The first time Tristan saw the scars was the night Dee gave him the adoption papers, and even then he didn't see any more than the ones on his arms- long, ropy lines of torn flesh pretending to be limbs.
He saw the rest of them accidentally; he'd come home early from work to find Dee passed out in the hallway in a bathrobe and boxers and *nothing else*, bleeding rather steadily out his nose, ears, and mouth.
He'd called Teia first, of course, knowing that she'd take a few minutes to get there. Anyone else would have appeared immediately.
He'd known in some part of his mind that a lot of horrible things had happened to Dee, but it had never really meant anything to him.
There was hardly a single square inch of unscarred skin; the lines of ropy burn tissue wrapped up his arms and across his chest and back, overlapping older, deeper scars. Some of them were clean and narrow- knife wounds. A few were jagged around the edges as though someone had torn the skin off and tried to paste it back on.
There were three ragged parallel scars on his chest, running from collar bone to navel. They looked like claw marks. He had a bite missing from his left calf, and there were burns all over his legs and feet. None of the scars touched his face or his hands.
He wanted to touch them, was about to touch them, run his hands over the lines and crosses and twists, but Teia appeared over his shoulder before his hand could find a place to settle.
It was probably better that way.
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