"Your César—I like the sound of that." He gives in to the two of them, letting them comfort him properly at last; he presses the crown of the watch down and closes it, setting it aside. "You're both good men."

César leans a bit, just enough to rest his upper arm against Watson's. He tucks his cheek against his own shoulder and closes his eyes. With that and the arms encircling his torso, he could let his emotional exhaustion take him. Except not so much, with his bloody shirt resting over his bloody pants still.

"As for what Rex struggles with—he's sixteen. So, puberty. But he's safe and in the care of people who also love him, so that's all that matters in the end. It'll just have to be enough. I need to let him go...."