Sully presses the blade to his cheekbone, sweeping away lather and four o'clock shadow with a well practiced scrape. In the mirror, he catches a glimpse of curious eyes watching him from the dingy Columbian motel. The kid is always spying on him when he thinks he's not looking.

Sully turns to work on the other side, lining up his sideburns with the blade in the mirror before taking another sweep. The kid's closer, now. He can hear his breathing against the wall. His grungy fingers picking at the wallpaper.

Sully lifts his chin and presses the razor to his neck, briefly contemplating screaming and scaring the shit out of the kid.

Nah.

With his luck as of late, he'd end up actually nicking himself.

He sets the razor down and presses a hot towel against his face, wiping away excess lather. His moustache lives to see another day. He catches the kid shrinking away and is struck by a strange thought: he's never seen a clean-shaven nun.

"Come here, kid." Sully leans against the sink and runs the razor under the luke-warm tap. He holds it up on display for the kid. "Ever see one of these?"

Nate peeks out from the corner and slumps against the rickety doorway, folding his arms. "Pssh. Yeah. It's a razor."

"Great." Sully grabs the strop and pulls it tight, polishing the blade on the rough leather to prepare it for another use. "We need to manage that peach fuzz before it gets ugly."

"I know how to shave," Nate grumbles defiantly, yet frisks his face for signs of his first beard.

"Uh huh. Sure you do." Sully rinses off his badger hair brush and sticks it in the lathering tin, then thrusts the cup into the kid's hands. Nate stares at it, then fidgets with the brush. "Get over here and show me what you've got."

He hands the kid the blade and takes a step back, clearing the room before the sink. Nate holds the razor in a death grip before him and stares at it. He brings it to his face and Sully coughs lightly. "Lather."

"I knew that." Nate sets the razor down and grabs the brush, twisting it around the tin a few times before smearing the froth on his face haphazardly. Sully chuckles and the kid fixes him with a warning glare. "What?"

"Nothing." Sully leans against the wall, feigning disinterest. "Nice technique."

"What do you care?"

Sully cares a lot, actually. He feels sorry for the kid and, against his best survival instincts, is determined to see him mature into a stable young man. He's got a future. Sully feels awkward helping Nate through these Rites of Manhood, however. Parenting obviously wasn't anything he'd expected or prepared for.

Still.

"Look, kid - the puppy eyes are adorable, but they lose their charm when you look like a werewolf." Sully plants his hands on Nate's shoulders and faces him in the mirror. "Sooner or later, you're going to start looking like me and trust me: the later the better."

Nate raises up the razor again and Sully cringes at the white-knuckled grip around the handle. The kid holds the instrument like a machete. He starts to correct form and bites his tongue.

Nate glares at Sully. "I can do this."

"You said that already, champ."

Despite the nervous shaking, Nate's technique isn't all that bad, Sully notes. Either the kid has spent an inordinate amount of time watching adults or he's fantastic at studying on the fly. Sully doesn't know him well enough to put money on either, but he'd lean toward the later.

Unfortunately, the confidence catches up with him and Nate gets lazy around the jaw: Nate jerks and drops the knife as blood trickles down his neck. "iMerda/i!"

"Oh shit," Sully echos, pressing the warm towel against the cut. In all his life, blood has never made him as queasy as this very moment. "We'll just uh... rub some mud in it. Builds character."

"I've got it. I've got it!" Nate scowls as Sully starts wiping his face and the kid swipes the towel from his hand. Sully retreats to his sundry kit and fishes out a styptic pen which he trades for the towel.

It takes a minute before either of them are talking again. The kid looks pale with embarrassment and Sully really doesn't want to make anything of it. He shouldn't have provoke the kid. Lord knows he didn't start with a straight razor.

"We'll wait on shaving." Sully dismisses with a half-hearted scoff, attempting to ease the tension and restore the kid's confidence. "We've got, what, another 26 days until the next full moon?"

The kid frowns.

"Who knows," Sully continues. "Maybe that ruggedly handsome look will work out for you."

Nate's eyes brighten. "You think so?"

"Yeah," Sully states flatly. "It works for lots of werewolves."

"Sully."

"And chicks dig scars," Sully chuckles. "So, at this rate, you'll be irresistible by the time you're 19."

"Sully!"

"What?"

"Thanks, Sully."

The kid latches around him with a sheepish hug and Sully can't help but feel all choked up inside. It's a unique heart-stopping emotion: like being shot without all the mess and drama.

"Baah." He shakes his head to clear away any possible sign of tears, peels the kid from his person and turns to gather up his shaving kit. "Any time, Nate."

If there's anything Sully's learned from his travels, it's not to show weakness, especially to cute kids. "Nate?"

"Yes, Sully?"

Sully holds out his hand, expectant. "Too obvious."

"Damnit." Reluctantly, Nate slaps the man's wallet into his outstretched palm.

"Go do your homework."