now. Westerbrook seemed like I nice town. He would like it, he was sure of it.

...

The man who would soon become his father didn't look the part at all.

Satin stood up to shake the hand of the man of middling height that entered the room. He had shoulder-length graying ginger hair that had been pulled back in a messy half ponytail, exposing ends dyed a green-blue. His frame was thin and fraying and wiry, and his short arms were covered in freckles and old white scars. His stained Either/Or t-shirt clung baggily to his frame, much unlike his badly cut skinny shorts. When Satin shook his hand, he noticed his short fingernails were covered in chipped black nail polish. His hand felt clammy and old to the touch.

"Well hello, Mr. Flowers. I'm Jon. Jon Connington."

The man smiled a smile full of life and mirth and crooked teeth shaped like falling trees. All Satin's doubts faded away. He knew he was in safe hands, however calloused they might be.

"Hi, Mr. Connington. I'm pleased to meet you."

"Please, call me Jon. I'm hoping to make this next year or so as happy as you can get, whatever that'll mean to you."

Satin nodded. Jon sat down next to him.

"I know that your life's probably been shit, and I know that I can't fix much, but I am trauma-specialized, and I promise I'll make your last year as a kid special. Or at least more special than you've had it. So, can you tell me about yourself?"

"Sure." Satin sighed. "I lived in Oldtown until I was about eleven, when my dad died. Then I stopped going to school...and, well, I made the wrong friends. I ended up trafficked for about four years, and then the guy who managed me got caught, and I've been hopping from foster home to foster home."

Jon looked at Satin with eyes the color of a beachside magazine, all teal and pearly white. "Satin, kid, you've sure been through the wringer. I already signed the paperwork, so I guess we can go if you want. I got your room ready."

"Just like that? With some people I have to stay for hours verifying things. Thanks for doing it ahead of time."

"No problem. I also used one of my days off so we can have dinner. I'm sure your agent or whatever told you I have multiple kids at a time, and made sure you're okay with that. Is that right?"

He had been told that there were four other kids that would live with him until he turned eighteen, all around his age. Oh, and a baby. One of them had a baby. He was looking forward to playing with the baby.

"Yes. I'd love to go to dinner."

"Well, you sure are a nice kid. Away we go, then."

Jon headed out of the white walled room, Satin following him carefully. They walked down hall after hall and then into a dingy stairwell and out into the first floor. Jon waved at the secretary and held the door. As they walked out into the cold, sunny day, Satin felt hopeful for the first time in a while.

...

The stained vinyl floor of the main hall quaked with the feet of students just out of class. Satin grabbed his hand-me-down backpack with one hand and his newest assignment of papers in another, and followed Sam out of the classroom and down the hall. It had been two weeks at Westerbrook High, and life was comfortingly boring. With each step underneath flickering fluorescent lights he felt more at home than he had ever been. Sam and his friends were friendly, and Satin found himself with them more often than not. Of Sam's friends there was Edd, a super senior with long already-graying hair and a penchant for dry and grating humor, Pyp, a tiny junior who was head of the three-person stage tech club, Grenn, another junior who was taller than Satin and held the county award for best fly fisher, and Jon, (another Jon, Satin thought) a friendly kid with shaggy brown hair and weird, light-gray eyes. He was in Satin's Lit and Math classes.

The six of them sat down at one of the molded plastic tables to eat a lunch of soggy pasta and peas. The fare was passable, better than some, and the company was best. Satin laughed and joked with the rest, finding himself comfortable among them.

"And I told you, that's when Thorne went out on me. Total ballistic mess, looked like his eyes boudda pop right out!" Pyp smiled.

"He often does that." Sam responded. "Made me cry a few times."

"A few?"

"Sure. You get the point though, he's an asshole."

"I'm glad I don't have any sports!"

"Satin, you should really try one. Cross country would be great for your long legs."

"Doesn't Coach T Teach that? He's weird. I have a bad feeling about him."

"He's fine, trust me. But use your best judgment."

The bell rang, and the six boys got up to go to their various classes. By the time Satin and Jon had gone over to the Lit classroom, the sun had almost set and the cloudy windows were caked in frost. Jon hurried to open the door for Satin. He was always polite, offering up a seat and providing blessings if you sneezed, a real gentleman. Their English Lit teacher, Mr. Roose Bolton, was less of a gentleman.

The man stood at a middling height, about as tall as Satin, with a small face pale as the edge of a cracked plate. His eyes looked like plates too, small and white-blue and glossy. His graying black hair was long and straight, and partially tied back to cover his long and tin neck. He wore a soft-looking burgundy sweater covered with a pale pink fairisle vest decorated with mothballs. His dark gray pants were fitted but held a loose quality at the same time, giving him a thin and frail air. Jon had told Satin that he frequented exotic spas, ones where a man could be poked with needles and burned and bitten by leeches. Many of the students called him Leech to that effect.

"Welcome, students."

There was a mutter of 'good afternoon, Mr. Bolton'

"Please take out last night's reading. Wonderful. And, Miss Bracken, what do we think about the Jesus Christ imagery in Salinger's work?"

Satin looked out the window. Flakes of snow had begun to dance along the sill in the dark sky. It was a pretty sight, at least prettier than Mr. Bolton. He found himself drifting off to the sweet point between sleep and consciousness.

He was in a limousine covered in red oxblood leather. The sudden jerks and stops of the car told him that they were in traffic. Satin kept his head down on the cold leather couch, one leg resting upon the other. The drink would wear off soon, he told himself. If I say it's true, it'll be true, sooner or later.

He drummed his fingers along a polished wooden slat, a panel on the car door, fiddling with the shiny grain. Lyn would be back soon, he knew it. Even in his stupor he could tell when someone was walking in the car, and would be able to tell if it stopped. Just as he predicted, the limo stopped suddenly, and the clikclak of pointed leather shoes drove spikes of dread into Satin's ears.

Corbray.

He could see his smile in what little light was in the back of the car, a great greasy white smile shot with silver. Satin had dreamed once, of pulling out those great big teeth with the bottle opener the man always had on his beltloop, watching as great big hunks of silver and mercury and moonwhite tooth flew from the red ruin of the man's mouth.

He would never do it, though.

"You're a pretty little moviestar, Satin." his voice felt like spines up Satin's back. A long fingered cold hand touched his neck.

"You're the sweetest. A little jewel."

"I owe it all to you, Mr. Lyn."

The man pinched Satin's cheek and twisted his face towards himself with a dark leather glove. He smiled his horrible smile.

"A grateful little one. How well-behaved you are." he twisted Satin's face closer and closer to his own, the boy could feel the scent of metal on his breath. His teeth mashed together violently as he spoke. Silver on white on silver on yellow and silver and silver again...

"Flowers. Please quit the daydreaming and join us."

Satin awoke. A long, cold finger poked his back. Bolton looked at him with his dead eyes, and removed his finger.

"I'm not that boring, am I?"

"No, mister." Satin shook his head and sat up, putting his arms on the desk and reaching for his book.

"Well, let's get on with it then. As I said, Castle's jump signifies...Well, I guess that's it. Your homework is to finish the book and bring in notes by Thursday. And remember to annotate, Miss Mormont! Now shoo!"

The bell had rung. Satin smiled an embarrassed smile at Jon as they left.

"Got caught?" he laughed. Jon's smile was full and warm and human, not covered in metal plates.

"If you want to put it that way. Anyways, I'm off. I have to get back and help Gilly with her baby."

"I have to go pick up my siblings, but, Satin, could I maybe come over some time? I'd like to get away from all the chaos at home."

"O-of course!" Satin laughed. "That sounded weird. Just text me when you have to come home."

Satin pushed open the doors of the school and headed out into the bitter cold night. A few flakes of snow were flying, and the slush on the ground had refrozen. He pulled his coat closer to himself and headed to the side of the road.

Jon (his dad) had already driven to his evening shift at Taste of Essos, and Sam had gone with him a few hours ago. The other kids that lived with him, Dany, Aegon, and Gilly, had bikes and got home that way. Since Satin didn't have a bike yet, he had resolved to hitchhike for the few weeks until his letter to the social workers' office got back. The snow had piled up in little clouds around his feet, shining yellow and orange in the light, by the time a car pulled over. It was a beat-up navy Odyssey, covered in mud from the door handle up and had one door taped on, but Satin was so cold he'd figure it would be heaven compared to the wilderness.

"Hi, I'm going home for the night. Across Mudd and down Martin's Way. You going in that direction?"

The man inside the car smiled, his large retro safety goggle-glasses shining in the streetlight. He was about Satin's age, maybe a little older.

"I'm down that way-ish. I'll take you."

Satin walked over and climbed inside the car, grateful to be warm. The heat was up all the way.

"Thank you so much, I just needed to get out of the cold."

"You're welcome so much." the man smiled, and Satin flinched at the shining gold fillings staring back at him.

Jon

Jon turned off of Mast Street and onto the highway. He was excited for winter break, even if it meant the process of dealing with large groups of his large family in their small house. His uncles and aunts had arrived last night, and his house was thoroughly packed with people. He would've asked Satin to stay the night at his, but the prospect of bringing one more mouth to feed was too great to bear. Either way, he felt a strange dread in the pit of his stomach as he drove slowly along the highway, watching as the trees boughs grew heavy with snow. In a few days it'd be Christmas, and then New Year's. His doubts would fly away like light snow on the windowsill.

That windowsill shattered when he saw something lying on the side of the road. It should have been a jacket, a deer, a pile of snow in shadow, but Jon knew better than that. Pushing on the breaks, he slid into the breakdown lane frantically. Pulling over, he pushed open the car door with a loud smack that shook the snow off. Grabbing his coat, he knelt by the person in the snow.

"Hello? Hello?" Jon gently shook the thin frame covered in a dark blue coat. His heart was in his throat. He didn't know how long this person had been out in the snow, and they were most likely already dead. It was no use. Jon looked back at his car for a second, and suddenly, he felt a movement in his arms.

The boy, it turned out, was lying in a pool of blood. His left eye was swollen shut in a purple mass and his right leg was twisted in an unnatural way. The coat he was wearing was torn in some places, and the cheap down hung out of the rents comically. The man shivered violently, pressing into Jon for warmth. Jon could feel a familiar scent in his thick curly hair.

"Satin?!" Jon's heart skipped a few beats. "What the fuck is going on?"

The boy beneath him shivered again.

"I...I'm sorry...I shouldn't..." he lay there like a broken doll in the snow, thin and fragile and shaking. Jon gently helped the taller boy up, half-carrying, half-dragging him to his car.

"You're okay, Satin. Don't worry. I'll get you warm."

His heart was still beating abnormally fast when he wrapped Satin in a cheap fleece blanket and put him in the passenger seat. He opened his phone, the screen bright against his face.

9...1..

"I'm calling the police, Satin. I need to get you to the hospital."

A jolt of fear went through the other boy.

"No. No. Not the hospital. Please. It's not that bad, please, just take me home."

Jon sighed. He deleted the numbers, and dialed his dad's wife.

"Uhhmm...Catelyn. I know it's late, but I have an emergency. My friend is...is hurt, and he needs to sleep over at ours tonight. Is that okay?"

A sharp voice appeared on the other end of the phone.

"Jon. You know we have family over. He can't even sleep on the couch, he'd have to sleep with you, or with Rickon in his room."

"Please, he's really badly beat up. I don't know exactly what happened, but I think his leg is broken. It'd just be one night."

"Oh, fine. Only if he makes himself useful to the best of his ability. Good night, Jon."

She hung up. Jon hitched in his breath.

"Satin, we're going to my house. You'll be safe there. You don't have to tell me what happened."

Satin let out a sigh of relief.

"Thanks...Jon. I...I, I can't thank you enough. For what you've..you've" he drifted off into sleep.

...

There was a pit in his stomach as Jon drove his car slowly into the driveway of his home. The windows of the small house were decorated with colorful lights, and he could hear a faint sound of chatter from inside. He prayed that his family would take little notice of Satin, and not pry him with unwanted questions. He opened the car door into the cold night and walked to the passenger side.

Satin was burning hot, but asleep. Jon tried fruitlessly to wake him up, but resolved to carry the larger boy. Heaving Satin (and blankets) into his arms, Jon thought he felt no more than a pile of leaves. Satin murmured something as Jon locked the car and headed up to the front door.

Inside the house was warm and full of yellow light, scented richly with cloves and cardamom. Jon could see his uncle (who was actually his great-uncle, but everyone called him uncle for ease of speech) Brynden, and his father talking by the cracked fireplace. His uncle wore a Christmas sweater decorated with fish. They were drinking a cheap lite beer and eating seaweed flakes. Brynden turned his grizzled gray head in Jon's direction, and a look of worry passed over his face.

"Jon. Here, let's see your friend. Come upstairs."

Ned flashed a worried grimace at the men, and whispered a 'goodnight' to Jon. He headed towards his downstairs bedroom.

Brynden Blackfish was a middle aged man, younger than his brother Hoster. He possessed a shaggy mop of gray hair that he was wont to tie back behind his lightly tanned and badly shaven face, but his blue eyes shined with a youth and mirth that was rare in Westerbrook. He gently took Satin from Jon, and they ascended the carpeted stairs in fearful silence.

"Uncle, do you think he'll...be okay?" Jon whispered as they entered the bathroom, which was much too small for three people.

Brynden grabbed a packet of alcohol pads and a few tubes of neosporin, bacitracin, and the like. He ran some hot water for a bath, and brought out a soft towel from the small linen closet.

"He'll make it. Just make sure he's okay up here too." his uncle pointed to his head, and left a bottle of advil on the sink. "Come to the couch if you need anything." he left.

Jon muttered a thanks and got to work unwrapping the blanket from Satin. He set it aside and sat the other boy on the side of the bath.

"Satin? Satin? Are you in there?"

A small shudder ran its course through Satin. He opened his good eye and grabbed Jon's hands.

"I thought you left me.....in the cold. No one was going to come for me." his eyes were wide and full of fear.

"I'm not going to leave you. I promise." he squeezed back. "My uncle drew you a bath. Do you want to take one?"

Satin looked hungrily at the steaming water, and sighed. "Yes. I will."

Jon got up off the bathmat where he had been sitting and turned to leave, when he heard a grunt of pain. He turned. Satin was trying to take off his shirt, long fingers purple and bruised and shivering, struggling to lift the cloth over his head.

"Here, let me." Jon waited for a nod from the other boy and gently pulled his wet shirt off. Beneath it, his body was a map of white, purple, yellow, and black. Jon felt his heart sink, what had happened? Satin saw his face move and smiled his sweet smile.

"It's not that bad."

"It's that bad, Satin. Just get in the bath, you'll feel better. I can wash your hair, if you want." Jon stared into Satin's eyes, large and dark and shiny like some graceful deer. Those eyes have seen things that would make some men crumble, he thought. Satin slowly lowered himself into the bath, grimacing at the feeling of hot water on bruised and bloody skin. After a few minutes in silence, he lay back, letting his long curly black hair flow into the water.

His hair is so soft and thick, Jon thought. He grabbed some of Sansa's shampoo from the medicine cabinet over the sink.

"Does this, uh, work on curls?" Jon held up the plastic tube of pink Bath and Body Works shampoo.

"If you want my hair to look like that girl from the princess diaries, it does." Satin giggled. It was the first time Jon had seen him laugh. "But yeah, it'll do. Just don't use too much."

"How much is too much? Like a quarter size? Or like enough to fill my palm?"

"Jon, how much do you put in your hair?"

"I don't know, like a dollop?" he mimed a size.

"Then do that."

Satin felt a sudden, comforting relief as Jon's fingers, now covered in shampoo, laced through his hair. For a few seconds, everything fell away and Jon's fingers scratching his scalp became the only thing in the room, the only thing in the world.

"Thanks, Jon. Thanks for helping me with...this." Satin gestured to his beaten and battered body. He sunk deeper into the shallow water.

"What was I going to do? Let you freeze in the snow? It's the least I could do." Jon patted his shoulder, careful to find a part that wasn't bruised.

Satin laughed a bit, and felt his tense body soften at the touch. "I should probably get out of the bath. It's getting cold."

They engaged in a bit of small talk while Jon fetched a pair of Robb's fleece plaid pants and a shirt with the Westerbrook High basketball team (the Martins) tournament from a few years ago. Satin happily changed into soft and warm clothes. He stood to get up, holding the side of the wall for support, and promptly fell down.

"Well, my right leg is busted, I guess." Satin sighed, pushing a long string of hair from out of his eyes. His eyes widened as Jon, without speaking, leaned over to pick him up. He was a head taller than the Stark boy, but Jon was stronger and lifted Satin into his arms as if he weighed nothing.

Jon's room was small and cozy, with a desk in one corner and a bed in the other. The walls were covered with posters of Arthur Dayne and The Young Dragon, famous basketball and baseball players, respectively. The window at the end of Jon's bed let in the light of the moon, uncovering a soft and snowy scene outside. Jon patted the bed, and for the first time Satin noticed there was a huge, albino wolfdog lay at ease. He trembled.

"Is the dog...will he bite?" Satin asked with more than a little apprehension.

Jon smiled. "No, my Ghost is very friendly." the dog proceeded to sniff Satin's hand, and then his hair, and then to lick his face, putting one hand-sized paw upon his shoulder. Despite his pain, Satin rolled over onto the bed and began to scratch the dog's chest. Jon joined in too, rubbing behind Ghost's large ear. After a while, Jon grabbed a blanket from the bed and put it on the floor. Satin looked at him, confused, as he placed a pillow next to it, and lay down.

"What're you doing?"

"I'm, I'm getting ready to sleep. It's really late, Satin. You need rest and I need to call your...your dad." Jon smiled sweetly again, and Satin melted inside.

"I can't make you sleep on the floor, come on! The bed's big enough for the two of us."

Jon stared, blushing. He got up.

"If you say so. I just want to make sure you're comfortable."

"You've made sure of that, Jon. Thanks."

Jon lay down beside the taller boy, drinking in the smell of detergent and pine needles and Satin. Ghost had taken up residence right on top of their legs, and snored loudly as befit a dog of great size.

"Should I turn the lights off?" Jon asked.

"Can you keep them on? It's stupid, but I'm a bit afraid of the dark."

Jon smiled. He wouldn't mind looking at Satin while they fell asleep together. That sad, pale face that held volumes, those large brown eyes...

He'd been grinning, just thinking about it. Noticing, Satin smiled too, running his finger through a long strand of his own hair.

"Your smile's really....warm." Satin's voice wavered. "I'm glad your teeth aren't metal."