"assholes," you hissed, wincing as your newest open wounds scratched against your shirt. nothing too big, nothing that wouldn't heal in the next week, but it hurt none-the-less. it had been sudden. the 2 boys jumping out of the bush while you were leaving an old shed near the woods ― they were boasting about finally finding you, and how, because they couldn't lay hands on henry at the very moment, you would have to do.

you had put up your own fight, and the 2 asses didn't leave without their own reminders of your strength, but you had been thoroughly winded by the time the boys got bored and wandered off. begrudgingly, you had wandered into the junkyard, wanting to avoid everyone. however, you heard far too late the sound of a zippo clicking on and off. you skimmed the edge of a car, turning only to find patrick.

patrick.

out of all people. his head was cocked to the side, brow raised in unhidden curiosity. his own gaze wandered up and back down your frame, inspecting. you could see the little quirk in his brow as he took in your new wounds, and the darkening in his eyes. "the hell happened to you?" he didn't let you answer, standing up to his full height and spitting: "who put their hands on you?"