It was one of those teenage Saturdays you just don't know what to do. My room was clean, lunch eaten. Big brother Anews was out for the afternoon, maybe the evening too. It was close and dark in my room, electric, and the outdoors some relief when I plopped my big skate jeans on the front steps, orange tail. Still, nothing seemed to grab my interest. I scritched myself.

    At least it was a nice day. Being stuck inside the house would have been worse, even if I didn't particularly want to do something or other out. I retied the laces of my Van's, then did it again.

    A small boyfox roared past on the sidewalk, the wheels of his board sounding like a 7E7 at takeoff. It was a pretty nice skateboard, nicer than mine in fact. And obviously his older brother's, too big. The little guy was maybe seven or eight. Cute. Wobbly, as he tried to steer axle trucks that were adjusted for a heavier fur, too tight for him. Still he tried like a trooper, tail out for balance, ass crouched, leaning this way and that, at the ready for a saving spring.

    He must have hit a stone; it happened so suddenly. The skateboard bucked him off like a ho when Jerry Springer comes on. The foxboy tumbled into the gutter, tucking into a roll. It didn't look like all that bad a fall - I've had worse - but when he sat up, he was obviously dazed. No pads, no gloves. No helmet.

    "You ok there, man?" I didn't want to make him feel embarrassed. Or clumsy. It's tough when you're eight. Hoped he didn't feel humiliated or angry.

    The fox nodded, brushed off his jeans. Didn't stand. He turned up one pants leg, examined his own. I heard him hiss through fangs from where I sat.

    Pushing up from concrete steps, I bopped into the street where the fox sat. He wasn't crying, but his muzzle was wrinkled in pain. I squatted close.

    "Lemme have a look," I said. The fox nodded, whined as I touched his knee. "Not bleeding. You must have just whacked it."

    "Can you call my mom, please?"

    I petted his ear, pulled the cell phone from a baggy pocket. In a moment it was done. I guess his mom made him feel more awkward that I did, as he stammered and ummed a bit before asking for help. He was shy when he handed the electronics back to me, looked up with big eyes.

    "She's gonna come get me as soon as she can. My bro's got the car though." He tested the injured leg, trying to rise on it. And sat back down on asphalt with a groan.

    "Well, dude. We can't leave you here in the road like this. Want to come inside for a minute? I bet I can find you some ice for that knee."

    The fox nodded, tried to stand again. This time he cried out, falling back. "It hurts!"

    "Ok. Put your paw around my neck." I moved close, caught him around the waist and under his thighs, careful of the injured limb. The foxboy clung tight, moaned as his leg bent when I lifted.

    "Sorry. Let's get inside and find that ice."

    The little fox's muzzle was beside my ear. His mewls were damp there, and I was beginning to wonder if maybe he wasn't hurt worse than I thought. I padded carefully, avoided the typical teenferret bounce. His head was on my collarbone, and I could feel him shiver.

    I hurried.

    "Damn!" The kitchen counters were all covered with floursack toweling, a thousand sugar cookies cooling. Anews had been busy. I used the fox's tail to brush off a spot by the sink, stretched his paws out under the faucet.

    One of the unused flour sacks sat nearby, and I pressed it into service, piled it with ice. When I returned, the fox had helped himself to a cookie, was getting his muzzle messy. "Ok, here goes..."

    His jeans were in the way. An ice pack would not to do anything through denim, in addition to fur. I didn't know how to tell him.

    "Little dude, I think we've got to get your pants up so the ice can go on."

    He tugged with both paws, trying to pull the leg of his jeans over his knee. I hoped it would work, would come up far enough. Because the only alternative was to take the pants off, which I was realistically anticipating. And at seven years old (eight?), he surely wouldn't be cool with losing his labels in a stranger's house.

    The denim wouldn't budge. I guess the swelling was worse than I thought.

    "Well, little fox, there's no other choice for it." I found scissors in the utility drawer, the heavy serrated sort that cut anything. While it might have been a tickly thing to have to pants the little guy, even with his consent, the situation had suddenly gotten easier. His jeans were binding. Now.

    I sliced up the side seam, stopping just below the belt. Yellow Pokemon briefs peeked out. The jeans were trashed, and I hoped nofur would get too upset about that. I could always pay from my allowance to buy him another pair. But then, there might be more trouble of a different sort.

    As may be. Loss of circulation is an emergency. They'd just have to cope.

    The ice pack went on with no trouble. I held it as gently as I could, snugged the fox as the cold worked its was up his leg and he shook a bit. I suppose the adrenaline was ebbing finally, and the sugar taking the edge off his panic. He rested his head on my chest and sniffled.

    My nose was in his headfur; I nuzzled his ear. He'd held up as best he could, as much as anyfur could have expected. A little cry wouldn't be too much to ask from the world.

    A couple of cookies later, and plied liberally with apple juice, he revealed his name. Donnie. Sweet as his diet. "I need to pee," he said.

    I did consider the sink, I did. Moving him, with that stiff knee and all, wasn't going to be comfortable. I looked about for an idea. Bottle?

    "Donnie, this is sort of a situation here. If we try to get you to the bathroom, it's going to make your leg hurt worse. Maybe lots worse. So I have an idea. Your jeans are pretty much history and all, so just see if you can't relax and..."

    The boy looked at me with merciless scorn. "You've got to be kidding!"

    Well, that was the end of that good idea. "Ok, bathroom it is. Hold tight." I suppose it would have scarred his delicate male sensibilities having to wet himself. We made it to the bathroom with a minimum of fuss, and I let him down to stand on one paw.

    "You can stay there but don't watch!"

    I was behind him, supporting, as he stood with the injured knee bent, sneaker off the floor. I turned sideways, a fist on his chest and hip between his shoulders. "Not peeking," I promised, covering my eyes dramatically with a paw.

    He did what he needed to, washed up with Cubbie Wipes. We went back to the kitchen, found him a chair closer to the floor. I checked out his leg again as he shrugged into my school jacket hanging off the wall hook. He'd be ok, I was sure.

    The screen door was ajar. I noticed it through the kitchen doorway as I got Donnie's leg propped on another chair. "Back in a sec."

    And when I rounded the corner in the hall, I found myself nose deep in the fur of a bare-chested teenaged fox. I would have meeped, but my muzzle was full.

    "Hi. My brother's here?"

    "Umm, yesh?" I nodnodded vigorously, blushed. Tried to look as small as I felt. Not only was the new fox big and yiffy. He was big and yiffy! And gorgeous. But we won't go there. "Cookie?" My sable paws were as white with flour from the one I happened to be holding, as his chest and tummy.

    He nibbled. "I hope D's ok?"

    "Yeah, he's ok," I said. Meant to add: but yer just fine! Didn't. Ferret silliness under stress is one thing, camp is another. I didn't know how receptive this vulpine who obviously worshiped free weights would be.

    Correction. I knew how receptive he was: I could smell it. But how open he was to, well, other guys?

    I kicked myself. Thinking of yiff when there's a kid hurt. Hurting. Ferret, you are just a slut!

    I brushed crumbs off the guy's naked pelt casually. He didn't seem to mind at all.

    "Donnie's in here." I led the way, stopping to a sudden squeak on the kitchen tile as I remembered about the foxboy's pants. His brother crashed into me from behind, bumper to bumper.

    "Nnhg! Umm, his knee swelled. The jeans were biting. I had to cut..."

    The big muscular fox glanced at his little brother, then at me. Showed fangs. "Are you alright?" he asked the small.

    Donnie nodded. I sank against the counter, catching my tail uncomfortably.

    "You got a cookie, too, Alex?" The foxboy was all clean innocence and trust.

    Alex. I would remember that. College fleece shorts with the name on one thigh. A world of possibilities. A world of possibilities within, too. They drew tight against him, back and front, as he crouched.

    The fox felt his lil bro's knee, adjusted the ice pack. "Pre-Med?"

    The ferret blushed. "High school. Scout once." Well, my buddy was. A scout.

    And then I moaned. He had thought I was older! Maybe even old enough to... I wanted to fold my tail in the cabinet door for being so stupid, letting the advantage go like that. I sighed. E're will I do when left unto myself.

    "Looks good," Alex commented, smirking. "I'm majoring in Sports Medicine. He'll be ok. C'mon, yiff face, let's go." He scooped Donnie up in strong arms.

    The screen door banged to. I went there, watched the foxes drive off. No regrets. We had enough towels anyway.

    Donnie's skateboard lay overturned on the sidewalk. I grinned, fetched it inside.

    They'd be back.