It was rather commical really, to see the contrast between the last and the latest message Clark had sent Ophelia. How, over the span of a few days, "I'm not helping" became "fuck it" and then a slew of instructions.

George and Clay had been on call - when were they ever not - when Ophelia, Geo and Jethro burst into George's house claiming that they had needed him more, to which Clay greatly protested. They were lucky that George and Clay hadn't called for anything important, though Clay would argue that basking in one another's company was plenty important - and George would privately agree, but never out loud.

It hadn't taken long to manoeuvre the group to George's couch, George hanging up and calling Clay on his phone instead. They sent off a message saying that they were ready and Clark replied quickly that he would be video calling them and that they had to either mute or stay silent, regardless of what they heard or saw.

It was a rather sketchy ordeal, considering the fact that only Jethro knew of Clark and Damien's relations. Well, it had always been very Clark-fashion to keep every reveal as dramatic as possible.

Soon enough, Jethro's laptop was set up on George's coffee table, screen lighting up with a rather confusing view. It took a second of awkward twisting and turning to figure out that they were on Clark's phone, through the back camera, and that Clark's phone must have been tucked into a shirt pocket - a small fraction of the bottom of the screen was covered by a dark blue fabric.

"Since when has it been of your concern?" A voice rang out, somewhat muffled. Jethro leaned forward to click a key, deciding to screen record the call and to mute themselves.

"Damien?" Clay asked, sounding incredulous, only to be hastily shushed.

Clark's hands came into view at the base of the screen, up in a pose of surrender. Jethro realised, with a sense of panic, that Clark had nothing covering his arms. They were out of view for now, but he wasn't certain it would stay that way. "Woah, no need to get snappy. Ever heard of small talk, old man?"

Damien pulled on the ends of his white button-up shirt sleeves, straightening them. "It is a waste of time. What do you want, Ash?" His voice seemed hoarse and scratched. From disuse or from injury, no one was all too sure.

"I'm not allowed to be a good son and take interest in where you're headed, big guy?" Clark's hands lowered from frame and with them went Jethro's heart rate. The others watched on in a lost kind of confusion. "You remember what the nurse said, no big trips alone." Clark must be insane because his tone held a challenging tease to it that could be heard clear as day.

"Name your price already, bitch, you have stalled long enough." Damien turned to pick his mobile off of the table. For a fraction of a second, directions were visible on the small screen. Clark laughed.

"You've lost your edge. Heading off to someone special that's made you soft?" He pushed instead of answering. All he needed was to make Damien say the words aloud.

Instead, he received a hard slap to the face. Not exactly what he was looking for but, if the others were smart, they could work with it.

"You best be grateful I'm too busy removing George from the picture to stay, or that would be the least of your worries." Damien bit, spinning on his heel and heading for the door. There it was. Clark waited until he was certain that Damien wasn't coming back to pull the phone from his pocket. He switched the camera to face him.

Clark's right cheek was a fiery red, a small, fresh looking scratch tracing along his cheekbone. Jethro took them off of mute, preparing to speak, when Clark grinned, held up a single thumbs up, and hung up.

The silence that stretched was near unbearable. Unasked questions and unspoken concerns floated between them. Jethro pulled the laptop into his lap and attempted to call Clark again.

"What the fuck..." George finally muttered, breaking the ice and allowing the others to not only speak but to breathe freely too. "That was Damien?" Clay and Jethro nodded, Jethro receiving a few confused looks.

"How does Clark know Damien?" Geo asked, looking around for some kind of answer only to be met by similarly confused looks. "I thought I heard Clark refer to himself as 'son' or something at one point." He continued, desperate for someone to correct him but once again being met with nothing.

Jethro stayed silent, having switched from his laptop to his phone in order to contact Clark. Finally, he picked up.

"Hola niños!" He greeted, camera switched off, and was immediately met with an uproar of questions - about Damien, about why he had refused to help first, about what had changed his mind, about where Damien was going, about why Damien had called him Ash. "Woah, woah, one at a time. There's enough of me for everyone."

"Why were you with Damien? How do you know him?" Clay began and the others fell into silence. There was some shuffling and clunking from Clark's end before his video lit up once more.

He was stood in a spacious looking bathroom, phone propped on the shelf against the mirror, and leaning over the sink. The lights were blinding against the white walls and it gave them a perfect view of a disheveled looking boy. Jethro was more than just relieved to see the familiar bandages over his arms.

"Looks like I've got a lot of explaining to do, huh?" He asked, grinning lopsidedly as he turned on the tap and reached to grab a cotton ball. He dipped it into the stream of water before raising it to clean the cut on his face. "I should probably reintroduce myself then."

Clark turned to the group, figuring they deserved his full attention for something like this. All except Jethro were waiting in anticipation for some kind of explanation. Jethro watched instead as a warm red bubbled up in the cut once more.

"Ashton Clark Bèste." Clark held out a hand to the phone as though they could shake it. "It's a pleasure." Clark's voice was void of everything they recognised in him. It was flat and formal and lifeless. Clark's bright hazel eyes seemed to have dulled to Ashton's simple brown.

As quick as he'd seemingly disappeared, Clark was back. "But I haven't been Ashton for something like eleven years now." He waved off easily, returning to carefully cleaning his face and reaching for a cream of some kind.

"Selene talked some sense into me yesterday. She made me realise that I wasn't being smart and protecting them. I was just delaying the inevitable. So, I thought it's probably best to warn you all that Damien is on his way up to George's." After washing the excess cream off of his fingers, he switched off the tap.

"So Damien is... your dad..." George asked through shocked silence, too caught up on that fact, and Clark nodded, packing his supplies back under the sink.

"He hit you..." Ophelia more stated than asked, eyes faraway. Geo held a similarly saddened expression.

"Don't you dare start blaming yourself now. There's no way you could have known. Up until now, I thought Selene and Auri needed him so I did everything I could to cover his tracks. There was nothing you could have done." Clark reassured immediately, wishing he'd joined Jethro that morning so that he could be there.

"But no one needs him. Not me, not Selene, Aurelia, the band, you, not anyone. Bitch boy has reached his end, I know that now." He continued, a certain bitterness in his tone "and I will be the one to bring him down."

Before anyone could really react, soft knocks sounded and various heads turned to figure out where it was coming from. They sounded once again, louder.

"Hey princess!" Clark breathed and all eyes returned to him as he swept a small bundle of pink and glitter into his arms. "I'm with my friends right now, d'you wanna say hi?" It was like whiplash, the way his tone had changed from a low, bitter rage into a high, soft and fluttery fondness.

It was exactly what they needed at that moment though. The rush of information and emotions had left them all overwhelmed and, frankly, hurt. Having a gappy-toothed, smiley little girl wave to you with the excitement of a hundred puppies told they were going on a walk was a great relief.

"Who are they?" Aurelia whispered dramatically to Clark, pointing at George and the phone that he had held beside him displaying Clay. Clark grinned and it looked all too similar to Aurelia's, despite his slightly swollen cheek.

"The blondie on the phone is Clay." Clay waved enthusiastically, smile close to splitting his face.

"Ooh! I know you! Hi, Clay!" She greeted, lifting her small hand from Clark's shoulder to wave with both and Clay felt it tug at his heart.

"And the brownie there is his boyfriend, George." Clark pointed and George waved as well, having to glance away from where he'd been watching Clay's smile.

"I know you too! Daddy talks about you a lot. Hi, George!" She waved a final time and George raised an eyebrow.

"He does?" He asked with a slight sense confusion.

"Uhuh! He doesn't like you bery much." She nodded to herself with confidence and George giggled nervously. "Don't worry though! I think you're cute." She reassured and was met by gentle chuckles.

"He is very cute, isn't he?" Clay asked and George covered his face with his free hand, groaning.

It felt as though they'd brushed past the topic all too quickly but that was alright. They'd figure it all out later, they had around two hours before Damien would be near.

For now, the group were more than happy to watch as Aurelia and Clay teamed up to see just how pink George's cheeks could turn.

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