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It's Brett that finds him, in the aftermath.
Standing in the chilled air outside the clinic, away from the others, twisting himself up in knots; muscles bunched tight with leftover adrenaline and still on edge, waiting for something to happen.
As though Gerard would be walking around the corner, this all just one more step in an elaborate plan to take away everything Liam had ever cared about.
“Liam,” is all he says, and god, it's softer than he has ever really heard Brett sound; his voice had always been something monotonous and guarded when he had spoken to Liam, before. Barked instructions, scoffing... rolling eyes and a smirking sneer — but that was all before. That was pelted lacrosse balls and hurled insults that he was determined to leave in the past.
Now? Liam still isn't entirely sure that where they stand is solid ground, but they shakily grasp on to a string of connection, hoping that it's tangible.
It's not something he feels prepared for, or something he could even put into words. Liam is very aware that he cares, at the very least.
And. Too much. That's the kicker; he always cares too much.
Liam lets out a strangled huff as he turns — Brett's not supposed to be out anywhere; he's not entirely sure how he's upright, let alone allowed to walk out the doors in search of him.
Something within him buzzes, radiating with not safe, not safe, not safe.
But when he turns and sees Brett, flagging against the wall of the building, holding onto his own stomach with a wince etched onto his features, he knows with certainty that he hasn't been allowed to leave.
(It's still just unfair, really, how the black tar that's caught around his lashes and in the corners of his lips makes him look more like he's just a member of one of the loud bands he knows Scott and Stiles are fond of, and less like he had been more dead than alive an hour earlier.
And it's equally unfair that the same thing that had made Liam roar out in desperation earlier has something of a choked-up sob winding its way up his throat, now).
“What.” Liam finally finds his voice, though it sounds brusque and churlish, even to his own ears.
He wouldn't allow the same affection that caused so much trouble earlier that night to come through in his own voice; wouldn't allow that sob to break.
How could he even fathom allowing his emotion to seep through his skin any further? When he knew that it would get him nowhere; would do nothing but get people hurt. He could still feel the shaking of his hands and hear the screeching of tires on a never-ending loop in his mind. It was what kept him out there, keeping watch over the perimeter despite the wards around the clinic and not inside, where he knew he would no longer be able to hold himself together.
He scrubs a hand through his unkempt hair. His chest deflates, if only minutely.
“What, Brett? Why are you even up? Fuck… Just, what are you doing? Get back inside.”
“Liam,” He repeats, adjusting himself in a way that has Liam stepping closer, resting a steadying hand on his arm, the black lines inking up from his fingertips directly contradicting his own determination and the voice in his head telling him so strongly to steer clear; be strong; can't fuck up again. “I just had to, uh, thank you. Again.”
The relief in Brett's face has Liam biting his lip, casting his eyes away.
“It's fine,” He says, clipped.
“You stuck your neck out… for me. And I have a feeling things would be different if you hadn't. So. Thank you.”
“Yeah…” Liam replies awkwardly, not comfortable taking the compliment, though his fingers curl under the sleeve of the other wolf's shirt, squeezing momentarily as he continues to drain out the pain. “It's nothing. They didn't kill you, so.”
“They almost did.”
“But they didn't. And you know you don't have me to thank for that. So I'm not sure why you're out here tempting your luck instead of inside healing.”
If the frustration comes through in his voice, Liam's not sure that he could help it. All his panic and the fact that he hadn't felt as though he could breathe right since Scott and Lori told him that Brett was missing, but he was still there, parading himself around as though the hunters wouldn't keep him locked in their radar and follow through without question?
“I just… have to ask you something.”
Liam's eyebrow raises, and he regards him searchingly. He wasn't entirely sure what could be so important.
“Liam — listen… I need you to promise me. If anything happens, Lori comes first, yeah? I—”
“Brett,” Liam interrupts.
“No, please… please. I need… I need to know, if I get caught, that you'll keep her safe. If it means not coming after me, I don't care.”
“Shut up,” Liam growls out; has to push Brett back against the building and take his hand away to clench his fists at his sides. The anger jolts awake and vibrates through him. “I just had to watch you almost die. I thought you were dead. I thought I got you killed. If you think for one second that I—”
“No. I mean it,” He cuts Liam off; every word between them loaded more and more with an undercurrent of stubborn frustration. “This wasn't on you,” Brett concedes, pushing himself away from the wall. “I was stupid enough to get myself caught out. But Lori… She almost died for me. And I would never forgive myself if she had. She's my sister. Liam, I need you to promise.”
Liam glares up at him; searching his eyes for some sign that this was all just another cruel joke.
The worst part was that he understood. He got it. Brett would always protect Lori; would always believe that it was his responsibility to keep her safe. Liam knew that all too well; but that didn't make it any easier to stomach the request for what it was.
Next time, Brett may as well have said, leave me behind.
“I'm always going to look after her,” Is what he settles on. Defiant; eyes still blazing and claws threatening to break through the skin of his palms. “Just, fuck, never at your expense. I can do both.”
“Liam…”
The softness, again.
“I can.”
He doesn't wait for a response; doesn't want to hear it or see the pitying and exasperated look in Brett's eyes.
Instead he turns on his heel and walks away, internally daring any hunter to try crossing his path — as though it wasn't suicide to entertain the idea. The anger coursing through him insists otherwise.
“Go back inside, Brett,” He calls over his shoulder.
And he's gone, making his way back to an empty home because it's easier to face.
Easier, at least, than confronting the truth of something — someone — he wasn't ready to lose.
~
With the Anuk-Ite and the hunters and Monroe to worry about, there's really no time for a personal crisis.
~
Liam doesn't see him again until the dust has mostly settled.
Even when Monroe taunts him with a scrap of Brett's torn jersey and Scott has to corral him, reassure him that they're safe; they're hidden away; nothing's happened to them; remind him that it's all a game. Even with the news of Satomi and the rest of their pack; even with Jiang and Tierney.
Even when he becomes a walking beacon of the supernatural in the face of everyone's fear.
He pushes Brett to the back of his mind until he stands before Gabe, watching as the light fades from his eyes, and feels nothing but sorrow. Hates himself for thinking it could have been him.
Something hazy and stuttering unfurls in Liam's chest, and doesn't leave.
He doesn't run, doesn't find his way to him immediately despite the nagging feeling at the back of his mind; can't bring himself to do much else but hide away.
More than ever, he feels loss. Feels lost.
Monroe was still out there somewhere, free to regroup.
So many people had died in a cascade of mistakes, and so many of his friends were off again on their own paths, drifting away from town.
There were already enough problems plaguing the pack.
And yet, he was so tired, Liam wasn't sure that he had the energy to give.
He hid himself away; wondering over everything he could have done differently; the things that he had the ability to change; and even more things that he didn't.
Scott isn't there to drag him out of his self-made cocoon, this time.
He thinks about the sludge of wolfsbane and blood that had coated Brett and the touch he couldn't help himself; just for the reminder that Brett was alive and with him still.
He thinks about the promise Brett wanted him to make and his own dismissal.
He thinks, mostly, about how no amount of Anuk-Ite terror had been able to compare to the fear he felt within the tunnels, and how he just knew it was unrelated to the creature.
Even in the bubble of his own thoughts, it's unconscious, when he finds himself at the door to Derek's building as the sun starts setting.
Liam fights against the lump in his throat; he wonders just what he's doing — why he can't simply revel in the win and in the relief of it all.
His heart feels so weighed down and weary, and yet he couldn't force himself to believe that resting was an option.
It wasn't. Not for him.
When the door slides open, it almost hurts.
The sight of Brett gives him some sense of comfort but simultaneously makes him want to turn tail and run. It terrified him — all history aside, it felt like he could finally exhale, and it made no sense.
Especially when all that Brett does is raise a brow in what he assumes is derision, and all he can do is offer a sheepish half-grin before letting his eyes roam.
He looks better, in the sense that he's upright and uninjured.
But, god, he's pale and thin and the purple circles beneath his eyes are deep enough and dark enough that Liam knows that all is not well.
Of course, Brett had lost the last remnants of his already dwindling pack and found himself on the cusp of death, believed himself alone and apparently unworthy of saving, so Liam has at least an inkling of where his mind had to have gone — where it likely still was.
“Hey,” He says, dumbly.
Brett moves aside to let him past, just looks tired.
Liam steps in, but doesn't move further; just stands beside him, closer than he should dare, and sucks in a breath, as though preparing himself for a long, ranting spiel. An apology perhaps, or some kind of explanation.
Of what? He wasn't sure. There was plenty to explain, but he barely had any idea of why he felt so compelled to show up, let alone have bothered to think through what he was supposed to say.
Brett sighs, grabs him by the wrist. “C'mon,” He ushers Liam through, plants him down on the edge of the bed.
For a moment, Liam simply gazes around. It's a studio apartment; smaller than Derek's own, and for the most part it just looks empty. Just slate grey and cold and without any hint of personal touch.
“Lori?” Liam asks, a small pit of dread opening up at the bottom of his stomach, just a nagging worry, that there are no traces of her brightness. “Is she…?”
“With Melissa,” Brett shrugs, but his shoulders sag and slump. “After everything calmed down, losing Satomi… She just needed to be somewhere… better. She's just a kid. She's so young, and I—”
He cuts himself off with a shake of his head.
“You're her brother,” Liam reassures gently, elbows coming to rest on his knees, hands clasped in the open space between them. “Doesn't matter what happens, she's gonna need you.”
Brett smiles, and for every bit that he looks as though he could collapse where he stood, Liam sees the boy he had wanted to impress so badly at fourteen that he thought he might be broken, when he didn't.
(He could care less, really, about the coach, or his car. Brett thought he was worthless, and that made him all but lose his mind.
How pathetic, that even then, he couldn't dream of seeing him hurt. So it was the car that took the brunt of his episode instead. The car and his own bloody knuckles.)
“How are you doing?” He asks.
Brett makes a face, scrubbing a hand over his features. “About as good as anyone, I guess.”
“That's not an answer.”
Brett's eyes narrow.
“What do you want me to say, Liam?” He deadpans. “You want to know that I haven't seen a single person in days, now? That I haven't slept in just as long? That my alpha is dead and I have nowhere to go? You want to break it all down?”
The silence is thick enough that he wants to shut his eyes against it, but instead forces himself to sit up straighter. To bear it.
“You know that's not true.” Liam says. “You don't have to be — alone.”
“Is that an invitation?” He had regained the sneering vulgarity that often clouded his voice, but Liam was beginning to see it for what it was; beginning to realise that it was just as defensive as his own anger.
Regardless off Brett's snarking response, it was, just not in the way that Liam was sure Brett's mind immediately jumped to; what he was implying.
He looks up at the taller boy, open and sincere, hoping that his eyes could communicate everything they needed to.
(And less importantly, that Brett was too worn down to notice the uptick of his heart at the implication of his words. At the flirtation; at the very idea.)
“Yes.”
There's a long moment in which Brett's eyes widen, incredulous, before he just… crumples, his entire body sags.
“Liam,” He croaks out, quiet.
“Before you say anything,” Liam hurries to cut in, “I'm sure Scott and Mrs. McCall will have the same idea with Lori, and of course you don't have to answer until you speak to her, of course. But you said I was lucky to have Scott as my alpha, and you're, fuck, you're all but one of us, anyway, and it's no pressure, obviously. You can totally say no, but I don't want you to be alone and I thought…”
He would have kept going, words flowing out along with the nervous bouncing of his leg, but Brett covers his face with his hands, head bowed and curled in on himself and Liam wonders if he hasn't truly fucked everything up this time.
“Shit.”
He stands, stepping forward into Brett's space without thinking, instinct to touch and soothe and hold battling against the anxious part of his mind telling him that he would only make it worse. Before he can second guess it, his hands settle to either side of Brett's elbows.
Loose enough to be nothing; to let him pull away if he wanted.
“I'm sorry, I didn't mean… It's way too soon to offer, right? I shouldn't have.”
He's about to step away, ashamed, but Brett all but falls into him, hands slipping away from his face to hide it in Liam's shoulder, instead.
“Jesus, Liam,” His voice is suspiciously clouded. “You don't know how much it means, do you? You're so fucking… good. Fuck.”
Liam could hardly agree.
“It's the least we can do… The least of what you deserve.”
His arms curl their way around Brett's middle, nose tucking into his collarbone because he just was that tall, and he breathes.
(Does Brett know, he wonders, that Liam would let him hurt him, even now? That he could hurt Liam just as before, and he'd take it.)
“You've helped us… helped me. You've lost so many people. I get it. Just… so long as you never try to make me promise to leave you to die.”
Brett lets out an unexpected bark of a laugh, and pushes against him playfully.
He begins to move away, and detangle their mess of limbs. Brett's ganglier ones; his own stiff and tentative. It proves him empty; feels like he still wants to grasp around nothing. He couldn't just reach out again, could he?
“I'll go get Lori, yeah?” He offers, because it's all he can do, biting his lip against the disappointment. “You can talk and figure it out… You shouldn't be alone.”
He almost does leave. He turns to, at least.
“Hey, wait,” Brett stops him, catching his wrist with a stroking thumb that has Liam's mouth dropping open. For once, however, he's not the one looking sheepish. It doesn't suit Brett; sits somewhat strangely on his features; but Liam found him handsome on the verge of death, so it meant next to nothing. “You said I don't have to be, right? Stay.”
“You want me to?”
“I haven't been able to sleep, and I just thought…”
“I haven't either,” Liam says, too eager to agree, though his voice remains quiet. Every breath feels as though it's being punched from his lungs, like the air had been sucked out of the apartment around them.
This wasn't them; this wasn't what they do, but Liam wanted it.
“Now?”
Brett shrugs.
Whatever it was, built on whatever brittle foundation they had made, it felt too fragile to break with honesty. Everything was said in the spaces between words.
It was: Maybe I'll sleep better, with you.
It was: I feel safe, with you here.
It was: I won't let you be alone.
They don't say anything as they step back towards the bed. Brett strips himself of his jeans, while Liam toes off his shoes, before following to do the same.
There's a moment that they both stop; meeting each other's eye where they stand at the foot of the bed. Brett's mouth opens, as if to say something, perhaps to offer Liam an out, but it closes again as he thinks better of it. A flush still finds its way to Liam's cheeks, regardless.
Brett pulls back the covers and they both lay down, careful and distanced. They stare up at the ceiling, spines rigid.
Was it a final hurdle that they couldn't leap? Was it a boundary that couldn't be broken? Was it simply too far gone? Too impossible for the unspoken words to fill up the gap between them, even though they desperately needed to be said?
“You always scared me,” Brett says into the dimly-lit apartment, after what feels like a lifetime.
“Huh?”
Liam turns his head to the side with a frown, but Brett doesn't move.
“You should have seen you. This little fucking thing —”
“ Hey.”
“What? You were. You were just a kid; this human. But you were so earnest, and so desperate to be good. And you gave me a run for my money without even trying.”
Liam can't bring himself to interrupt, again, no matter how badly he wanted to correct him and say that he did. He had tried so hard to keep up with him.
“No one knew about me and Lori. I didn't know that they could — that it could be like this. But everything we had depended on keeping distance. Lori being at Devenford depended on me being good at lacrosse, and that depended on us being hidden. But there you were, with these big, blue eyes and you just wanted to impress me and, shit, I had no idea what to do with that.”
Liam's eyes gaze over the planes of his face; over his high cheekbones and the bow of his lips.
“That's why?” He asks, though he's not quite sure that he understands.
“Don't know if you're aware of this, Dunbar. But you're good at getting under people's skin.”
Brett rolls over, then, his hand resting between them. Liam's eyes flick up to watch the way his lashes brush against his dark circles.
“You were awful to me because you thought I'd find out?”
“I was awful to you because I couldn't let myself care, and you, uh, have a way of making it impossible not to… And because I'm an asshole.”
Liam's finger twitches, where it rests across his own ribs, aching to crawl over and touch; reassure himself that Brett really was there, alive. He didn't trust that the universe wasn't fucking with him. Even though he was there and he was with him, close enough to grasp, talking about things Liam had dwelled on since before he'd got himself kicked out of Devenford.
He wants to, but —
“I've never stopped wondering why, you know. I thought you hated me, even after we I guess became kind-of friends. We just never talked about it. Thought you just hated me.”
“'m sorry,” Brett offers, sounding every bit as tired as he looked, now that his body had hit the mattress. “I'm sorry that I let you think that. I'm sorry that I treated you that way in the first place; that I didn't say this sooner.”
In the end, Liam doesn't have to be the one to take the leap and reach out; Brett's hand finds his jaw and makes his breath stutter out as it falls open to the touch.
“It's okay,” He says, swallowing thickly.
“It's not.”
Liam could be brave, too, he figured, if Brett could.
He rolls over so that they face each other, moving until he's closer; until their breath mingles and legs tangle and he can feel the brush of soft hair against his forehead; the heat radiating from him.
“I forgive you. I did a long time ago.”
“Don't know that I deserve it.”
“You think I'd be here, if I didn't think so?”
There's so much more to be said; Liam still wonders if Brett knew, even then. He had to — had surely smelled it on him when he was just a normal, angry human, the heavy and cloying scent of want — he's sure that it had a lot more to do with the distance Brett kept between them than he would willingly admit.
But it doesn't mean the same as it might have, before. Liam understands that it's not disgust, it wouldn't have been. Was it fear? Sitting further down in his gut and coiling around his ribs. Or some misplaced sense of duty that he and his friends had eased him out of, confirmation that no one was truly fighting these battles alone. They didn't have to; couldn't survive that way.
Something in Brett's silence feels pointed.
‘If it means not coming after me, I don't care.’
Liam's hand trembles as he finally breaches the withering rift between them.
Brett didn't think he deserved it; hid behind the cocky mask he used as a cover for too many things, and Liam wouldn't let him.
His fingers settle over his sternum, curling into the fabric of his shirt and bunching it up in a loose fist.
“I'm here. And it's not because I feel obligated,” His hand relaxes against Brett's chest. “You think I could pretend? You ever seen me fake it that well?”
He feels, more than sees, the way that the other boy's lips quirk up.
“You know I don't think you're a bad person, just like you knew I never really wanted to leave and get Lori. You know how much I really couldn't let myself imagine even the possibility of you dying. You're forgiven. So, just… If you're gonna be pack, you better get used to it.”
Brett snorts, but it's gentle, affectionate.
“How do you know that I've decided?” He teases, but Liam just rolls his eyes.
“Please.”
They're quiet, after. Brett's fingers trace along his cheek and into his hair absently, and they slip into a contented state, dozing on the verge of passing out.
He doesn't know how long it's been when, without thinking, Liam wiggles closer, pressing their foreheads together and sleepily hooking his leg around Brett's calf.
Brett hums happily.
“You're still a dumbass,” He breathes against his cheek, but Liam just feels warm.