Morning came slowly, diluted by antiseptic light and the low murmur of hospital routines. It slipped through the blinds in pale bands, resting on Vinny's face like a question he wasn't ready to answer yet.
Matthew hadn't moved.
He was still there, seated at the bedside exactly where he'd been when Vinny fell asleep again—spine straight but shoulders bowed, one hand wrapped around Vinny's as if it were an anchor. He'd slept in fragments, if at all. Every beep of a monitor, every footstep in the hall had pulled him back to full alertness.
When Vinny stirred this time, it wasn't from a nightmare.
It was from the ache of being alive.
He inhaled carefully, testing his ribs. They protested, but they held. His fingers twitched—and immediately tightened around Matthew's hand.
Matthew leaned in at once. "Hey. Easy."
Vinny cracked one eye open. "You're hovering."
"I'm breathing," Matthew said quietly. "There's a difference."
Vinny huffed, the faintest ghost of a smile pulling at his mouth. "You look like hell."
Matthew didn't deny it. He brushed his thumb over Vinny's knuckles, gentle. "How do you feel?"
Vinny considered the question honestly. "Like I got hit by a truck," he said. Then, softer, "But… here."
Matthew nodded. Here mattered.
A knock interrupted them. This time it wasn't tentative—it was clinical.
The doctor entered with a tablet tucked under his arm, followed closely by a nurse. He checked Vinny's vitals, asked questions, shone a light into his eyes. Vinny answered with a mix of sarcasm and cooperation that reassured everyone in the room.
Then the doctor straightened.
"Mr. Ashbourne," he said to Matthew, "your insistence has been noted. But hospital protocol—"
"I'm not asking," Matthew replied calmly. Not raised. Not aggressive. Just immovable. "I'm providing a better option."
The doctor hesitated. "Your personal physician—"
"Is already en route," Matthew said. "He has access to a private recovery suite. Twenty-four-hour monitoring. Trauma specialists. Physical therapy. Security."
The doctor glanced at Vinny. "And what do you want?"
Vinny looked at Matthew, then back at the doctor. "I want out of here," he said plainly. "And I want my brother with me."
That did it.
There was a pause—long, loaded. Then the doctor sighed. "We'll need waivers. And the transfer will be supervised."
"Of course," Matthew said. "Nothing else would be acceptable."
Aiden didn't argue.
When Kieran told him they were being discharged under private care, he'd just gone quiet—processing, eyes darting briefly to the door as if half-expecting someone to stop them.
"Vinny?" he asked softly.
"Yes," Kieran said. "You'll be with him."
Aiden exhaled, long and shaky. "Okay."
The transfer was discreet. No sirens. No spectacle.
Two black vehicles waited at the hospital's private entrance, engines idling like patient sentinels. Vinny was wheeled out first, a blanket draped over his legs, Matthew walking beside him with one hand resting possessively on the armrest.
He didn't let go once.
Aiden followed shortly after, supported on either side by attendants. He looked smaller than Vinny remembered—thinner, more fragile—but when their eyes met, something solid passed between them.
"Hey," Vinny said hoarsely.
Aiden smiled, tentative but real. "Hey."
Matthew watched the exchange closely. Not with jealousy. With calculation. With relief.
They were alive. That was enough—for now.
The drive home was quiet.
Vinny leaned back against the seat, exhaustion creeping in again as the city slid past the tinted windows. Matthew sat close, shoulder pressed to his, one arm stretched along the backrest like a barrier against the world.
Aiden rode in the car behind them with Kieran. He watched the road through the window, jaw tight, hands clasped together in his lap. Kieran didn't push him. He stayed present, silent, solid.
When the gates opened at the estate, Vinny felt something loosen in his chest.
Home didn't mean safe. Not automatically.
But it meant familiar.
The mansion had changed since they'd left it. Security was doubled. Guards stationed at every corridor intersection. Cameras humming softly where there hadn't been any before.
Matthew noticed Vinny noticing.
"I know," he said quietly. "We'll talk about it later."
Vinny nodded. Not now.
The recovery suite had been prepared meticulously. Warm light. Soft linens. Medical equipment integrated seamlessly into the room so it didn't feel like a ward. Matthew's personal doctor arrived minutes after they did, already briefed, already serious.
Vinny was examined again. Aiden too. Blood drawn. Notes taken. Medications adjusted.
Through it all, Matthew stayed at Vinny's side.
When the doctor finally stepped back, he addressed Matthew directly. "He needs rest. No stress. No surprises."
Matthew's jaw tightened faintly. "Understood."
"And," the doctor added, glancing at Vinny, "he's not made of glass."
Vinny smirked. "Thank you."
Matthew almost smiled.
Later, when the house finally settled into a cautious quiet, Vinny lay back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling. Matthew sat on the edge of the bed, one hand resting on Vinny's thigh—grounding, not restraining.
"You're hovering again," Vinny said.
Matthew exhaled. "I know."
"You don't have to watch me breathe."
"I do," Matthew replied simply.
Vinny turned his head to look at him. "You're scared."
Matthew didn't deny it this time. His voice was low. "I almost lost you."
"But you didn't," Vinny said. "I'm still here. I fight back, remember?"
Matthew's fingers curled slightly. "That's what terrifies me."
Vinny studied him for a moment, then reached up—slow, deliberate—and cupped Matthew's wrist. "I'm not going anywhere," he said. "Not without choosing it."
Matthew swallowed.
"I'll stay," he said quietly. "As long as you need."
Vinny's mouth curved. "Good. Because I'm not done yet."
Matthew leaned down, pressing his forehead to Vinny's temple, breathing him in like a promise.
Down the hall, Aiden slept under careful watch.
Kieran stood guard.
And for the first time since everything shattered, the house didn't feel like a cage.
It felt like a place where healing—however messy, however slow—might actually begin.
Night didn't fall all at once.
It crept in slowly, pooling in the corners of the estate, slipping between the heavy curtains and settling into the silence like something watchful. The mansion had always been quiet, but tonight it felt… restrained. As if every wall, every corridor, was holding its breath.
Vinny noticed it first.
He lay propped against pillows, the lights dimmed to a warm glow that didn't hurt his eyes. The doctor had insisted on rest, but sleep didn't come easily. His body was exhausted—aching in that deep, hollow way that followed trauma—but his mind refused to slow down.
Matthew hadn't left.
Not once.
He'd taken a phone call near the window earlier, his voice low and clipped, the kind he used when issuing orders that didn't invite discussion. Vinny hadn't caught the words, but he'd seen the way Matthew's jaw tightened, the way his knuckles whitened around the phone.
Now Matthew sat in the chair beside the bed, jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, one hand still holding Vinny's. His thumb moved in slow, absent strokes over Vinny's skin, grounding them both.
"You're staring," Vinny said quietly.
Matthew looked up immediately. "Sorry."
"Don't be." Vinny shifted slightly, wincing, then settled again. "Just… feels weird being back."
Matthew nodded. "I know."
"You didn't ask," Vinny added after a moment, eyes still on the ceiling, "but I don't hate this place anymore."
Matthew's thumb paused.
"You don't?" he asked carefully.
Vinny turned his head to look at him. "I used to. It felt like a cage. Like everything here was about control." His gaze softened. "But tonight… it just feels like walls. Like a place that kept the storm out."
Matthew swallowed. He didn't speak for a moment.
"I'm trying," he said finally. "I don't always know how to do this right."
Vinny huffed quietly. "That's an understatement."
Matthew almost smiled.
Down the hall, Aiden lay awake too.
The room he'd been given was smaller than Vinny's but just as carefully prepared. Soft blankets. Low lighting. A chair by the bed where Kieran sat, arms crossed loosely, posture relaxed but alert.
Aiden stared at the ceiling, counting his breaths.
"You don't have to stay," he said after a while.
Kieran didn't move. "I know."
"…But you are."
"Yeah."
Aiden turned his head slightly, studying him. "You're not afraid I'll run?"
Kieran met his gaze calmly. "No."
That surprised Aiden. "Why?"
"Because you've already been running your whole life," Kieran replied. "You're tired."
Aiden's throat tightened. He looked away, blinking hard. "You don't know me."
"I know enough," Kieran said. "And I know what men like Tom do to people."
Aiden's hands clenched in the sheets. "He said Vinny didn't care. That he knew. That he was happy I was—" His voice broke, and he stopped.
Kieran didn't interrupt. He didn't push. He just waited.
"…I didn't believe him," Aiden finished hoarsely. "But part of me was scared it might be true."
Kieran leaned forward slightly. "It wasn't."
Aiden closed his eyes. A tear slipped out anyway.
"He's alive," Kieran added. "He fought like hell for you. Still is."
That, more than anything, undid him.
Back in Vinny's room, the doctor returned briefly to check vitals, adjust medication, and give Matthew a look that clearly said don't push him. Matthew accepted it with a nod, even if every instinct in him rebelled against stepping back.
When the door closed again, Vinny exhaled slowly.
"You're tense," he murmured.
Matthew's grip tightened, just a fraction. "I almost lost everything."
"But you didn't," Vinny repeated. He lifted their joined hands slightly. "You still have me. And Aiden."
Matthew leaned forward, pressing his forehead gently against Vinny's knuckles. "I don't deserve that kind of mercy."
Vinny snorted weakly. "Too bad. You're getting it anyway."
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Matthew whispered, "I'm going to be better."
Vinny studied him. The words weren't dramatic. They weren't sworn like an oath. They were quiet. Heavy. Real.
"I'll hold you to that," Vinny said.
"I hope you do."
Later, when the house was fully asleep—or as close to it as it ever got—Vinny finally drifted off.
Matthew noticed immediately.
Vinny's breathing evened out. His grip loosened, though he didn't let go completely. His face, usually sharp with defiance or calculation, softened into something almost peaceful.
Matthew didn't move.
He sat there, watching, memorizing every detail like he was afraid this moment might vanish if he blinked. The faint crease between Vinny's brows. The scar at his collarbone. The rise and fall of his chest.
This time, he told himself, he wouldn't fail him.
Outside, guards continued their patrols. Cameras swept the perimeter. The world stayed dangerous.
But inside that room, for the first time in a long while, the quiet wasn't suffocating.
It was protective.
And Matthew stayed exactly where he was, holding Vinny's hand, keeping watch—unwilling, and finally unable, to let go.