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My self-control evaporated the moment I touched him. I sucked in a harsh breath and checked the rest of his underweight body for injury with practiced hands. I wasn’t as gentle as I probably should’ve been, but he didn’t react to my touch at all. His eyes remained utterly lifeless, even when I put my fingers under his chin and tilted his face so I could look at it properly. Uneasiness crept over me as I stared at him. The only sound in the room was the harsh rattle of his inflamed lungs, and despite desperately needing answers, I just didn’t know what to say to him.

I dropped my hand and stepped away. “You should be in bed. The doctor’s coming back soon.”

Ash stood up straighter and used his hands to push himself away from the bed. His head whipped from side to side. “They took my shoes.”

Alarmed, I watched him shakily bend to look under the bed. “What do you need your shoes for?” He ignored me, but he was unsteady when he came upright. I caught him before he could stumble and grasped his elbow. “What are you doing?”

“I can’t stay here.”

He wrenched his arm from my grip and turned away defensively.

“Hey, take it easy,” I said, though the calmness in my tone belied the panic I was starting to feel. “You need to stay here. You’re sick.”

He let out a humorless laugh, but the fear in his face didn’t fade. His terrified eyes were wide as he glared at me. “So?”

His tone was combative, but his body betrayed him and slumped against me. I maneuvered him back to the bed and leaned him against it to keep him upright. “Just wait for the doctor.”

Ash inhaled painfully and moved his hand to his chest again. “Yeah, and the fucking social workers too? Fuck that shit. Do they think I’m deaf?”

There was an audible click in my brain as his behavior suddenly made sense. He’d lost his whole childhood to the care of social services, and from what little I knew, they’d let him down. Badly. They were the enemy to him, people he truly feared, and he’d spent his entire adolescence running from them.

I raised my hand and cupped his face. The gesture had calmed him in the past, but I couldn’t be certain of his response to anything anymore, least of all me. “You’re an adult,” I said gently. “They can’t hurt you, or make you do anything. They just want to help.”

For a long, silent moment, I honestly thought I’d gotten through to him—that he’d heard me and trusted what I was trying to tell him—but somewhere in the hospital a door slammed and any hold I had on him faded away.

He shrugged away and pulled the hood of his bloodstained sweatshirt over his head. He spotted his battered sneakers under the chair and limped past me to retrieve them. “I have to go.”

“Go where?”

He didn’t answer or even turn his head. He stepped into his shoes, and it was clear the conversation was over. He was leaving and there was nothing I could do to stop him.

I watched him shuffle around the bed. Ash was a supple guy, fast and flexible, but his movements as he hobbled toward the door were slow and stilted. Without much conscious thought, I moved quickly to block him. I couldn’t handle seeing him in so much pain. “Come home.”

“No.”

I reached out for his shoulders again, but instead of docile apathy, I was met with rigid resistance. Desperation bubbled over. “Please, don’t leave like this… Ash, please.”

He ducked his eyes, looking anywhere but at me. “I can’t stay here.”

“You don’t have to. We can go home.”

He raised his head. It was just a fraction, but it was enough for me to see his resolve beginning to crack. “They won’t let me.”

“It’s not an institution,” I said. “No one can stop you.”

He shook his head helplessly. “What do you want from me?”

The simple question held so much meaning. I didn’t know the answer, but every fiber in my soul knew that he was walking along a dangerous precipice. If he walked out of the hospital and back onto the streets, he wasn’t going to make it. I couldn’t live with that… I just couldn’t bear it. “I want you to come home, with me, so you can get better.”

He didn’t move. For a brief moment his eyes were unguarded, and the defeat in them was unbearably clear. He stared at me as uncertainty, fear, and so many other things I didn’t understand left him frozen to his spot, unable to articulate what he needed to say.

“You can’t fix me.”

“I know,” I said, “I’m not trying to. I just… Ash, just come home, please.”

T
HE
doctor refused to sign Ash’s discharge papers, but it made no difference. He consented to an hour of desperately needed oxygen therapy before he signed himself out against medical advice.

I practically carried him home. On the train, he slumped in his seat with his hood over his face while I watched over him, but I had to hold him up as we walked the few blocks to our apartment.

He sat silently on the edge of the bed when I finally got him inside. I gathered some clean clothes for him and tossed him a pair of my sweats and a T-shirt. The clothes landed on the bed beside him, but he didn’t react. He kept his eyes trained on the floor, like he didn’t even know I was there. He didn’t acknowledge my presence at all until I turned to leave the room.

“Where are you going?”

I spun at the sound of his broken voice. “I’m getting some water and your meds.”

“You’re coming back?”

I crossed the room and stood in front of him. His eyes remained downcast, but I knew he was listening. “I’m just going to the kitchen. I’ll be back in a minute. Get changed and lie down, okay?”

I left the room without waiting for an answer and padded to the kitchen to get the medication he’d been prescribed. He’d had an IV at the hospital, and they’d done a good job warming him up, but I was worried about the fever he was running, and his eyes had a vacant haze I didn’t like at all.

He’d changed out of his filthy clothes when I came back to the bedroom, but he was still sitting on the edge of the bed. I crouched in front of him and uncurled his clenched fist. He desperately needed a shower, but in his current state, I wasn’t sure he could hold himself up long enough to get himself clean. It would have to wait until he’d taken his meds and slept.

I dropped two tablets into the palm of his hand. “Take these. You’ll need to eat something later or they’ll make you nauseous.”

He stared at the pills. I thought for a moment he was going to refuse but then he put them slowly in his mouth and swallowed. I smiled what I hoped was an encouraging smile. “Do you want to lie down?”

It took some persuasion to get him to lie in the bed; it was like he’d forgotten how. I found myself recalling the very first night we’d ever slept side by side. That night, he’d curled on the very edge of the bed and watched the door for hours, like he expected someone to burst through at any moment. Years had passed since then, but as I coaxed him onto his side to relieve the pressure in his chest, a sickening sense of déjà vu swept over me.

The next few hours were rough. Ash just lay there, his eyes wide open as he struggled for breath. I sat beside him and helplessly watched as he coughed so much he made himself sick. Each time, I shook him gently and forced him to focus long enough to take a hit from the inhaler we’d brought home, but it didn’t seem to help. He was completely exhausted, almost too tired to breathe. It was terrifying. I had about decided to call for help when, sometime around dawn, the drugs kicked in and he finally fell asleep.

When morning came, I was still watching over him. My mind wouldn’t rest, tortured by the possibilities of what could have happened if Jane hadn’t recognized him. Without ID, he’d have been a John Doe and I’d never have known he was there. When he woke up alone in a strange hospital, he’d have bolted and gone straight back out into the freezing Chicago winter. Judging by the labored rasp in his chest, there was no doubt in my mind he would’ve been dead by the end of the week.

But it wasn’t just the shit we’d managed to dodge that kept me awake. The future terrified me too. Ash was really sick, and the pneumonia was only the start of it. The doctor had asked me over and over again what was causing the catatonic glaze in his eyes, but I just didn’t know. Twice, she’d mentioned bipolar disorder, but she was wrong about that. I knew the symptoms of that disease, and they didn’t fit Ash. There were no highs with him, no manic periods of elated activity. Just a misery so deep it was going to destroy him if I couldn’t get him the help he needed.

Beside me, he shifted. It was the first time he’d moved in a while. I reached out and laid a hand on his forehead. The fever still blazed beneath his skin, but other than coercing him to keep taking the medication he’d already maxed out on, there wasn’t much I could do about it. I sighed and pushed his hair away from his face. He didn’t stir under my touch. With him still fast asleep, I took the opportunity to look over him properly.

I was shaken when I saw just how battered his body was. Everywhere I could see, he had scrapes and bruises. The injuries varied in age. Some were starting to heal, but others were fresh, like a cut on his arm I couldn’t stop staring at. I was tired—I was
really
fucking tired—and my head was all over the place, but the wound seemed to taunt me from the inside of his forearm. Ash only had one tattoo on his body—the wizard he’d etched himself. From whatever angle I looked, it seemed like its throat had been cut.

My cell phone vibrated on the nightstand. I flipped it open and glanced at the screen. It was the text from Mick I’d been expecting. I hadn’t had a chance to call him, but I’d sent him a message on the journey home from the hospital. I’d already missed an early shift. He’d covered for me like I knew he would, but, predictably, he wanted answers. I tapped out a reply, hoping he wouldn’t ask too many questions. Mick was relentless when he wanted to know something, and I didn’t have the energy to deal with him yet.

Found Ash. He needs me. P.

A few minutes later a second message came through:
You’re covered for a week. Let me know if you need help. Stay in touch or I’m coming over. M.

I closed the phone, tossed it onto the bed, and rubbed my hands over my face. A week wasn’t going be enough, but I’d worry about it later. Right then, my main concern was getting through the next twenty-four hours. Ash wasn’t due any meds for a while, but we had no food in the apartment. At some point I was going to have to go out. I glanced at Ash again as I reached for the remote and clicked on the TV. Regardless of the state of the refrigerator, nothing was going make me leave him just yet.

L
ATER
that day, harsh coughing woke me from an uncomfortable sleep. I sat up from where I’d slumped down the pillows and stretched the abused muscles in my shoulders. Beside me, Ash was still coughing, hunched over on his side with his hand on his chest. It was a horrible cough, hacking and painful. I glanced at the clock on my cell phone, but he couldn’t have any more meds for an hour. Instead, I was forced to resist the urge to rub his back as I waited for the fit to pass.

Eventually, Ash caught his breath. He sat up slowly. His eyes widened when they flickered open and fell on me. I backed away, giving him space as he glanced rapidly around the room. He stared back at me with confused eyes. It was clear he didn’t really know where he was.

“I don’t remember coming here.”

“You were pretty out of it when we got back yesterday,” I said carefully. “Are you feeling any better?”

He shrugged listlessly. “Can I have a shower?”

The fact that he felt he had to ask broke my heart, but there was no denying he needed one. What little skin I could see was streaked with dirt and blood.

“Sure you can. Just leave the door open in case you fall.”

Ash froze, and I realized my mistake a second too late. He’d always been weird about doors. He was claustrophobic as hell, but, perversely, he couldn’t sleep if our bedroom door was even ajar. I’d never understood it, but over time I’d gotten so used to it that I’d adapted my own habits without even realizing. I couldn’t believe I’d said something so stupid. “Ash, I’m sorry, okay? I just don’t want you to pass out in there.”

“Will you come with me?”

His request caught me off guard. Taking a shower together was something we used to do whenever we could, and I wasn’t opposed to it—hell no—I just hadn’t considered it an option. “If that’s what you want.”

He nodded slowly and bit down on his lip. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but he didn’t.

I led him into the bathroom and turned the water as hot as I dared. The relief the steam brought his congested chest would be temporary, but it was better than nothing. I propped him up against the tiled wall and set about washing away the grime of wherever he’d spent the last few weeks.

When we were both clean, I roused him from his trance and got him out of the shower so I could treat his cuts and scrapes. I sat him on the closed toilet and retrieved the first-aid kit from under the sink. My heart hammered as I covered the wound on his arm. The injury wasn’t that deep, but I couldn’t look at the decapitated wizard without my mind going to some really dark places. He’d done it to himself; I knew he had. The ink was there in the first place to hide scars from the lowest point of his life. I couldn’t believe shit had gotten so bad for him again. I felt so guilty I could hardly stand it.

I changed the sheets on the bed while Ash sat on the floor. I helped him up when I was done, and he curled up on the bed and watched as I pulled on jeans and a hoodie. “Where are you going?”

“We need food and medicine.”

“Can I go with you?”

He sat up, but I didn’t register how serious he was until his attempt to stand failed. I caught him before he could fall and eased him back onto the bed. “Not happening. I’m only going to the store, Ash. I’ll be back soon, okay?”

From the look on his face, it clearly wasn’t okay, but there was nothing I could do about it. He was in no state to come with me. “Is there anything you need?”

Ash shook his head and sunk his teeth into his bottom lip so hard it should have been bleeding. I crouched in front of him again and put my hands on his knees. “I won’t be long, I promise. Just call me if you need me, and I’ll come back. Where’s your cell phone?”