The second Austin walks up to my register, I know something is really wrong. His face is bruised, covered in bloody bandages, and he's pale and trembling, either from fear or pain I can't tell.

"What happened?" I ask, clocking out of my register. We're technically closed now, so Austin got here just in time. I've been wondering where he's been tonight.

"I don't know where to start," he says, and I can tell it hurts him to speak.

"Start with telling me who kicked your ass," I say.

"I got jumped. Our money got stolen," he says, wincing.

"By who?"

"Some guys I worked with today. They followed me to the motel," he says.

"Are you hurt bad?" I ask, looking him over. He's holding his side with one scraped hand.

"Broken rib. Bruises. I'll be fine," he says dismissively, "I'm mostly worried about Pixie."

"What's wrong with Pixie?"

"She's bad sick. Really bad. Strep Throat and a hundred four degree temperature. I took her to the hospital, and they gave her a shot of penicillin, but she's still really dehydrated," he says.

"Oh my God," I mumble, "Give me a second, and I'll get her some meds. Come with me."

"Thanks, Rory. I didn't know who else to go to," he says, and he gasps with pain when he takes a step.

"I can't believe you didn't get her to a hospital days ago!" I say, aggravated. "You waited until she had a hundred and four degree fever? That was fucking stupid! She could have permanent brain damage from a fever that high!"

"I did what I had to! I couldn't let them take her!" he says.

"Well they didn't, obviously," I say, "So you could have taken her days ago."

Austin stops walking and glares at me. "You think I've just been sitting around watching her get sicker and sicker not doing shit about it? You think I'd let her DIE? You don't know me, Rory! YOU DON'T KNOW SHIT!"

"SO WHY DIDN'T YOU TAKE HER BEFORE?" I shout back.

"Because the only reason they didn't turn us in is because I worked something out with this doctor!"

"Worked out what?" I ask.

"It doesn't matter!" he says, and his voice has changed. Instead of being defensive and angry he sounds almost... afraid.

I look at him for a long time, and he shakes his head and looks away from me.

"You think this is so fucking easy, Rory! Like everybody's so honest and so ready to help us!" he says darkly. "Like everyone's just giving us free stuff and buying us hot chocolate because Pixie's adorable! People are NOTHING like that! THEY ALL WANT SOMETHING! THEY ALL JUST TAKE AND TAKE AND TAKE 'TILL THERE'S NOTHIN' LEFT! EVERY SINGLE FUCKING PERSON!"

I stand there, shocked. Austin is on the verge of tears. I don't know what to do, what to say... I don't know what's wrong. Finally, he swallows and gathers his composure.

"You're the exception, Rory. Not the rule," he says softly.

I bite back the words I want to say and decide to just leave it at that. It's not worth arguing with him, and I can't begin to make sense of his reaction.

Using one of the Natural Way's reusable cloth bags, I put together a care package for Pixie with some Pedialyte and popsicles. I've had Strep before, so I know what'll make her feel better. Austin tries to take the bag from me, but I shake my head.

"I've got it. You can barely walk," I say.

He reluctantly concedes and silently limps behind me out of the store. The van is parked right up front. I can tell Austin must be hurt bad because he chanced parking in a handicapped spot. Luckily, we weren't inside long enough for him to get a ticket. He opens up the back doors with a grimace.

"You don't need to come up, I've got it from here," he mumbles.

"I want to see her. Is that okay?" I ask.

Austin looks uncomfortable. "I mean... sure. Just... it's not really nice in there."

I roll my eyes. "Like I'm expecting the Ritz or something. Come on."

Austin gasps in pain as he crawls up into the van, and I follow after him. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but the dismal sight of where they've been living takes my breath away. There's a cardboard box with a few meager food items in it: peanut butter, half a loaf of bread, some apples, and Saltine crackers. Pixie has hung drawings up on the van's walls of princesses, castles, and fairies, the only happy details of this scene. In the middle of the floor there's literally just a pile of clothes that serves as a bed. I try to keep my face neutral and not look too horrified by my surroundings. I can't imagine living in here the way they have for months. No matter how much I may disagree with Austin's handling of the situation, my heart aches for them.

"Elsa?" I smile, crouching down beside Pixie's sleeping form.

Her eyelids flutter open, and she smiles weakly when she sees me. "Anna?"

"Yep. It's me. I've brought you some yummy juice and popsicles," I say, reaching into the bag beside me and pulling out a bottle of Pedialyte.

"My throat hurts," Pixie says, turning her head away from the bottle when I offer it.

"I know it does, but this will help you get better," I say.

"I want a popsicle," she whines.

"Pixie, drink that and then you can have a popsicle, I promise," Austin says.

He's leaning against the wall holding his side. His breathing is shallow and labored.

"You okay?" I ask him.

He nods. "It just hurts when I take too big a breath. I'll be fine."

"Austin, are those people coming back? The bad ones who broke the door?" Pixie asks.

"No, Baby. We're safe," he says, "Now drink your juice."

With the promise of a popsicle, Pixie slowly but steadily drinks the Pedialyte while Austin and I stand at the back of the van.

I'm not sure where to go from here. All I know is I can't let them sleep in this van tonight. My options are to call CPS, pay for a night in a hotel for them, which doesn't solve the problem of the day after that, or take them home with me. I bite my lip, imagining my dad's reaction. Blanca's not the best at keeping secrets. And Seth? His moods are so unstable, there's no telling how he would take it. The doctors and therapists have all said he needs a steady routine, and this would completely blow that out of the water. But the alternatives are unthinkable. I can't let them stay here and I can't turn them over to CPS.

"See that car right there? The Mustang?" I say, pointing at my pride and joy, my black and silver-striped Mustang that I affectionately call The Vader because of all the Star Wars bumper stickers. It's pretty much the one thing I have that's actually mine. I saved the money and paid for it myself. It's used, but it still drives like a badass.

"The Mustang?" Austin asks.

"Yep. I call it the Vader."

"What, like Darth Vader?" he asks, a small, amused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Yeah. I'm a Dark Side kinda girl," I say mischievously.

"I kinda pegged you for the Light Side. You know, helping out the underdog and stuff," he says.

"I don't help everyone. Just people who deserve it," I say, "So I'll drive my car and you follow me."

"Follow you where?" Austin asks.

"To my house. You can't sleep in the van. She's too sick and you're too hurt," I say.

"Rory, we can't just sleep in your house!" Austin exclaims, looking shocked that I would even ask.

"Do you have a better idea? Homeless shelters are out because they'll peg you as runaways. You can't keep dishing out money for a hotel room now that you don't have anything. CPS will take Pixie and probably send you off to juvie if you ask them for help. So, do tell, what's your idea?" I ask, raising my eyebrows.

"I don't have a better idea. I'm just surprised you trust me," he says.

I chuckle. "Well are you planning to rob me?"

He shakes his head. "Of course not."

"So what's the big deal?"

"Most people wouldn't invite homeless kids into their house."

"Well I'm not most people, and I know you need help," I say, "You're totally banged up, and Pixie's too sick to move. I can't just let you sleep in this van tonight. How are you gonna work with a broken rib that hurts so bad you can barely breathe? How are you going to make enough money for food, gas, and medicine?"

Austin looks torn. He knows I'm right. I can't imagine why he's so reluctant to take me up on my offer. Does he really not trust me that much?

"Okay... I guess. But just until tomorrow," he finally says.

"Great. I'm not asking you to move in. Follow me."

I hop out of the back of the van and start heading to my car, hoping I'm doing the right thing.