My legs are beginning to hurt by the time I reach an alleyway at the back of a restaurant called Guza Gomei. It's the last place I think to search having scored nearly all the areas of the plaza. Noah is not one to roam down alleyways normally, but a bad feeling in my gut is the push I need to continue.

Strangely enough, I hear voices the deeper I go.

"Who are you to butt into our business?"

"I'm just someone walking by and it seems like that is a body below you."

I would recognise that soft and playful tone in his voice anywhere.

That's Noah's voice and it seems like a heated conversation from the frustration in the other man's tone. For now, I decide to hide behind a dumpster that is still far enough but gives me a clear view of the scene when I poke my head around the side. Sometimes rushing into a situation is not always the best solution.

Noah stands in front of two teenagers about my age. They tower over him, patting wooden baseballs against their heads, their expressions turning dark as they sneer at him. I focus on Noah, who shifts his head between them and off to the side behind them.

That's when I notice a third body leaning against a fence behind them. The raven-haired boy holds his ribs with a scrunched face that looks to be in pain. I didn't know the details of the situation but Noah's involvement clicked into place. He tended to have a hero- complex and jumped into any situation that showed injustice on an individual or animal.

"Trust me, boy." The ugliest goon warned. "You want to walk away right now before I beat you to a pulp." He then slowly started approaching my brother and his friend followed.

And this is where you need to think of something. I reminded myself. Popping back around the corner I searched my brain for anything. Just one idea, even. Then it hit me. Taking out my phone I opened up my videos where I knew a recording of NCIS would be there. Opening the file I set it to the exact time in the video that I needed. "This should do it," I mumbled.

Inhaling a lungful of air, I jumped out from behind the dumpster and yelled, "Hold on!"

"What now?" They snarled, shifting their attention to me who slowly walked to my brother's side. He still stared at the figure leaned against the fence with concern. They halted at the sign of my appearance.

"I called the cops," I told them. "They will be here soon."

The taller one wearing an ACDC shirt halted and considered my words very carefully. "And why do I feel like you're lying?" He fished, but I caught the uncertainty he was poor at hiding.

"Well, for one, this here is my brother and I do what I must to protect my brother. And secondly, it seems like the guy behind you was beaten unfairly." I shake my head while clucking my tongue. "That is just not on." My finger taps down on the play button and on queue police sirens can be heard from the clip.

"Oh, that will be them," I add slowly. It's the determining factor that tips the situation to my favour. I see both of them stiffen and eye each contemplating whether to fight or flight.

"This is not over, Presley. Until next time." The goons shift on the balls of their feet before they are dashing away in the opposite direction. I finally relax, my fake bravado slipping away. From beside me, Noah sprints to the boy at the fence.

"Are you okay?"

"A bit bruised. But I'll be okay." He coughs, spitting out blood before wiping it on his t-shirt. "Would you guys be able to help me up?"

"Of course," Noah says, and issues me to grab his other arm. We circle his arms around our necks before we help carry him out of the alleyway one step at a time. We find the nearest seat available and help him to take a seat. People look at the scene around us some gasping while others looking without surprise. Like they are somehow used to seeing someone bloody and battered. The idea makes my belly sink.

Noah goes to pull out his phone to call an ambulance but Presley dashes a hand out gripping his arm. 

"No, " he shakes his head, his voice stern. "Not the ambulance. Not yet... anyway."

Noah nods, tight-lipped. Presley has a look of relief before moving his hand back and instead reaching for a phone in his jacket pocket. Opening it slowly, he dials a number placing it to his ear. He waits for a second.

"James. Bad news. I've been ambushed by Striker's boys. I'm not in the best condition. Okay, you too."

He pulls the phone away from his ear and hangs up. He looks to be thinking something, his attention far away before he is back to the present. Presley looks up at us under long eyelashes and sky-grey eyes. It appears as if he has forgotten we are still standing here. "What were your names again?"

"Mine is Noah and this is my sister."

His gaze falls on me, before he says, "thank you for saving me. James will reward you somehow."

"And who is this James."

"Just someone who wants to express his gratitude."

"Okay?"

"Now, if you don't excuse me, I have to get myself to a hospital." He rises from the chair, one arm wrapped around the chair acting as support.

"Lets us help you." Noah insists but Presley shakes his head.

"No, that's alright. I don't want you to be seen with me any longer then you have."

I didn't like the sound of that. So before Noah could protest, I grabbed hold of his arm and whispered in his ear: "Aunt Pia will be back any second now, we have to go back."

"But-"

"No buts-" I told him.

"Okay." He agreed, hesitantly.

"I hope you make it to the hospital fine. It was good that I came when I did. If you don't mind, we will take our leave now."

"Sure." He smiled, acting oblivious to the fact that I wanted to be away from him. "Maybe, I'll see you guys around sometime."

I hope not.

"Yeah..." I faked a smile. "Maybe."

Not wasting any more time, I dragged Noah away with me by his arm. It was about time we got back to Aunt Pia. Stuff blood, and anything else.