Static Shock Fan Fiction ❯ My Happy Ending ❯ You've Got Your Dumb Friends... ( Chapter 7 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS. Means scene break


A/N: Since they are older, I’m am playing with some changes in our superheros...just roll your eyes and get on with it. XD.

Shampoomarea: Tattling is like, when kids tell on one another over EVERYTHING. I just wrote tattletaling because it’s something the kids use around my area . I incorporate most of what I write from what I see and here. XD

I’m_Alive: Yeah, I’m glad I did some rewriting. I feel...considerably better. *half happy smile* I’m still in my ‘mood’, though. *frown* Maybe it’ll get better, soon...

Chapter Seven:
You’ve Got Your Dumb Friends...





That night, Static grit his teeth in frustration as his appearance sent various gang members scattering.

His appearance, whether it was up close, or spotted from afar, always sent the baddies running. He felt somewhat like Godzilla in the throes of attack, and sympathized with the rubber creature. He spread his arms out to steady himself, feeling the cool summer air flow over the exposed skin.

In the summer, he tended to leave the Gas Station without his trademark coat, tending to shoot about in his dark muscle tee and a pair of long shorts, black Converses tied tight and his dreads free. He felt much freer in this aspect, his clothing allowing him comfort and security. Gear had done much tinkering throughout the years, figuring out a sturdy material that protected them both during their patrolling activities.

A bunch of thugs made the motions in pulling out weapons, but thought better of it, choosing to run rather than risk having their defenses taken away. Powers flaring to life, he gave a grim smile as he caught a few, slinging them to the walls nearby, hearing their outraged shouts and grunts. Flying through the empty lot, he spied a couple loading what looked to be an RPG, and grimaced, shaking his head.

“These are the ones, man,” he said into the earpiece, amused at their efforts. He took the weapon away from them, hearing their rancorous words as their prize was taken away. “What’s it look on your end?”

“Found the missing shipment, Static. But it looks like some has been distributed already,” came Gear’s disappointed tone, the shouts of men ringing out from his end. “Two crates have already been emptied, and these guys are just swarming out of here. Heading out the north end.”

“Right.” Static carried the weapon with him, whirling around to charge their clothing. Immediately, the two men slammed hard against each other, every limb entangling with the others’. Amid their surprised and embarrassed shouting, he took off for the rundown boat yard, spying several men lying on the ground, held tight by nearly invisible wire. He saw running men heading off in the other direction, taking flight toward various vehicles parked near a set of train tracks.

Casually, sending the weapon he carried along toward the storage shed where Gear was, he selected a long section of the chainlink fence that enclosed the yard, and used precision to wrap it around a majority of the men. Their cries of surprise and fury cut through the night as they were stopped dead in their tracks, a few managing to stumble away.

He tightened the ‘lasso’ and set them down nearby, seeing his partner run out from the shed from the corner of his eye. Gear took out a flat, coin-sized disk from one of the various pockets in his belt, and flung it outward as Static ‘grabbed’ another section of the fence. Those fleeing were startled upon seeing that they were seconds away from hitting a brick wall that had suddenly sprung up from no where, a couple skidding to the dirt to avoid impact. Static had that time to wrap his section of the fence around them as he had with the previous group, and brought them back as Gear chuckled to himself.

“Works every time,” he said with a smug tone.

Static glanced over his shoulder as the brick wall faded, the hologram deactivating at a mental command his partner had over one of his new gadgets. He grinned as he looked back at the others, all whom were carrying expressions of defiance.

“So,” he asked, bringing his disk around to crouch before them as Gear retrieved his toy. “What’cha guys plan on doing with all that artillery? Start War World Three? Or at least carry out a protest over the new Super Wal-Mart that’s set to be built a few blocks away? Don’t you guys know they have great employee benefits?”

“Man, we ain’t workin’ at no fuckin’ Wal-Mart,” one of them said in disgust, earning a hiss from one of his partners. “This ain’t like that!”

“Then what is this?” he asked, hearing his partner join him on ground. “What’s with all the artillery?”

All of them remained stubborn in their silence, glaring at the pair of them with undisguised hate. Shrugging, Static looked over at Gear, who was frowning intently at one of the guys on ground. “Well, the welcome wagon on their way?”

“ETA five minutes. You wanna come look at all the goodies they have?”

“Might as well. These guys aren’t including me in their gossip circles.”

Walking into the shed, Gear flipped on the light, illuminating all the weapons crates that were piled against three of the walls, the last equipped with a ceiling high shelf with milkcrates stacked on every surface. Static took in the military codes for the weaponry that filled each crate; from the RPG launchers to the M17 rifles to the two Fifty-Calibers. All the other crates were ammo carriers, and those stacked on the shelf were packed with tightly packed marijuana packages. He let out a low whistle, leaving his partner’s side to run a hand over one of the fifty cal crates.

“Sheesh, why they all planning on packing all this stuff?” he wondered aloud. “You hear of anything set to go down?”

“No. I’m just as in the dark as you, man.” Gear peered into one of the milkcrates, and set it back. “Maybe they’re just trafficking these through Dakota?”

“Dunno, man. This is a lot for a small group. They plan on doin’ something round here. Who are these guys, anyway? Recognize their colors?”

“No, but I can run a search right quick.”

“Get the profiles of their rivals, too. Maybe we can figure out somethin’ while we’re waiting,” Static suggested, walking out from the shed to stare with some thought at the trussed up gang members. Hands sliding into his shorts’ pockets, Static walked over with a frown.

“Who you guys hatin’ on this week?” he asked casually, coming to a stop next to the smaller of the group he’d snagged with the chain link fence.

“None of your business,” one of them snarled, glaring hatefully at him. “Let us go. And we let you and your family live...”

Static scoffed at him. “You ain’t got any clue if I even got a family. For all ya’ll know, I could just be a kid just like you guys. Picked off the streets.”

“Or you be one of them pampered brats up north, lookin’ for fun. High classin’ it all around, struttin’ around like you’re someone.”

“I am someone! I’m the someone that snagged your pathetic black asses right here in front of me! If you’re all bad ass and top notch, why you gettin’ caught? Military don’t play around when their toys are taken away. You boys are sittin’ away for a long time.”

“Ain’t none of your business, Static. Just another punk. That’s all you are.”

“A punk that took your asses down. Remember that.”

“You and your fairy faggot of a man.”

“I’ll tell him you have a crush on him. He’ll be flattered with the attention, I’m sure.”

“‘Ch.”

Gear walked over at that moment, eyes locked on the inside of his visor as he stared at the information that streamed over. He took that time to adjust his gloves, his face visibly frowning as he took in what he was seeing.“The West Side Playas...they take on the South End Thugs and the inner city’s Rotts and Pitts for competition. They had a few tussles with the Thugs last week, and a few were shot up as a result.”

“This all plannin’ to be revenge, then?”

“Most likely.” Gear crossed his arms, frowning at the group before him. “Awful lot of firepower, though. Probably planning on taking out more than just one group.”

“That true?” Static asked the one he’d been talking to, nudging his shoe with the tip of his own. The man looked away in disgust, and Static chuckled, leaning over to stage whisper, “He wants your autograph.”

“Wha–? Not uh. How flattering.”

“Told you,” Static said with a grin.

“Man, fuck you both! I ain’t no fucking fag!”

“Closet case,” Gear told Static, nodding firmly as he turned to wave down the incoming police cruisers that were slowly making their way over. “The ones that deny the most vehemently are the ones most likely to have experimented, or are actually fighting their sexuality.”

“Man, fuck you! I ain’t no queer!”

“Well, he’ll do a lot of soul-searching in jail,” Static chuckled, grinning brightly. “You’ll come out a happier man, no doubt!”

“I’m comin’ after both of ya’ll!”

“Stop teasing the animals, Static. You know how Barnsdale hates when they’re riled. C’mon, you’re older than most of them.”

“Yeah, being a role model is tough, I admit...”

That comment brought out a lot of angered responses and shouts in their direction as the cruisers came to a stop, uniformed policemen stepping out with their eyes assessing the situation before them. Lumbering along was a larger containment unit and a military marked Hummer.

“Oh...we’ve got some activity up near the school,” Gear then interrupted, eyes running over the information that streamed before him. “Reporting officer is down, we’ve got a hostage situation. Drugs and possible mental disturbance. Wanna go? I wanna go. These military guys make me all nervous.”

“Don’t ask, don’t tell.”

“Yeah, but...”

“Fine. Gotta situation, man!” Static called out to Dennis Barnsdale, the aging chief waving at them as he emerged from his unmarked vehicle. The two Bang Babies lifted away from the scene, flying up into the sky. “What time is it?”

“...About twelve past. Why? Gotta date?”

“Well, I did...but I canceled before coming out here.”

“With who?”

“Remember that woman working the weights the other day?”

“I don’t look at women, V.”

“Well, there was a beautiful wench working the weights the other day, and I ran into her at the grocery store. We talked, and she asked me out. She don’t mind the baby situation.”

“She’s probably got three of her own hidden out somewhere...”

“You sound so jealous, man. It’s not even funny!”

“HAH! Jealous? Yeah right! I’m not jealous of you!”

“You’re probably thinking, Man, if only I could be like that Virgil Hawkins, havin’ babies everywhere, spreading his manhood around to those that–”

“No way!”

“–want his big, fat–”

“Telling lies again!”

“–ooh. What’s that down there?” Static reared up on his disc, pointing downwards. Pulling up on his flight path, Gear gazed over in the direction Static was pointing at, just in time for the visor to adjust to the darkness of the alley, giving him a clear, distinct view of a large humanoid shape disappearing through a doorway.

Analyzing the shape through various programs, Gear frowned as Static coasted downward. “Good news or...uh...bad news, Static?”

“Let’s go with the bad news, John! I’m feelin’ lucky tonight!”

“...Who’s John? Anywho, we got us a Bang Baby. Modified one, at that.”

“...That’s bad news? Who’s the wise-ass that’s been complaining about wanting to fight a Bang Baby recently?” Static spit in an annoyed manner.

“The good news is, we’ve seen this guy before. He can’t be all that tough,” Gear scoffed. “Remember, a long time ago, in a land...well, in a block that’s about...maybe thirty-six blocks from here? In...a certain Dakota Electronics store?”

Static’s face registered his stumped thoughts as he sent himself in a lazy spin in mid-air. “Give me more clues, Johnny. I’ll take a More Descriptive Flashback for eight hundred...”

“...Who the fuck’s Johnny? Anywho, this was just when the Big Bang started producing all us wonderful kids with powers, Static. Including a certain guy that mutated into a werewolf right before our frightened, fourteen year old eyes!”

Static grimaced, holding tightly onto his disk. Gear focused on him, letting his programs fade away as he frowned.

“...Christ. How about the Daily Double instead?”

“If you call me ‘John’ or ‘Johnny one more time...”

“OH! The guy that Hotstreak sent runnin’!...Man, that should have given me a clue that he was a poof like you when he burned your shirt off...”

“Heh. He was so kinky. This one time, we---”

“Don’t wanna know!” Static peered into the alleyway once more, frowning. “Wait a minute...we had to inject ourselves weekly with your cure, man...how’s this punk able to keep his form when everyone was cured daily through the water and air?”

“Dunno. Let’s go ask.”

“‘K. Sounds like a mighty fine plan.”

The pair of them coasted from their height, down into the alleyway. Gear landed lightly on the pavement, his visor allowing him to see clearly through the dark with enhanced night vision, noting the sleeping bum behind the Dumpster and the stray dog that was watching them with one ragged ear standing to attention. Like Static, he’d modified his costume for the summer; wearing a dark green sleeveless tee, with a pair of board shorts in the same color, the rest of his safety gear pulled on in their accustomed areas. He looked like a kid ready to hit the streets on his skateboard.

Static pushed at the door the werewolf had crept through, wrinkling his nose as he moved in first. Bringing his hand up, he made it flare with power, the slight purple color dancing through the darkness and illuminating his way around. It was a small break room, outfitted with a sort of mildewy, musty smell that made him wince.

Gear came in after him, slapping two of his Sticky Disks onto both sides the doorframe, opposite each other. Flat, thin as tape, their use provided an invisible array of electrified lines that would shock anybody once they passed through the trap. The volts would send a human being into stunned, dazed shock, allowing their capture. If unable to capture a foe, they usually malfunctioned as a standard safety feature within an hour, resembling pieces of tape that were easy to throw away.

If he wanted them disabled, it was but a single thought to accomplish. All his toys were enabled with a command key that allowed him via Backpack to control; his HoloGrams were encrypted with millions of images and programs that took a single thought to conjure and project via hologram. All his inventions had been amped since he was a teen, and he continued to think up and use more as he grew older, using the supplies that he spent a majority of his paycheck on. Salvaging parts from industrial areas helped out, as well. The Gas Station was considered a wreck from all the equipment he’d acquired for new ‘toys’.

Investigating, they saw that it was a hardware store, the shelves taking up most of the room, the darkness amplifying their alertness. Gear scanned the area, looking for any heat registered forms within the room, and caught none. He shook his head, frowning. Taking flight upon his disk once more, Static coasted through the main aisle, Gear taking an alternate route toward the back.

The ear piece that Static wore, keeping him in constant contact with his partner, immediately gave a short buzz, activating once it sensed his partner being a distance more than ten feet away from him.

“See anything?” he whispered, eyes scanning the front check-out aisles, noting the security camera that blinked above the entrance/exit door.

“Nothing–wait, there’s a stairway that hits the second floor.”

“Nothing out here. Let me take point.”

“You always make me out into some helpless loser!”

“Take it like a bitch, Gear.”

“...You’re so gettin’ it when we finish up, here. I’m going to make sure you ache for DAYS, Static!”

The African-American giggled to himself as he zoomed away from his current position, zooming towards Gear, who tried to hit him as he shot past. Taking the stairway, he eyed the above levels with a critical eye, hearing his partner’s mumble of annoyance as he slapped more Sticky Disks to the open doorway.

Coasting up the equally as smelling stairway, he heard his partner trailing after him. The building was only five stories–once he came into contact with a series of food smells, and that of a chemical scent, he paused, frowning.

“That ain’t the smells of a freshly cleaned apartment, Static,” Gear whispered, rather casually as he used the railing to walk up.

“I love the smell of meth in the morning, man. Such a picker-upper.”

“How the parents of Dakota would LOVE to hear that line...”

“...Do I detect a hint of jealousy of my popularity?”

“More like pity.”

Static made a face, tracing the scent to a stained doorway down the hall. He pointed at Gear, who made a note of the apartment number, and sent an alert via police frequency that he had through Backpack. Static investigated the separate stairway that the main tenants used to enter and exit the building, the stairway depilatory and smelling faintly of rust.

Gear then turned, looking up a spiral set of stairs that were located near the single, boarded over window. Walking over, the visor interface switched data streams to that of the previous program he’d taken to analyze the werewolf’s form earlier. The program immediately began sifting through the various footprints that littered the dirty hall floor, until locating those of the werewolf’s. He smirked as he followed the vague trial, staring up the stairway as Static coasted over to him.

His partner patted him over the helmet, making smooching sounds. “Good boy. Good boy. You deserve a treat.”

An annoyed expression crossing his features, Gear looked over at the grinning Static, then lifted his faceplate, leaning forward to kiss him. Static gave an inhuman screech as he toppled off his board, and Gear made a face, gloved hand covering his mouth.

“Oh, ew, some treat.”

“YOU STOP THAT RIGHT NOW!”

“You–!”

Both of them froze at the locks that were being undone from one of the apartments nearby, and Gear wrapped his arms around Static’s shoulders as the African-American shot up the spiral staircase on his disk.

“See what you did?” Static hissed as they barely avoided detection from the tenants.

Gear rolled his eyes, tightening his hold around his shoulders as he scanned this floor. It was a small room that looked to be the storage space for the tenants of the floor below. But his program caught the footprints from previous, among numerous others, along the dusty floor. Amid all the junk that littered the area, it was apparent that this place was frequented by the Bang Baby. He scowled as Static turned, hand alighting with power as they listened to the curious tenant’s voices below them. None of them were venturing to explore, sure that they were hearing some miscreants piddling around within the storage space. None were interested in investigating, and were returning to their apartments.

“This is...nice...” Static trailed off, looking at the various junk. Gear finally let go of him, dropping to the floor, wincing at the protest the rotted surface gave.

“Ugh, this building should be condemned!” he said, taking in what he could see. The most recent set of footprints led beyond the main aisle of the crowded room, around a corner that seemed darker and more junkier than what they could see. He pointed, Static taking lead into that direction, and he followed loosely behind.

His light illuminating his way, he had to shake his head, his dreads swishing through the air. “We’re not the sneakiest of bastards, are we, Gear?” he asked, pointing out their obviousness.

“You, maybe...”

Static barked laughter, then quieted when they heard floorboards shift under great weight. “Gear?”

“I’m not...I’m not registering anything. Let me scan this floor....so far, I’m not retrieving any city plans for this particular building, but that information probably won’t hit me for awhile. It’d help if I had the exact address...”

“Can’t you do a GPS location thingy?”

“I can probably do a GPS location thingy...”

Static rolled his eyes, shooting forward the next few feet to glance around the corner. There was another stairway that led up and around a wall, securing them another entrance up onto the next floor. He frowned.

“Hmm, I’ll have to perform some maintenance on Backpack and my visor when we’re through playing hide-and-seek,” he heard Gear mutter to himself. “I should be able to run at least ten programs with no slow-downs or uploading problems...”

“How many you got goin’ on right now?” Static asked curiously, coasting up the stairway.

“One to locate the floorplans of the building, one to identify the Bang Baby, one filtering through the missing and exploited children list of this state and surrounding states that fits the previous description of the guy I remember before he turned, local police reports on possible werewolf activity or suspicious animal activity that cannot be explained, one scanning the police frequency for their responding over here, one for the Department of Motor Vehicles to see if he has any ID or driver’s license–”

Static blinked, unable to imagine having all that information filtering through his brain the way it did with his friend’s.

“–one for missing adults, another for any bulletins on drug manufacturers on this block, another scanning the hostage situation, and another running through Macy’s catalogue for some new vertical blinds for the living room.”

Static wasn’t sure if he caught that last one, but he was pretty sure Gear had more of his mind focused on redecorating than the situation on hand. He turned and gave his partner a scowl.

“Just kidding. I stopped scanning the hostage situation a long time ago. Hey, I got the plans. The next floor is attic space. The last floor was being renovated, but was never completed, as the contractor skipped out on his end of the deal...which is still being contested in court. It’s just a skeleton, right now, and...that’s where he’s at. There’s a doorway leading up to the last floor on the next floor up, near the single window on your left.”

“Show-off,” Static muttered, speeding up the stairway, and spying the door Gear gave him directions to.

He had just coasted through the door when he stopped short, nearly colliding with the beast. Giving a startled cry, he fell off his disk, hitting the floor as the creature rose onto its hind legs in startled surprise.

The creature stood around seven feet tall on its hind legs, with a bulk that was mostly centered in its upper chest and shoulder areas. Its fur was a dark, matted gray, hackles raising as it faced Static with a menacing growl, sending the young man’s hair rising on the back of his neck. The front arms ended in humanoid hands, long claws curled with threatening intent as it shifted to face him directly, tail pointed straight away from him in agitation. He stared with wide-eyed terror at the sharp, discolored teeth that were wet with moisture, purple gums exposed, doggie breath sharp once it hit his olfactory senses.

He shivered violently.

“Found him!” he exclaimed, rolling out of the way as teeth snapped through the air, the werewolf moving fluidly onto all fours as it lunged at him. “Big guy! Big guy!”

The humanoid creature’s ears flattened against its scalp, teeth continually bared as it followed Static’s fumbling progress off the floor to a safer distance away. Gold, beady eyes narrowed with both anger and continued surprise as they focused on him, pupils dilated. Its movements were quick, similar to those he’d seen in Japanese anime, and for a second, he was a little uncertain about his own next move as it recoiled with a light jump away from him.

It began to bark, a blood curdling mixture of a dog’s bark and a human’s angry shouts. Nothing was determinable in the way of words, but Static got the message as it lunged forward, snapping air as limbs were pulled safely away. Static shot out a security field around himself, giving a light screech of surprise as its strength was tested by the fierce creature.

Over the sharp howl of pain it emitted, he heard his partner running up to join him.

“I heard you screaming like a girl!” Gear laughed, catching the creature’s attention as he shot through the doorway, Zap Cap raised.

“You tell someone, I’ll be pissed. Besides, who’s gonna believe you?” Static scoffed, finding his disk and alighting it.

He heard his own previous scream (shout, he corrected himself) emerge from Backpack’s speakers.

“Blackmail, Static. And I tend to use it well,” Gear threatened. “Yo, guy! You speak English?”

The werewolf growled and snapped at him in response.

“Okay...habla en Espanole? Oh my god...THAT’S not shown in the movies!”

“Huh? What?” Static asked curiously, narrowing his eyes as he examined the creature as it rose onto its hind legs once more, towering over them. Then he saw what Gear was talking about, eyes widening at heavy, furry animal male parts. He had to whap his partner over the exposed part of his head. “IDIOT!”

“The movie lied!” Gear laughed, shoulders shaking as Static shot out a protective field over his idiotic partner, the werewolf howling with pain once coming into contact with the shield. “Dude, wear some pants, or something. Something Hulk-ish.”

The creature lunged at him, Gear jumping out of reach, throwing his Cap at the same time. Thin wires shot out of their catch, encircling the creature with its arms pinned at its side. Tossing itself roughly on the floor, snarling fiercely as it tried freeing itself, the werewolf struggled mightily.

“You get anything more on him, other than studying his package, you perverted furry bestiality sicko?”

“His name’s Daniel Trujillo...he’s been missing for over six years. He’s a runaway from Chicago,” Gear reported, both of them watching the Bang Baby as it struggled within the thin bonds that kept it from striking out. “He hasn’t regained his form, nor has he responded to the cures. The molecules that scrambled his human DNA probably kept that mutation despite the cures...Which doesn’t make any sense, considering that all Bang Babies, excluding us, of course, responded to the cures administered.”

“So...it’s permanent?”

“Yeah, in laymen’s terms. Which is something that needs to be examined once we haul him into the rehabilitation center. I’m sure the process can be reversed once he’d been examined more thoroughly...”

“Then...let’s haul him in. Call it a night.”

“Let me relay a heads-up to the center. Good grief, what’s taking the police so long to get over here?”

Static held his hand out, his powers picking up the wires that surrounded the creature, holding it aloft. Legs slashed through the air, and the creature snarled threateningly as Static looked at him with pity.

“It’s okay, man,” he cooed. “We’ll get ya’ll fixed up, and things will be cool... wanna be human again? Huh? Do ya boy? Huh? Do ya? Do ya? Do ya?”

In response, the werewolf snarled fiercely, slashing out more ferociously than before. Static jumped back, looking hurt.

“Static, be more sensitive, sheesh,” Gear complained, looking back at his partner. Then his expression turned thoughtful. “...Should I pick wood, or modern? Think a dark brown will coordinate with the baseboards?”

Static gave him an exasperated look, then looked at the werewolf, thumb jammed in his partner’s direction. “Is he for real? Asking me for advice on home furnishing? This from the guy that grew up with me...He’s seen what my old room looked like!”

The snarling ceased, beady, angry eyes focusing on them for several silent seconds. Its wet nose twitched, the audible sounds of it taking their scents carrying over other sounds. Despite it all, Static shivered, looking for the easiest way out of the building as Gear muttered aloud to himself over the coordination of the blinds with the coloring of the rest of his living room.

“Hey, I got a heads-up the other day,” Static then said, heading over to the window. “I got a phone call...the caller telling me that I’d better not be asking you for loans and pity purchases because you, buddy, are apparently on a budget...”

“HAH!...did he really? Fucking dick. Did he really call you?”

“Yeah, man! Had me all on defense!”

“He’s been monitoring my spending...God knows why. Maybe I should get some coordinating outside rugs for the patio...fall’s coming up.”

Static slapped his forehead, zipping out the window, then drawing the trussed up werewolf behind him. He gave the Bang Baby a tired expression. “You try spending the day with him, listening to this bullshit. Like I give a shit about coordinating fall rugs and blinds, man. This is something you plan with your women...oh, wait a minute. Who am I talking about, again?”

Gear flung one of his gloves at him, the material smacking Static across the face as he hopped out from the window as well.

“Ow!”

“Well, let’s go. We’re all done, here,” Gear then said, retrieving his glove with a boost of his rockets.

“Wanna get something to eat, first?” Static asked, careening over the buildings, the werewolf silent as Gear kept up.

“Yeah, sure. Let’s hit that twenty-four hour place over on Greg.”

“The one with the homemade sandwiches? Nah, man, I’m feelin’ pizza. Or pasta. Something with mozzarella...”

“You’re buying, right? I can’t spend anything more...”

“...What did you just buy from Macy’s?”

“New blinds, outside rugs, and some really cute–attractive dishes for those that were broken last week.”

Static once again jammed his thumb back at his partner, directing an exasperated look at the werewolf. The werewolf seemed to look at him in sympathy, surprisingly calm for a creature that was trussed high above the streets they flew over.

The African-American received an elbow jab into his ribs, making him cry aloud in surprise.

“Shut up, Static! I know you’re talking about me!” Gear huffed. “Look, it’s bad enough I’m getting this from home, but I don’t want to hear it from you! I really would wish that you guys would stop referring to me as a----oh, shit, Static!”

Both of them looked in horror as the werewolf tore through his bindings, snarling as he dropped from the magnetized wires. Static thrust out an arm to catch him, but watched with horror as the creature latched onto his partner.

Gear cursed under the weight of the werewolf, feeling its heavy furriness slam into his back. He lost altitude, but Backpack, upon command, sent volts of electricity into the Bang Baby’s form. The werewolf shook tightly upon the electrocution, and lost its grip on the superhero. Falling away from him, the Bang Baby hit the rooftop just below them, Static coming to pause next to his partner as they watched him bounce once.

“You okay?” Static asked him, Gear nodding firmly. “Let’s go get him. How the hell did he managed to get–ah, no!”

They dropped altitude as the werewolf shot to its feet, and lowered itself to all fours, running the length of the roof to leap over the edge. The powerful shape disappeared into the darkness, making the two slump with exasperation.

“Aw, nuts,” Gear muttered. “Well, it’s on, now. C’mon, man, let’s get this shit over with. I’m still hungry...”

“Yeah, well, if someone’s inventions had been stronger...”

“Damn that asshole. Teaches us to trust him again, huh?”

Static snickered, the pair of them separating to begin their chase.

SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.

Daniel Trujillo managed to elude the pair of them that night–by the time Richie came home, he was not that surprised to see that the house was full of early morning partiers that were game on the thought of barbequing at three in the morning. Sighing, he shut the front door behind him, eyeing all of them with annoyance as they took up the living room, the back deck covered with a lot more visitors. Beer flowed randomly, and the television screen was displaying one of Shiv’s fighting games, a large crowd gathered around to watch two combatants go at it.

It was going to be a little strange, knowing that Cube, the boy that hung around with Tyson, had been part of the group he and Static had captured. He had to also wonder if Tyson was part of that gang.

Thankful that he’d changed completely at the Gas Station, having left his things there rather than risk bringing them home to wash them, he slipped into the kitchen to snag a beer himself. Intending to go find Francis, he had just straightened from the fridge when he felt a hand that was not his husband’s on his ass.

He snapped up quick with an indignant look, shutting the fridge door as he looked up at Tyson’s grinning face. But instead of getting mad, he merely shook his head.

“Hands off the merchandise, mack,” he said, opening his beer, then slipping in a pre-sliced lime into the wide mouth. “Not for sale.”

“I just had to try for a test drive. ‘Course, would help out if I had a little more cooperation...”

“What are you, twelve? Trying to sneak gropes without permission?”

“Heh. Why don’t you and me go see if I act twelve...”

“I don’t need to go anywhere with you to know that you do,” Richie said with a teasing smirk, swallowing some of the Corona. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

“Come tuck me in, then.”

“You are really obvious, man. Try for some subtlety...Where’s F-Stop?”

“Dunno. Probably out there. Why you all concerned for him?”

“Just...wondering. Roommate an’ all.”

“Where’d you go, tonight?”

“Out...with friends...” Richie began moving past him, to find his husband and let him know he was home when Tyson grabbed his arm, pulling him back. “Hey, what’s the deal, man?”

“Why you bein’ all cold, all of a sudden? You were all warm earlier...what’s with you? You playing me?”

“Man, if I was playing you...you’d know.”

“So...you ain’t? What’s the deal with you? What’s up with me an’ you?”

“Nothin’s up...at least, there’d better not be.” Richie lifted an eyebrow, taking another swig of his beer as he then looked pointedly at Tyson’s groin. The kid grinned so large that Richie was able to see his back teeth. Once again, Richie moved to leave the kitchen when Tyson hauled him back. “What?”

“Where you goin’?”

“Out. Go play with your friends...”

“What if I wanna play with you?”

“You’re shit out of luck, then...cuz I don’t wanna play with you. I’m going over to the grown-ups.”

Tyson made a snorting sound, shaking his head as he pushed Richie toward the sink, the blond stumbling slightly as he pulled his sloshing beer away from him.

“Hey–!”

“What’s up with me an’ you, man? Let’s get it all straight, here. Get it all on the table.”

“There’s nothing ‘straight’ about it,” Richie murmured, wiping his lips, giving Tyson a slight smile. “Now, leave me alone.”

“You’re a fuckin’ cocktease, you know that? Givin’ me all the signals, then backin’ off when I get to respondin’ to them.”

“I never really got that expression, Tyson,” Richie said with a frown, shaking his head. “‘Cocktease’. What’s it mean to you?”

“...Kinda...well, when someone, like you, for instance, goes around, shaking and displaying, taunting and teasing, and it just...ends up in a case of blue balls. Know what I’m sayin’?”

“...No...what kind of teasing?”

“The kind where you’re advertisin’, but you ain’t givin’.”

“...What am I not givin’?” Richie asked curiously, but feeling his lips spreading with a sly smile, Tyson’s frustration evident as he struggled to keep himself composed.

“You...you’re...well...see, you’re lettin’ me close, and...well, you ain’t givin’!”

“Giving ‘what’, Tyson?”

“You. You ain’t givin’ me you.”

“Why do you want me, Tyson?”

“Well...that should be obvious...”

“No, it really isn’t.”

Tyson gave him a frown, unable to continue with the game as he fought to focus on his answer. Finally, he shook his head, Richie grinning at him as he started to walk, left over right foot, backside sliding over the counter’s edge, toward the end of the counter. Tyson licked his full lips, giving him a scowl, then grinning impishly once more. Richie nearly dropped his beer in surprise when Tyson stepped in close, groping his crotch quite eagerly.

Sputtering, he shoved the bold boy away from him. “Don’t you be touching me! I didn’t say you could touch!”

“C’mon, you were givin’!”

“I wasn’t givin’ nothing!”

“C’mon...who’s gonna know? No one’s paying attention to us,” Tyson murmured, moving in close to grab onto his hips, holding him in place.

Richie pulled out of his grasp, moving to the other end of the counter, giving him a disbelieving shake of his head. “You’re moving way too fast, kid. Desperation makes a guy crazy.”

“I...ain’t desperate.”

“Then why are you all over me?”

“...You’re the one hanging around! Man, I’ve had bitches telling me that they don’t want it, and you say you don’t, but you’re giving me mixed signals, man.”

“...Man bitches? Or...women?”

Tyson’s half grin was slow and deliberate. “Of course. Man.”

“So...you’re degrading me, and women, by calling us bitches? I don’t like a man that disrespects us that way. It’s such a turn-off.”

“Then why aren’t you leaving?”

“I was! And you keep pulling me back!”

“Cuz you want it. Otherwise, you would have given me a better signal of ‘hands-off’,” Tyson murmured, trapping him once more, an arm on either side of him. He lowered his head, and Richie ducked away from those attacking lips, side-stepping out of his arms. Tyson followed immediately, like a gleeful child as he grew to enjoy the game.

“Man, cut it out,” Richie growled low, but he was grinning as he did so, enjoying the game as Tyson’s evident frustration gave him a high. Francis had been this way, once. Unable to stop touching him, teasing him, wanting him with apparency that Tyson had. He was a little sad that this didn't happen very often with his husband. He found it minutely comforting in Tyson's advances to feel that way once more. “Don’t touch me. Don’t be all obvious. That isn’t cool.”

“C’mere, then. Don’t make it difficult. Just accept me.”

“No way. You’re just a kid.”

“I can do big man things if you let me,” Tyson murmured, lowering his head again, nearly catching him as he trapped Richie against the stove and the pantry, using his longer legs to stop the blond as he tried side-stepping once more.

“You’re just a kid, man. Get off me. Hurry up and get off me–!”

Tyson found himself shoved, rather mightily, right into the fridge. Unprepared, he smacked face first against the freezer door, losing his footing as stars crossed his vision.

Feeling all the blood rushing from his face, Richie looked at Francis, whose reddened features looked far from placated and calm as he glared fiercely at Tyson. Without any regard, he tossed his finished beer bottle away from him, people ducking to avoid being hit by the glass bomb.

Richie numbly wondered how he could perform some damage control, trying to guess how many beers Francis had, and wondering with some panic if he’d seen the flirting Richie had been doing with Tyson. He was instantly embarrassed, as well as frantic as he tried to think of what to say or do if Francis had. Perhaps all he saw was Tyson crowding him.

“Get outta here,” he snarled, his voice low and filled with his trademark anger, the boy staring up at him in startled surprise and confusion. Francis turned to look at Richie, who gave an embarrassed expression as he turned to move away. Francis reached out, grabbing his shoulder, forcing him around with a low growl. “What are you doing? Huh? What are you doing, Rich?”

“N-nothing, F–nothin’. Good grief. Knock it off,” Richie muttered with embarrassed vigor, looking away from the fierce black eyes that glared at him mightily.

“Nothing? NOTHING? What you doin’ with that kid, man? Playing around like that, he’s only a fuckin’ kid!”

Damn, he thought with a frown. He did see. “I wasn’t doing anything! Leave me alone!”

Richie noticed, with a dart of his eyes, that there were many interested stares looking over in that direction. He felt very embarrassed as he slouched, knees bending to lower himself so that he was practically using Francis’ muscular bulk to hide from their curious eyes.

“Not doing anything? Looks like you were fuckin’ teasin’ that kid! What the fuck were you doing?” Francis demanded angrily. Unable to think past the red that dribbled over his eyes, he was simply furious that Richie was enjoying Tyson’s advances, encouraging it.

“Nothing! I’m not doing anything!”

Francis grabbed his arm, shaking him roughly until he protested, dropping his beer on the counter. The clatter of glass against Formica made him wince as the redhead shoved him against the stove.

“Looks like you were wagging that tail of yours for him. Encouraging him...fuckin’ stupid, who the fuck you think you are? Shaking that fuckin’ tail, gettin’ all fag with some fuckin’ kid!” His voice was growing high with his fury, his words more clipped the angrier he got. The color of his skin was starting to resemble the color of his hair.

Anyone else would have gotten nervous, intimidated by this large man; Richie was entirely used to it, having lived and loved him for over five years. He was just focused on damage control, not the worst case scenarios.

“Knock it off, Francis! Let go! Don’t do this in front of everyone!” Richie hissed, ducking lower as a couple of the kids from the living room ventured closer, all of them eager to see fists fly.

“Do what? Huh? Do what? You were free to fuck around like some fuckin’ girl in front of everyone! What’s wrong with me puttin’ you in your place in front of them?”

“You’re being a jerk, Francis, stop it,” Richie ordered, glaring at him. He turned away to leave, but Francis grabbed his chin, forcing him back around to face him as Richie winced, and burned with embarrassment for the display. “Let go!”

“You’re fuckin’ around on me, Rich, and I saw it with my own eyes,” Francis growled lowly, squeezing painfully on his chin as Richie winced. “You fuckin’ around with some kid, no less. What, you need fuckin’ black dick, now? You ain’t gettin’ it from me, you’re gonna find it in some fuckin’ kid?”

“Stop it! Stop it–Francis, you’re–you’re hurting me!”

“Who’s gonna want you, you fuckin’ whore? Look at you!” Francis let go of him to gesture at him. Feeling embarrassed and furious, he just wanted to hurt the blond for making a big show for Tyson in front of everyone. In front of all his friends.

“Francis, stop!”

“You ain’t shit! You ain’t pretty! You ain’t all that attractive! Just fuckin’ ass, is all you are! Just another fuckin’ hole! A free fuckin’ hole that puts out for everyone!”

“STOP IT!”

“What, you think you satisfy someone? Takes me to think about other people to get off! Don’t do nothin’ but lie there, anyway! Can’t suck dick! Can’t do anything more than make pretty noises. How you gonna satisfy some fuckin’ kid? He ain’t got no experience–! Oh, is that what you’re lookin’ for? To make yourself look good? Huh? Is that it? Huh?”

Richie’s face turned an alarming red color in his continued humiliation, ducking his head to avoid looking into that furious face, Francis grabbing his chin once more to make him look up.

“What, you gonna cry now? Everyone says you’re a ho, Rich, and you are! I didn’t think so–until now! Fucking around with some fuckin’ kid! Might as well as get with him! He’ll last as long as you!”

“Francis...stop...please...”


“Gonna cry? Huh? Gonna cry, Rich? Fuckin’ puss! All you are! Man-gyna! Get with that kid, then, fuckin’ fag. Get with that kid, he’ll be pissed you all false advertisement!”

Francis then shoved Richie toward a silently gawking Tyson, everyone watching with wide, interested eyes.

Humiliated, Richie kept his head down and rushed toward the back room. The bedroom door slammed loudly as Francis fought for composure, turning to look at Tyson.

Francis stared at the boy for a few seconds, then struck out without warning, catching him across the face with one massive fist. He lunged forward as Tyson slammed against the fridge once more, taking the punch full on, the redhead throwing more punches into the teen’s body without any regard or concern as he sought for revenge. Tyson was unable to fight back, falling to the floor as Francis rained punch after punch into him, snarling angrily.

Laughing, Shiv plowed his way through the crowd, moving in without fear to separate them. Freddie and Jason helped, both of them grabbing Francis’ arms and pulling at him as Shiv wrapped his arms around his friend’s neck in an effort to re-direct his attention from the battered teen.

Even as he was being pulled away, Francis kicked viciously at the boy, catching him several times in the ribs and arms before the three could separate them.

“You stay away from him, you fuckin’ nigger!” he howled, his voice high with his fury. “Get the fuck outta here! Fuckin’ take you apart, you fuckin’ fag!”

Tyson managed to climb to his feet, staggering away as quickly as he could, some of the crowd breaking into laughter as Francis yanked himself away from Shiv and the others. He was stalking off toward the bedroom as Tyson left the house.

Shiv giggled, shaking his head in amusement. Over the furious pounding on the bedroom door and vicious shouting, he commented, “He’s so fuckin’ cool. Drops the law like an idiot. Anyone that gets in his way gets plowed.”

Jason gave him a frown. “You would like that shit, man. He’s a fuckin’ dumb-ass, man.”

“Hey, that guy gets it, man. Why you wanna fuck around on your husband?”

“Man...Francis...he gets it back. He all doin’ the same thing, anyway.”

“Man’s gotta throw the pimp hand down. Lay the law down. The wife don’t agree, then she’s gonna get smacked around...”

Jason winced as everyone began talking about Tyson’s demise. “You think he’d...”

“Nah. Francis’ a softie when it comes to the little R. ‘Cept...I dunno. He was pretty pissed...”

“Think we should...like, stop stuff?”

“Dunno. Let’s stay out of it. You don’t touch that stuff, man. C’mon, get me a beer, and we’ll go talk manly things...like...I dunno, shoes.”

Jason snorted, shaking his head as he rummaged through the fridge for a couple of beers, and followed Shiv out the house.

Francis pounded on the bedroom door, furious as the lock continued to hold. Even as it protested, cracking as it had the other day, he was determined to set things straight. When it appeared that Richie wasn’t opening the door, he resolved to break it down. Two shoulder slams later, he knocked the broken door aside, seeing that the blond had locked himself in the bathroom. Rolling his eyes, he marched over, and began pounding on that door.

It opened unexpectedly, Richie giving him a furious look as Francis forced his way in. A little drunk, he couldn’t quite hold his temper as he stared at him in reddened fury.

“What’s goin’ on, man? Why you fuckin’ around on me?” he demanded, ignoring Richie’s splotchy complexion, the way his eyes brightened with mortified tears.

“I’m not! Get out of my face! Get out of here! Leave me alone!”

“I ain’t leavin’ shit alone until you tell me what the fuck was goin’ on out there!” Francis nearly screamed, getting angrier and angrier as he recalled what he’d seen. He hit the sink angrily, swiping at the soap dish and toothpaste, sending things flying as he advanced on him. “Gettin’ all fuckin’ cozy with some fuckin’ kid!”

“You made your Goddamned point! Get away from me!”

“What you doin’, man!? What you doin’ with that kid?”

“GET OUT OF HERE! You’re fucking drunk, and you don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Fuck you, cocksuck! You and your fuckin’ kid! You want him? Huh? You want that kid, Rich? He gonna make you happy? You sick of things already, you gotta turn to some fuckin’ kid?” He punctuated his furious shouts with hitting the sink, hitting the wall, uncaring of how his fists scraped painfully against the surface. “Why some kid, Rich? WHY?”

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about! Get out of here, Francis! Get out!”

“I AIN’T GETTIN’ OUT OF MY OWN BATHROOM!”

“Then I’m leaving!”

“You ain’t leaving until we get done establishing what the fuck you were doing out there!”

“I WASN’T DOING ANYTHING!”

“How long you been out there, Rich, fuckin’ with that kid til I came in? Huh? HOW LONG? This been going on for awhile, huh? Is that why he’s been fuckin’ comin’ around here?” The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. The mirror began victim to his angry fist, glass shattering loudly as Richie recoiled away from him.

Breathing heavily, Francis advanced on him, hurt and also humiliated by what had happened. He’d never been one to control his emotions, and drinking certainly didn’t help his thinking. He just wanted to lash out, to hurt Richie as much as he felt hurt.

Sensing this, Richie somehow managed to duck around him, Francis whirling and moving after him. He caught the blond before he could escape, and pulled him back into the room. The door hung halfway off its hinges, and Richie gave an enraged shout as Francis shoved him into the closet with an angry curse.

He couldn’t really think; just that one moment he was pulling Richie away from those closed doors, and the next, he was shaking him furiously, feeling all that rage and hurt and blame coursing through him.

“Francis, STOP!” Richie cried, yanking himself hard backwards, using the heel of his palm to knock against his husband’s chest. The move sent Francis back, giving each other space. Richie was used to his rages and rough handling, taking them easily, but he was mortified over the scene he’d caused in the kitchen.

“You need to calm down, Francis,” he said, starting off low as he looked the redhead in the eye. “Stop being so angry. You’re scaring me–!”

“You’re fuckin’ pissing me OFF!”

“Please, Francis...you’re really scaring me. I know you’re pissed at me, but you did what you wanted to accomplish, and you hurt me, all right? But right now, you’re going overboard–!”

“How the FUCK am I supposed to act when you’re fuckin’ with some fuckin’ kid? Huh? How the FUCK am I supposed to feel? An’ you all doing it in front of my friends! ALL OF THEM KNOW, Rich! ALL OF THEM KNOW!”

“I don’t care what your friends think!” Richie exclaimed, then lowered his voice. “I don’t care what they think...what they think is wrong, anyway! I wasn’t doing anything, Francis. Please calm down so you can talk and think more clearly–!”

“I saw what I SAW!”

“It wasn’t what you saw–!”

“What am I supposed to think about when some guy tries to kiss you, an’ you ain’t doing SHIT about it?” Francis punctuated his shout by hitting the wall, Richie cringing, but shaking his head.

“I was trying to leave the kitchen so I could let you know I was here...”

“Some fuckin’ EFFORT! You were lettin’ him do that to you!”

“...I’m sorry if you felt that way, Francis. But it wasn’t–!”

“Wasn’t? ‘WASN’T’?”

“No, it wasn’t! Stop yelling! Calm down! God! I hate when you get mad all the time!” Richie felt himself explode, losing his patience for Francis’ temper, exploding with his own. “You don’t fuckin’ THINK when you’re mad!”

“Mad? ‘MAD’? I ain’t MAD! You want me MAD, I’ll GET FUCKIN’ MAD!”

“It’s impossible to talk to you when you’re so fuckin’ stupid!”

“NOW YOU’RE CALLIN’ ME STUPID!?”

“...YEAH! I’m calling you STUPID!”

“Don’t you call me fuckin’ stupid, you fuckin’ whore!”

“Fuck you, you fuckin’ short-tempered dick!”

Francis lunged at him, Richie grabbing his wrists, the pair of them snarling at each other as the redhead then slammed him against the wall. Richie let go of his meaty wrists and brought his arms down in front of him, then jerked them upward so that they connected with the underside of Francis’ arms, effectively knocking his grasp off his shirt. Francis was momentarily taken back with the action, looking at him with surprise, but then losing it once more, grabbing him more firmly by arms, into a crushing bear hug that Richie struggled to get loose from.

And then, suddenly, they were being pulled apart, Ivan and Dominic yanking at Francis with a mixture of shouts, the redhead trying to grab Richie once more as Jason yanked the blond from his grip.

Ivan turned and slugged Francis hard, knocking him off course and away from his husband, who escaped as he turned and ran from the room, Jason blocking the doorway with his bulk as he gave the redhead an uncertain expression, unsure if he really wanted to be that block.

“KNOCK IT OFF!” Ivan bellowed, shoving Francis back. His face was visibly twisted with the residue of Francis’ rage, and he was trying to keep in control of himself, to keep from succumbing to the wild storm that flowed through him. “KNOCK IT THE FUCK OFF! What the fuck is the matter with you!”

“Fuckin’ BASTARD! FUCKING LYING CHEATING BASTARD!” Francis screamed fiercely, turning almost demonic with his rage, all three of them struggling hard to keep him from leaving the room. “RIP HIM APART! I’LL RIP HIM APART FOR CHEATING ON ME! FUCKING COCKSUCKING BASTARD!”

Above his furious screaming, Jason bellowed for help, in clear disbelief over the strength the redhead had as he fought his way, against three grown men’s strengths, to go after his husband. Shiv ran to help, gulping loudly as he ducked, and wrapped both arms around Francis’ ankles, two more guys coming in to somehow block the doorway.

Ivan, growling fiercely, was feeling every bit of Francis’ rage, making it impossible to realize his own identity. He had the impulsive rage to run after the blond for justice, but some small part of him realized that this wasn’t his feelings. This wasn’t his situation. He simply held onto one of the redhead’s arms and used his weight to pull and hold Francis back.

It wasn’t for Richie; he could care less what would happen to him...but it was for Francis’ own sake. If word leaked out to his parole officer that he’d beat his husband...he’d be in trouble. Not that Ivan cared, but if Francis went to jail, everyone at the party would be questioned. Underage kids being supplied alcohol and with some marijuana floating around, everyone would be in trouble. He didn’t want that.

Finally, after what seemed like such a long time, the redhead’s efforts began to weaken. A couple of the guys groaned in relief as Francis wore himself out, furiously heaving, sweating as he fought for composure. With seemingly easy effort, he tossed those holding his arms away from him, and kicked his way out of Shiv’s hold. He paced the small walkway angrily, but noticeably lost most of his fury as his exhausted efforts helped to cool his temper.

Ivan struck at him fiercely, knocking him upside the head. “You lose control like that again, motherfucker, I won’t hesitate to fuckin’ SHOOT YOU!” he screamed, uncharacteristically as Francis looked at him with warning. “You lucky I don’t have a piece on me right now! Fuckin’ cock suck son of a bitch! You lose control, I lose control! You fuckin’ know that! Fuckin’ get your shit back together, you fuckin’ cracker!”

“Fuck off, Evans. Don’t fuckin’ talk to me that way. You don’t know.”

“I don’t know SHIT about what the fuck you all fuckin’ mad about when you fuckin’ pull the same fuckin’ SHIT!”

“...Stop sayin’ ‘fuck’!”

“FUCK YOU!”

“Don’t tell me to–!”

Shiv gave an ear piercing whistle, and the pair of them glared at each other as the Asian cautiously moved between them, hands out in a placating gesture. “Guys, guys...let’s chill, a bit. Francis, what the fuck are you so mad about?”

“He’s FUCKING AROUND ON ME!”

“You’re fuckin’ around on him!”

“Don’t you TALK to me THAT WAY!”

Shiv quickly hid behind Jason and the others, swallowing hard as Francis dragged his hands through his hair, heaving a deep breath as he struggled to retain his composure. Ivan smacked him again, then threatened to do it once more when Francis made a move in his direction.

“Still, man,” Shiv started, the pair ready to rip into each other. As much as he respected both, he didn’t think he’d like it if Francis knocked Ivan around. It was impossible to think that the angry black man would even hold up against the well muscled redhead. “Dude, chill. I was there the entire time. He wasn’t making any moves. That kid was. That kid was doin’ all the work, man. Your man was just trying to get out of there...”

“Then you didn’t see what I saw!”

“I saw what I saw! Tyson was the one makin’ all the moves! He was the one pining him there, he was the one goin’ in for the kill! He didn’t do it, man! He didn’t do it!”

“He’s right, man,” Jason spoke up, clearing his throat, eyes shifting from here to there nervously. “He didn’t. That kid done it all. We saw this. He didn’t do anything, man. Didn’t do anything...”

Ivan looked from one to another, pacing anxiously, that anger slowly starting to ebb. He started to regain control of himself once more, and it was one of those grateful things that made relief flood through him. He hated losing control of himself–hated even more when someone else took his reins.

Francis stopped pacing, looking from one to the other with an expression of disbelief. None of his friends really took to Richie the same way as they would with each other. Richie was tolerated because of his marriage to Francis’–they didn’t have loyalty to him, so for Francis’ friends to speak up for him, to lie for him–it made him rethink his previous anger.

This fight wasn’t their first, nor would it be their last. They had plenty of screaming matches, before. Plenty of instances where Francis would be too rough, where Richie would back talk just to get him riled up and blind to anything else. It wasn’t shocking, nor was it new. It was how they fought. Francis had held him down plenty of times, or pushed and shoved his way through the fight, but Richie was always there to push him right back.

He’d only laid a fist on him, once; he couldn’t remember why, but it had been something he’d regretted. Thinking about it now, how Richie had looked at him with an expression of shock and pain, made him regret this.

It sobered him considerably, his breath leaving him in a long, loud exhale.

He heard others giving theirs with a sort of relief that had many of them leaving cautiously. That familiar, warming tension left his body, made his shoulders heavy and his fingers to unfurl from their tightly wound state. He suddenly realized the bedroom door was in ruins, that a few slates from the closet door had been knocked loose.

He sat down at the edge of his bed, Shiv murmuring, “Goosefrabba” before leaving the bedroom.

Ivan was the only one remaining. He looked down at the redhead with considerable disgust as he shook his head.

“Fuckin’ stupid, man,” he muttered.

“Yeah...I know...I know...”