Rawson Remington had been white-knuckling the wheel for so long now he almost couldn't let it go. It had been a long drive, and he was lucky he was still conscious. In fact, he wouldn't have even stopped had it not been for his bracelet, which started humming pleasantly as its mate was near, without which he wouldn't have recognized the figure jogging by the side of the road. First of all, Rome didn't run, not for exercise, anyway, he hated it, and certainly not at five in the fucking morning. Also, he had apparently lost the last of the youthful fat around his face and midsection, had grown more lean and strong like--like him. Which was as much horrifying as it was flattering.
Has it really only been ten months? Rawson wondered as Rome turned around and mad-dogged him before going still at the sight of the car. Rome looked like an entirely different person.
Raws had to practically peel himself out of the seat, using the door to haul himself to his feet.
"Rawson?" Rome said, and it struck something primal deep down in the heart Raws pretended not to have, the part that was instinctively the big brother for all that he was only like twenty-two minutes older than his twin.
"Romey," he replied. "Thank God."
There was a silence, wherein Rome looked like he was battling between fear, disbelief, joy, and rage. But the pause was brief, and then Rome was charging at him, had wrapped his arms around him, and Raws was leaning into his brother, gripping him a little desperately, smelling him, and they were both laughing and crying and Rome was trying to talk, alternating between trying to look at him and trying to hug him.
"Son of bitch, you're here!" Rome was saying. "You dipshit, I thought you were dead! What the frack is wrong with you, huh?"
Raws managed a wry grin. "Oh, God, get off me. Personal space," he said, but his hands were whiteknuckling his brother's jacket as tightly as they had been gripping the steering wheel before.
"I swear to God, Raws," Rome went on, trying to looked pissed off but unable to hide the grin. "I don't know whether to punch you or kiss you, you asshole. Jesus."
"I'll take a raincheck on the punching," Rawson said, because his knees were beginning to give out on him. "I--there's--" How to say this? "I didn't want to get you involved, Romey, but I didn't know where else to--"
"Raws? Shit, you're bleeding!" Rome cried, and suddenly there were hands on him, tearing his jacket open and prodding at the wound. "Where you hit, you idiot, what's wrong?" he insisted, but that was when Rawson's legs well and truly gave out, and Rome was forced to catch him. He managed it, to his credit, apparently having got a lot stronger since Raws saw him last, and his twin deposited him in the back seat of the vehicle.
"Hey, hey. You're not driving my car," Raws protested, batting at him weakly.
"How far did you drive like this, you moron?" Rome demanded, pressing into his personal space. "What got you?"
Well, he was going to find out soon enough. "Werewolf."
It was kind of sad seeing Rome's reaction so clearly. He tensed, though he didn't move away, and his eyes grew wide with a kind of haunted dread.
"Not a bite," Raws insisted. "I swear. But got me good with those claws. I just need to get patched up before I go back out after...it..."
Rome had put a hand on him, in that vulnerable spot where neck and shoulder met, and sent him a hard look that was as warm as it was daring him to say anything different. "When
we go back out after it, Raws."
Raws bit his lip. "Yeah. Yeah, okay," he said, though he didn't really mean it, didn't want to mean it.
Now Rome was pressing their foreheads together, always more comfortable with physical contact than he was, but Raws got the impression that Rome was only being so affectionate to keep from wringing his neck, if how hard he pressed was any indication. "You are such a fracking idiot," Rome said.
Rawson grinned.
"Let's get you to the house, okay? Get you cleaned up. How long has it been since you slept?"
"I could ask you the same thing, you noob. Be easy on the car."
Rome looked at the dashboard. "Raws, you're running on fumes and there's blood all over the seats. What exactly am I going to do to your stupid, ugly-ass junker that hasn't already been done?"
"He doesn't mean it, baby," Raws said, stroking the seat beside him.
"Jesus, you really did lose a lot of blood. Tell me, the werewolf hit you on the head, too?"
"Frack you, get off my case," Rawson grumbled as Rome put her in gear and headed home.