Trevor had been waiting behind the dumpster for an hour. Asshole Number Three -- the one who had cracked his skull -- was the only one left inside the deli. Having stalked Number Three for a few days, Trevor knew the guy would be taking out the trash soon. That's when karma would get played out. Trevor adjusted his ski mask, which was partly for the cold and partly to avoid recognition, and settled his weapon in his gloved hands.

The baseball bat was new to his arsenal, to be used especially for Number Three. Trevor wanted to menace this guy the same way he'd been menaced. The memory of this man grinning and thumping the bat into his palm caused Trevor to tighten his grip. Maybe he'd even take a swing; they were about the same height, he could give Number Three a good crack across his shoulders, knock him into the hard, cold metal of the Dumpster. This was the man who'd hammered him, whose actions had actually killed Trevor before his first Immortal awakening. Trevor briefly wondered if anyone would have ever found his body if he hadn't woken up, if Eric might have been left to wonder forever what had happened to his lover. The thought incensed Trevor even more. One good blow, just a taste of vengeance, was something he could savor.

Whistling echoed in the alley, and Trevor stiffened. Unconsciously rubbing the grip, he waited for the sound to come closer. As it shrilled in his ears, Trevor leapt from his hiding place, swinging his weapon. Only as the bat connected with the side of a head did he realize it was the wrong face. The body connected to it slumped to the ground.

"Holy shit." The words came from the face Trevor had wanted to smash. Number Three was cowering in the doorway. "Hey man, I have the keys to the register. Take it, take the money, just please, please, don't hurt me." He held out his hands. "I'm not armed, I swear."

"Shit!" Trevor shouted, waving the bat at Number Three. "Shit! That was supposed to be you, you asshole! That was supposed to be you! Who the hell is that?"

"Tha-that's my brother," the man stammered. "Wh-why me?"

"Because you're a goddamned gay basher, that's why!" Trevor pointed to the body with the bat, his hand shaking as adrenaline pumped through him. "And now that's your punishment, to see it happen to somebody you love!" Trevor wanted to hit him, wanted to beat Number Three to a pulp, the way it had been done to him, the way he'd done it to this kid. Looking down at the bloody face on the ground, Trevor felt his knees start to buckle, and his shaking hand dropped the bat.

Trevor fled down the alley, ripping the mask off as he turned the corner. He pumped his legs as fast as they could go, every step hammering in the image of the kid's bloody face. Stumbling through the apartment doorway, Trevor finally stopped. In the soft light of his living room, he could see the spattered blood on his shirt and pants.

Still carrying the mask, he stripped his clothing and gloves off as he hurried to the bathroom. Trevor soaked his clothes in soapy water and scrubbed until his hands were rough and reddened. Finally he rinsed it all, watching the bloody water swirl down the drain. He stared at the sink for a long moment, then at his own image in the mirror, remembering his own blood-streaked face after his beating, so much like the boy whose skull he had cracked, and whom he had possibly killed. An innocent boy.

Trevor hung his clothes to dry on the shower rod, his shaking only increasing as reality hit him. He was just what Eric had said: a monster. So focused on revenge that he couldn't see what he was doing -- or whom he might hurt in the process. He'd wanted the scum to pay, but now he was the one paying for his trespasses.

Pulling up the toilet lid, Trevor leaned over and retched, but nothing came up from his churning stomach. He waited a few minutes, gulping air, hoping for a good vomit to settle his stomach. It didn't come, but the tears did, quiet at first, then in sobs. He wanted to die, and realized that with Immortality, taking his own life was next to impossible. Silently he prayed, offering to trade his life so that the kid might live.

Breathing deep, Trevor wandered through the apartment, turning lights off as he went. He stretched out on the sofa and closed his eyes, afraid he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep, and hoping God would accept his deal and he wouldn't have to face the morning.

Even though Trevor had put force behind it, the bat swung in slow motion, barely shimmering in the scant light. His body surged with power and with the joyous thrill that comes with vengeance. Only a split second before the bat made contact did Trevor see the face -- Eric's face -- and then the jarring crack of bat hitting skull resounded in the alley.

Trevor's eyes flew open and he gripped the edges of the sofa cushion as his body shook. His heart and lungs competed for space in his chest as his pulse raced and he gasped for air. He knew in the back of his mind that it was only a dream, but that fact did not calm him from its effects.

As his shaking finally began to subside, Trevor slid off the overstuffed sofa and crept into the bedroom. Eric was stretched out on the bed, his left arm splayed across the space Trevor normally occupied. Trevor tried not to move the bed as he got in. He laid his head on Eric's chest and wrapped his arms around Eric's torso. Without waking, Eric re-settled himself around Trevor. In the warmth of the embrace, Trevor drifted into a dreamless sleep.

The fingers running through his hair woke Trevor just a few moments before the clock-radio went off. As usual, it was tuned in to the news. Trevor kept his eyes closed during the traffic and weather reports, enjoying the gentle magic of Eric's fingers while he could. The first news story, however, slammed Trevor back into his nightmarish reality.

"A 19-year-old man is in critical condition this morning after a beating in what detectives are calling a failed robbery attempt at a midtown deli," the reporter droned. "At this time, there are few clues to the suspect's identity, aside from the weapon -- a baseball bat -- left at the scene. The victim's brother, who witnessed the beating, said he didn't get a good look at the attacker, and that nothing was actually taken from the shop."

"Why would you use a baseball bat to rob somebody?" Eric mused. "Unless it wasn't a robbery. You don't suppose the guys who got you are at it again?"

"No." Trevor gritted his teeth so hard that they hurt. Part of his prayer had been answered – the kid was alive, but just barely.

"You don't think so? Sounds like their style."

"It wasn't them." Tears filled Trevor's eyes as Eric continued to stroke his hair. It had been a long time since they'd shared a quiet moment like this. Could he bring himself to tell Eric the truth?

"Maybe not. But it could have been, right? In any case, I hope the kid's in a coma. It would suck beyond words to be in the kind of pain an attack like that would bring on."

A sob broke free from Trevor's throat as he tore himself away from Eric. "Stop it!"

"What?" Eric furrowed his brow as he sat up. "I'm just saying, I hope the poor kid isn't suffering too much, after all he's been through. Have you lost every shred of humanity you had, Trev?"

Trevor shook as he pushed himself up to a sitting position. His voice came out in a whisper. "It was me." He swallowed hard. "I was the bastard who hit him."

"What?" Eric stared at Trevor in disbelief. "You were what?"

Trevor hugged his knees to his chest. "I wasn't going for him, I swear. His brother was the one who beat me, and I thought the asshole was the only one there, Eric, I thought it was him I was hitting…" Trevor shook his head, his heart sinking into his soured stomach. "I only realized the truth when it was too late."

"My God." Eric leaned back against the headboard and let out a troubled sigh. "I knew this vigilante thing would only get you into trouble, Trev, that it would only cause more problems."

"I know." Trevor bowed his head.

"You had no right to take a baseball bat to anyone, not even to the person who did it to you."

"I know that too. Now." Trevor looked up, but couldn't meet Eric's eyes. "But I can't take it back, y'know? I can't even tell the kid I'm sorry." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Think he's gonna live?"

Eric stroked Trevor's cheek. "We can hope so, Trev. We can hope so."