Static Shock Fan Fiction ❯ One ❯ Chapter Seven ( Chapter 7 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Manga-Chick 
Ebon offers Hotstreak a proposal; will he take it?
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Drama | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 09.25.2005 | Pages: 4 | Words: 6.3K | Visits: 744 | Status: Completed
Ebon offers Hotstreak a proposal; will he take it?
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Drama | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 09.25.2005 | Pages: 4 | Words: 6.3K | Visits: 744 | Status: Completed
One
Chapter Seven:
He sat where he knew Static could find him–on one of the numbers of the clock in downtown Dakota. He was still bristling over this morning’s encounter, but he was willing to forgive...for now. He knew that Virgil was just being Virgil, and was only looking out for him. But why did he have to carry out this reaction to the extreme? Why did he have to have Hotstreak kicked out of school when he was doing so well? It felt like all the effort he’d put into helping the older male had been for naught–but then again, it really hadn’t.
He had to smile thoughtfully at that. It really hadn’t, if he thought about it. This had given them time together. To...talk. But not too much. And not too deep. No, they kept those things for places where they knew they wouldn’t be heard.
That connection that they had worked in odd ways–they knew their roles in society, and they played it out...mostly because it was nature to do so. But when they knew people couldn’t see or hear them, then things were different. They opened themselves up to each other in ways that they knew were dangerous, but it was as if they couldn’t help themselves. This mysterious connection left him feeling baffled sometimes, but also...pleasantly good. He felt good about it. Well...good and torn, of course.
Because it wasn’t meant to be.
That downing thought was enough to have him sigh, leaning his elbows on his knees. They really weren’t meant to be. Quite frankly, they were opposites, and both had too much to maintain to just completely let go.
Besides, he was still in love with Virgil, right?
Then why didn’t that love burn with the same warmth and brightness as it had before? Why didn’t he feel that same goodness he’d always felt upon that thought?
He reached up to rub at his chest with one hand, frowning down at the streets below. The city was quiet, tonight; and Static hadn’t shown up. Nor had he answered his calls on the Shock Vox.
“V, don’t pout,” he muttered, locating mentioned device from his pocket and activating it. “Static, come in...this is Gear. Static...I know you’re out there...”
When he heard nothing but silence, he sighed again, and slipped the device back into his pocket. Looking over to see the minute hand creeping by, he activated his boots and took himself up to the roof. He made a decision to just head out on patrol alone when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He turned just as Backpack gave a warning beep, and saw the shadows shifting unnaturally.
“Well, you sure make it easy for me, Ebon,” he said cheerfully, withdrawing a couple of Zap Caps from his belt. “Now I know I can be home before twelve.”
“Shut it, white boy. Ain’t got the time for chat,” was his answering reply, the shadows still shifting.
Great...where is he? He’s not showing himself, Gear thought uneasily, studying the moving mass of darkness before him. He took a step back, mentally activating a program that would lock in on Ebon’s human signature, and glanced at the resulting figures that spread across his vision. A pinpoint lock told him that the meta wasn’t even on the rooftop–the shadows were moving, but they weren’t even part of his body. Which made him wonder how Ebon had done so without the use of his own body...
He glanced away from the shadows, sucking in a deep breath as he willed Static to hurry up and find him. Facing the living shadow made him uneasy, but for some reason, this was making him feel even more uncomfortable. His grip on the two Zap Caps tightened as he searched for a way out.
Backpack gave a warning, previous information about Ebon slipping away from the screen’s interface and directing his attention upward. He had time to gasp and move before Shiv came down on him with a happy cackle, his arms shifting into twin katana blades.
“Found you! You know, you really need a more duller costume,” the Asian said with a serious face, pulling his blades out from the brick they’d embedded into. “That neon green does NOT blend in with the darkness. You might want to consider a more darker color.”
“Well, considering you’re so highly educated about so many things vogue, I’ll take your advice on it,” Gear said, lifting himself into the air, and letting one Cap fly.
Shiv gave a squeak as he performed a cartwheel out of its path, the Cap exploding into a useless pile of tentacles.
“Ha! Ha! Envy my gymnastics talent!” Shiv demanded, pulling another cartwheel that didn’t look so hot. His legs buckled and he tumbled to the roof with a giggle.
Gear found himself distracted by the meta’s antics, readying his throwing arm for another throw. Backpack suddenly gave warning, and he pulled himself out of the way, avoiding Talon’s dive. Her wings fluttered past him, her breath coming out in a hiss as she pulled herself out of the sharp descent.
“Geez I’m popular tonight. To what do I owe this fab-tab-lous of all attention?” he asked as he darted out of reach from both Talon and Shiv, wondering where Ebon was.
“Eat my projectiles!” Shiv demanded, tossing several gleaming cards in his direction. Gear quickly avoided contact with them, watching them fly by and slam with small explosives into the rooftop of an apartment building nearby. They didn’t cause much damage, but if they’d connected with him–he turned and flung the Zap Cap at Shiv, ensnaring him this time as the meta had been distracted with looking somewhere else.
He gave a protesting shout as he went down, Gear turning his attention back to Talon–finding her missing. He gave the skies a quick scan, turning in a circle, jerking his Shock Vox out of his pocket.
“Static, I can really use your help out here, man! Where are you?” he demanded, pulling out another Cap.
Something dark caught his vision, and he glanced up, ready to move as he tried to determine the threat. Something utterly foul and heavy hit him then, and he was enclosed within the darkness with a surprised yell. Heavy weight slammed into his head and shoulders, causing him to grunt with the pain that accompanied this attack. He lost all control as he was knocked out of the sky, falling into the sidewalk below with a resounding clang and a whole lot of pain that rendered him temporarily useless. Aware that he was being covered with trash, vaguely realizing that a Dumpster had him trapped like a bug under a cup, he struggled to shake himself out of his pain filled haze, moving onto his hands and knees. He heard voices outside the metal trash containment, and paused to listen. He grimaced as he reached up to rub at his shoulders, which had bore much of the weight earlier. His uniform had been made to endure small impacts, which took away some of the brunt, but the effect was going to leave some pretty questionable bruises there.
“Think he’s dead?” Talon asked, the flutter of her wings and the sound of weight settling onto metal telling him she’d perched onto the belly of the Dumpster.
“Nah. I’ve seen him take more than that,” Shiv reassured her. She must have released him while Gear had recovered from the impact of the Dumpster.
Soooo much confidence, Gear thought with a grin, then gave a startled gasp when the first blade slammed through the metal, missing his head by inches. Another swept through the metal once the first slipped out, grazing along his shoulder. Shiv was cackling maniacally as he pierced the Dumpster with his blades, Talon watching with a mixture of amusement and pity. Really, the boy needed other activities to amuse himself with.
The Dumpster shifted, lifting upward, one of Shiv’s arms becoming caught within the lift. Talon hurriedly lifted off as Gear struggled to tip the Dumpster over, his rocket boosters flaring with the energy he needed to do so. Once he was able to, he maneuvered out from the dirty, swinging doors, wincing as he clutched one of his arms. One of those blades had cut him deep; his blood ran warm through his fingers and costume as he focused on the immediate danger of here and now.
“Aw, did you get cut by glass?” Shiv pulled his blade out from the Dumpster, and shifted that one into a mace; the other shifted into saw blade, his lips pulling back into a sinister cackle as he advanced.
“Just a scratch!” Gear said hurriedly, avoiding the swings of the mace and the jab of the saw blade.
He let go of his arm, ducking as Shiv swiped at his head with the mace. Backpack, upon mental command, climbed off his back and jumped at Shiv, startling the meta with its quick movement and strong pin; once the meta was pinned, Gear turned to locate Talon, ready to toss his last Cap. The bird woman took flight, and released a scream that sent all his sensors on the fizz. His ears rang, and the pining strength of her scream had him dropping to the pavement, his hands slapping against his ears. The sound seemed to penetrate his brain, erasing all thought and coherent recognizance as he tried to block out the sound.
It stopped just as abruptly, but his ears were still ringing loudly, and he found himself not fully aware of the situation. It felt as if his brain, which had been compared to a computer, had temporarily frozen with an overload of information...which wasn’t a very good comparison, but it sure distracted him from the pain of his arm and from the aching sensation that accompanied his overload. His eyesight seemed to have failed, as well as everything else–all that he was aware of was the problem with his head...
He became aware of a deep voice that said something, causing the other two to titter, but after that... there was nothing. He blinked several times, glancing around himself. His vision was coming back, slowly focusing on the red and blue strobe lights that were coming his way. Shakily, he rose to his feet, coordination off as he tried to focus behind the scramble of his brain. He hadn’t realized that Talon’s scream could pack so much of a punch–he’d have to see what he had to do to modify his helmet to prevent this in the future.
“You all right, buddy?” someone asked, and he blinked again, noticing that it was a police officer that was addressing him, holding him by the shoulders to steady him.
He nodded, because he wasn’t sure how to formulate words quite yet, but the man was unconvinced. He was shouting for help, but Gear realized that an ambulance was accompanying the arrival of the police. Shakily, he pulled away from the man, and shot into the sky. His brain wasn’t working very well, but instinct had him heading home with much confusion.
Once he reached his open balcony door, he climbed in with much trouble, flopping to the floor with uncoordinated grace. Some pinpoint of his mind was screaming at him, that he shouldn’t be here at home dressed as he was, but he ignored it. His thoughts felt entirely scrambled, confusing him with the mixture of images that didn’t make any sense.
He stripped out of his costume and boots, tossing them underneath his bed as he heard someone knocking at his door. His helmet was tossed underneath his pillow just as the door opened, and his mother walked in with a puzzled expression.
“Richie? What...what are you doing?” she asked as she took in the fact that he was standing in his underwear. He hurriedly pulled a sheet off his bed, shakily wrapping it around himself as he tried to find the words to answer her. But instead, he stared at her blankly, feeling dizzy as the room spun. She furrowed her brow with confusion as she received no answer, clutching her robe tightly to herself as she tried to figure out why her son looked so out of it. Was he sleepwalking?
“Just go back to sleep, baby,” she then whispered, pointing at his bed. She felt relieved. Maybe this was all that it was. He probably just fell out of bed, which explained the loud sound earlier. When he looked blankly at the bed, she frowned, shaking her head. “Just go back to sleep. You probably had a bad dream.”
He nodded, then, and sat down at the edge of the mattress. Maggie stared at him for a few moments with puzzled wonder, then turned and walked out of his room, shutting the door behind her. Richie glanced around the darkened contents of his room, then rose from the bed, heading for the dresser. He pulled out some clothes, then some shoes, and searched through the darkness for his glasses. He had a vague sensation that everything he was doing was wrong–but there was another sensation telling him he was right. Thoughts on chasing after Ebon and the others, to find out what they were doing had him driven as he located his costume underneath the bed, patting the pockets for his glasses. He found them, and sighed as he realized that they may have been smashed some point during the night.
The gas station came to mind, for some reason, and he shoved his costume back under the bed, tucking his glasses into his jeans pocket. He climbed out his bedroom window, carefully taking the balcony down to the ground. Groggily, he ran a hand down his face. Something...why wasn’t his brain working? His instincts were screaming at him, telling him that everything was wrong–that he should get to Virgil. A smaller part of him was telling him in a logical, firm tone that Talon’s scream may have affected him greatly than he thought. Static didn’t have this sort of trouble–usually, it had been a physical effect that he could shake off easily. This couldn’t be the same effect...the sonic aspect must have scrambled everything that made his brain operate.
He began to hurry, staggering slightly as he made his way toward the gas station. His coordination was off, so he felt he must look strange to those that might be wandering around at this time of night...he must have looked like a drunk staggering home from some party. Which was a shame, really, because he didn’t touch the stuff.
Tires squealed in protest, a horn blared, and he looked up in surprise as the car’s front grill bumped him, sending him wheeling backwards until he hit the pavement on his ass.
“Stupid kid! Get the fuck off the streets!” the guy roared, revving his truck, then swerving around him.
Focus, idiot, focus! Richie thought to himself, getting up from the pavement and running off again. While it registered that he’d just narrowly escaped death or harrowing injuries, it didn’t really affect him in the way that it should have; he dismissed it easily, just needing to get to the gas station.
Once there, he found himself confused; he’d left his room through the window...shouldn’t he be doing that, now? But everything was boarded up...he tried the front door and found it locked. Staggering around the back, he found that door open and walked in. He instantly felt at home and relaxed, no matter that the door should have been closed and locked. It was pitch black inside, and he stumbled over everything, feeling unfamiliar with the lay-out even though he knew he was home.
He found the ratty, beat-up couch that lined one wall, and gave a sigh of relief. Kicking off his shoes and tossing his glasses aside, he collapsed onto the thin cushions, snuggling deep for a good night’s rest. Maybe that’s all he needed...
OooooooooooO
He had to wrap the chocolate confection in a waxed sheet of paper; carefully, so that it didn’t touch and ruin the pretty roses that decorated the very top. All the while, his eyes were focused on the task so that he wouldn’t look into the smirking face that stared at him from over the counter.
“That should be all of it,” Shiv announced, grinning as he surveyed all the things he’d taken over forty-five minutes to chose, knowing all the right words to say and what buttons to push to drive Hotstreak into a combustible fit. The guy hadn’t blown, yet, but he knew from a glance that he was nearing that line.
Taking a deep breath, trying very hard not to upset the woman that watched him carefully tuck the cupcake into a carry-out box, Hotstreak took painstaking care to cover all that he’d wrapped with another waxed sheet of paper that had the bakery’s logo on it. Then he covered the box with a pretty floral lid, Shiv leaning across the counter with a grin.
“So, I was thinking, Red...I was having a conversation with myself the other day, and I said, ‘Shiv’, I said, ‘Do you really think the Big Red could really keep on the straight and narrow?’ And then I said to myself, ‘Self, why don’t you go and see for yourself? Miracles can happen...’”
The old woman sneaked a glance at Hotstreak’s face, judging his mood as she rang up the total.
“So I came down here, and I see you’re workin’ a desserts shop! Imagine my delight and surprise at seeing you in that pretty apron, serving pretty things, with such a hot momma!” Shiv leered in the old woman’s direction. She sniffed haughtily and brought up the total. “The older the better, they say. You may never know–she might teach you a thing or two...or do women even do it for you? That Foley person enough for you, big guy? He must suck dick real good to have you around for so long...”
“THIRTY-SEVEN FORTY THREE,” the old woman announced, in her clearest accent as Hotstreak reached across the counter and grabbed Shiv’s collar, intending to pound his face into the glass display. Calmly, she reached over and pried his fingers from the grinning meta’s shirt and held out a hand for Shiv’s money.
Shiv reached into his pocket, smirking–but he took a couple of steps away from the counter to ensure his safety.
“Like I was saying–maybe women don’t do it for you, anymore? I saw your guy the other day–you know, I never really thought guys were appealing. But that Richard...” here, he whistled with low appreciation, “without those stupid sweaters of his, he’s actually quite okay. With his face in the pillow, I think I could hit that–!”
“I’m going to fucking kill you–!”
“Ha! Ha! Calm down, Red...ain’t like you care, right? You don’t like guys that way. ‘Specially that one. Of course, I’m just kinda curious cuz you sound like a jealous bitch right now. Laters! Ha!” Shiv snatched his box of confections after tossing what had been in his pocket, and took off.
Lint, a balled up piece of gum and seventeen cents danced off the counter and fell onto the floor.
His plan worked, naturally–he heard Hotstreak jump over the counter, the woman shouting something in jibber-jabber, and he put the heat in his heels as he raced out from the shop, cradling his box full of desserts carefully. He veered into a nearby alley, giggling as he heard the obvious footfalls of Hotstreak right behind him.
He jumped atop of a car parked in designated spots for the owners’ of the various shops in the area, and took a chance to leap atop of another, a truck with an open bed. He heard Hotstreak running right after him, on the pavement, and chanced a look as he leapt from the truck’s roof. Unfortunately, his foot caught on the edge of the truck’s bed, and he fell forward, his box flying out into the open.
He cried aloud at the loss of his desserts, and felt Hotstreak’s abnormally warm hands on his shirt, pulling him up before he even touched the pavement. Before anything could be exchanged, though, the sound of a man appreciating what he found caught their attention. Shiv grinned at the rescue of his food as Hotstreak dropped him with a disgusted frown.
Ebon withdrew a cupcake, and dropped it into his mouth, stretching the orifice to do so. Chewing with appreciation, he nodded in Hostreak’s direction. “Compliments, man. Never knew you did this pansy bullshit.”
“Fuck you...”
“Me too, boss, me too!” Shiv panted hungrily, racing over to snatch the box and cram a cupcake into his mouth.
“I wanted to talk to you, man. Nothin’ bad...just peaceable conversation,” Ebon then said, drifting away from Shiv, facing Hotstreak the entire time. “See, I hadda lotta time to think in jail...you got out ahead of me, an’ got a, ahem, cake sentence...I was admittedly a lil’ jealous...takes a man to admit his weaknesses, however temporarily they may be.”
Hotstreak felt the back of his neck prickle. Ebon’s ‘niceness’ was obviously something up to no good. His eyes flitted to the sides, looking for anything that would pose some harm to him. He stepped back against the wall of one building, keeping his eyes on Ebon and his hench, his fists curled at his sides. Ebon’s eyes narrowed, and he could barely make out the smirk that alighted his hidden features.
“Somethin’ wrong, Stone?”
“Just ain’t used to you bein’ all nice,” Hotstreak spat. “What the fuck is up with you?”
“See...last night...me and the boys hit this place downtown...Talon got word of a deal goin’ down there between some Crips and Bloods...hadda check it out for myself. Unfortunately, we got interrupted...”
“Is this gonna go someplace, or what?”
“Shut the fuck up! We got interrupted, an’ my boys handled it...but something was left behind in the process. Check it.”
Ebon reached into the depths of his being, withdrawing a familiar device that looked worse for the wear. Apparently, Shiv was using it for target practice with various weaponry–the sides were dented in, the single eye dangled uselessly from the back, and it was missing a couple of its legs...but Hotstreak would recognized Backpack anywhere. He schooled his features into that of annoyance, lifting an eyebrow.
“So you got lucky...?”
“Wanna ask your opinion on somethin’...before idiot here fucked around with it, do ya think it would find its way to its master?”
Hotstreak blinked, then shrugged. He didn’t like Ebon’s tone. He didn’t like it at all. Contemplative...wondrous...things that weren’t very agreeable. He recalled Ebon’s stupid dream, and his gut twisted. But he couldn’t show what he felt. Not to this guy. “Fuck if I know...I didn’t make th’ thing.”
“Check it, check it...” Ebon dropped it, the rattle of electronics and metal resounding off the walls of the alleyway. Both of them stared as the spindly metal legs straightened, then evenly spread, noticeably struggling to rise. There were protesting creaks from the thing, the dangling eye blinking rapidly, struggling to rise as well. Taking a few steps, it wobbled then crashed onto its side, the eye blinking color once more.
Ebon prompted the thing back to its feet with the toe of his shoe, steadying it as it began walking once more. It was trying to take cover underneath the vehicles that lined the inside alley, and both followed it cautiously. As it started to scale the back wall of the insurance building nearby, Ebon retrieved it with a certain nod. The legs moved in protest, the eye weakly rising to look at him with its blinking activity.
“Looks like it,” Hotstreak muttered, shrugging again, wondering what this had to do with him.
Ebon flung the thing at him, making him grunt with the unexpected weight. “Do it, then. Make sure it gets there.”
“What–? What the fuck do I care? I don’t want to do shit wit’ this thing!” Hotstreak flung it back at Ebon.
Ebon, with a noticeable smirk, gripped Backpack tightly within both hands. “I see. Well...that’s that, then. See? Ain’t nothin’ bad...just a peaceable conversation...”
“Told ya, boss-man!” Shiv exclaimed from behind them, his mouth covered with bright frosting. “He gone good for good. He isn’t a bad Francis anymore! He’s a good Francis...aw...makes him huggable.”
He squeezed the box of desserts in delight.
“You’re right, Shiv. You’re right. You’ve gone soft, Stone. Didn’t think I’d see it, but...” Ebon shrugged, turning away from Hotstreak.
Hotstreak clenched his fists, trembling with an internal debate as both Ebon and Shiv began walking off, Ebon slapping Shiv for eating most of the confections.
“Wait...WAIT!”
Both turned around, Backpack’s legs moving in protesting action as Hotstreak stepped away from the building, desperate to keep his reputation.
“What’d you want me to do?”
“Ain’t like you’re gonna do it, or anything, right?” Ebon questioned warily, giving him an uninterested stare. “You don’t do shit for me. I was just wonderin’ if you were down for somethin’...somethin’ to prove you ain’t truly fell down the well.”
“Depends...”
“Then what’s the use of me tellin’ ya? Either you are, or you ain’t.”
Hotstreak frowned, dropping his eyes to the robot, then back at Ebon.
Ebon smirked again, knowing he had him where he wanted him.
OooooooooooO
Richie sighed gustily as he rested his elbows atop of his knees, feeling the pull of his sore shoulders and back. The back of his head hurt just as bad, throbbing just enough to remind him of that modification to his helmet. His upper arms, back and chest were sore as well, but those were a different story.
Staring out over the courtyard, his mind kept racing, rebuilding everything that it had held so preciously before Talon’s attack. He was more than confused when he woke up this morning at the gas station...having no real idea how he’d gotten there. He found that his arm was cut, the bleeding stopped only by the crust of previously dried blood. It had ruined his shirt and stained an area of the couch. It wasn’t much, but drops here and there was definitely noticeable. He’d doctored himself up, tore up his ruined shirt and borrowed one of Virgil’s, from a supply that they both kept at the station for obvious reasons.
When he realized that he couldn’t find his costume anywhere, remembering flits of how he’d undressed at home, he’d panicked. Especially so when he couldn’t recall ever bringing Backpack with him after pinning Shiv.
The morning had gone down the drain after that–he’d used what resources were there at the station to get ready for school, but his school things were back at his house. With much reluctance, he’d headed over for home, and felt everything sink inside of him when he saw that his father’s car was still parked in the driveway. Judging from the sun’s position in the sky, it was obviously not an hour in which he could pretend that he’d been in his room all this time..he had to face his parents anyway.
Thanks to his running away that one time, his father had grown to ensuring that he never did that again. Sean grew intensely suspicious whenever Richie returned from someplace late, and constantly questioned him. If he felt Richie were lying, he’d even make a few phone calls to ensure this. Richie had learned long ago that if he didn’t want to put people in awkward positions, and himself in deep trouble, he should keep to his truths and not his lies.
When he walked in through the front door, his worried mother and angered father were immediately onto him. His mother had mentioned sleepwalking, but his father took in his clothing and immediately launched into a tirade that involved rough shaking and screaming. He’d dragged Richie up the stairs without pause, his grip on his upper arm similar to steel, and shoved him hard into his room, where he proceeded to tear apart anything that hadn’t been torn apart the night before. He wanted to know if Richie were doing drugs, if he were with a gang, if he had a girlfriend he was supposedly getting pregnant–the rest of the morning was spent being lectured and threatened for his behavior at school, for walking off campus for no good excuse. And, because Richie wasn’t wearing his glasses again, quietly explaining that they were broken, Sean had grown infuriated.
He’d grabbed Richie’s other arm, shaking him repeatedly as he shouted about taking better care of things, that he couldn’t afford to keep supplying him with these things.
Because of that rough handling, his wound had begun bleeding again, wetting his sleeve–his father noticed and demanded that he show him what happened. Richie couldn’t very well explain that he’d fought a meta with the ability to create weaponry with his arms, so he quietly explained that it was the product of a knife encounter that afternoon, with some gang members that had tried to haggle him for his backpack. His father accepted the lie, but was disgusted that his son had appeared weak to those members.
Because Sean was so close to finding his costume underneath his bed and his helmet within his pillows, he’d forced himself to cry a little, protesting his treatment and that of yesterday’s gang encounter. Anything to throw his father off the trail. It worked, of course...
This led to more shoving, screams, and hitting, but he didn’t like to think over those instances, so he didn’t think about it.
By the time Sean wore himself out, it was just past lunch–he dropped Richie off at school with a snarl promising punishment if he didn’t come home right after school.
Sitting atop of the table, he was able to pinpoint all the injuries he’d gotten from last night’s encounter with the Meta Breed, and those from his father. He just felt...sore. Too sore to do anything or care about anything. He hadn’t bothered going into school quite yet. He just needed some time alone to recover from everything.
“Hey, Richie...”
He turned to glance over his shoulder, seeing Daisy walk over quietly, looking more than anxious as she eyed him with her pretty, dark eyes. He managed a smile, but his eyes flit beyond her and around her for Virgil. Who hadn’t even come to mind at all during this tumultuous time.
“Oh, he was suspended for a couple of days...didn’t he tell you?” she asked, correctly interpreting his glance.
“I haven’t had the chance to talk to him, yet,” Richie confessed, shrugging slightly, minutely wincing at the action. “...Is he mad at me? I didn’t mean to...get mad at him.”
Daisy took a seat beside him, sighing as she brushed her short, dark hair from her face. Her glasses were folded and tucked in the collar of her shirt, hoop earrings dancing as she shook her head. “I wasn’t allowed to talk to him, either. His father has him grounded...but the message I got from him told me he was okay. He said he reacted without consideration to your feelings...but I have to think, Richie...why would you get so mad at him? He’s your best friend...he thought Hotstreak hurt you. He just wanted to protect you. He was hurt, Richie, that you were angry at him for that.”
Richie sighed. More guilt and heartache. “I–I reacted much differently than I thought I would. I was just angry that Virgil wouldn’t listen to me. That he attacked Francis without really listening to me. He didn’t hit me–I fell down my stairway, and I tried telling Virgil that. But he didn’t listen. And Francis was doing so well...I don’t know. It just frustrated me, I guess. And I reacted in a way that I shouldn’t have.”
Daisy lifted an eyebrow. “Since when did Hotstreak become ‘Francis’?”
“Er...I...I dunno.” Another shrug, another wince. “I just...shortened his name, I guess. Gets tiring when one has to say it over and over again.”
Daisy giggled softly. “I guess it would be. It takes a brave person to volunteer to help someone like him out...but...he was kicked out of Dakota yesterday. He’s not coming back here.”
“Yeah...I heard that, too,” Richie muttered, absently rubbing a sore spot on his upper thigh. His father used the back of his hand there–he was aiming for his groin during his lecture about getting girls pregnant, and Richie’s quick reflexes shifted precious cargo out of aim.
Daisy stared at the pavement for a few seconds, then made a sound as she reached into her knapsack. She pulled out some papers. “I found these when I was correcting them earlier, today. Do you think you’ll see him?”
“What are they?”
“His completed English essays...”
“I thought he didn’t turn these in because of that evacuation...”
“He did. There were teachers still here. You should’ve seen Mr. Kyle’s face when he read this.”
“A C, huh?”
“Yeah...the guy needs to work on his grammar and punctuation...but it’s the highest grade he has so far.” Daisy smiled, looking up at him, noting the bruise that Virgil had grown infuriated with. She schooled herself into not cringing. “Maybe if you give that to him, he’ll feel a little encouraged.”
“Yeah...thanks. If I see him, I’ll give it to him.”
“Don’t be mad at Virgil because he cares for you, Richie,” she then said, reaching over to pat his shoulders. She noticed the wince and quickly pulled her hand back. “You okay?”
“Huh? Oh...just my...when I tripped, just...bruised it. I know he cares for me, Daisy. I can’t stay mad at him just because he does. I just...I’m having a hard time, right now. And he’s in my face about things I...don’t feel comfortable with.”
“With what?”
“Huh?”
“What’s giving you a hard time?”
“Oh, just...stuff. Hey, thanks, all right? If you happen to hear from Virgil before I do, can you tell him I’m sorry?”
“Sure, but...” Daisy trailed off as Richie hopped down from the table, doing so gingerly. She furrowed her eyebrows as he walked off, tucking Hotstreak’s essay into his back pocket. Sighing, wondering if it were all her fault for keeping the two friends apart, she left the table with a depressed expression on her face.
Chapter Seven:
He sat where he knew Static could find him–on one of the numbers of the clock in downtown Dakota. He was still bristling over this morning’s encounter, but he was willing to forgive...for now. He knew that Virgil was just being Virgil, and was only looking out for him. But why did he have to carry out this reaction to the extreme? Why did he have to have Hotstreak kicked out of school when he was doing so well? It felt like all the effort he’d put into helping the older male had been for naught–but then again, it really hadn’t.
He had to smile thoughtfully at that. It really hadn’t, if he thought about it. This had given them time together. To...talk. But not too much. And not too deep. No, they kept those things for places where they knew they wouldn’t be heard.
That connection that they had worked in odd ways–they knew their roles in society, and they played it out...mostly because it was nature to do so. But when they knew people couldn’t see or hear them, then things were different. They opened themselves up to each other in ways that they knew were dangerous, but it was as if they couldn’t help themselves. This mysterious connection left him feeling baffled sometimes, but also...pleasantly good. He felt good about it. Well...good and torn, of course.
Because it wasn’t meant to be.
That downing thought was enough to have him sigh, leaning his elbows on his knees. They really weren’t meant to be. Quite frankly, they were opposites, and both had too much to maintain to just completely let go.
Besides, he was still in love with Virgil, right?
Then why didn’t that love burn with the same warmth and brightness as it had before? Why didn’t he feel that same goodness he’d always felt upon that thought?
He reached up to rub at his chest with one hand, frowning down at the streets below. The city was quiet, tonight; and Static hadn’t shown up. Nor had he answered his calls on the Shock Vox.
“V, don’t pout,” he muttered, locating mentioned device from his pocket and activating it. “Static, come in...this is Gear. Static...I know you’re out there...”
When he heard nothing but silence, he sighed again, and slipped the device back into his pocket. Looking over to see the minute hand creeping by, he activated his boots and took himself up to the roof. He made a decision to just head out on patrol alone when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He turned just as Backpack gave a warning beep, and saw the shadows shifting unnaturally.
“Well, you sure make it easy for me, Ebon,” he said cheerfully, withdrawing a couple of Zap Caps from his belt. “Now I know I can be home before twelve.”
“Shut it, white boy. Ain’t got the time for chat,” was his answering reply, the shadows still shifting.
Great...where is he? He’s not showing himself, Gear thought uneasily, studying the moving mass of darkness before him. He took a step back, mentally activating a program that would lock in on Ebon’s human signature, and glanced at the resulting figures that spread across his vision. A pinpoint lock told him that the meta wasn’t even on the rooftop–the shadows were moving, but they weren’t even part of his body. Which made him wonder how Ebon had done so without the use of his own body...
He glanced away from the shadows, sucking in a deep breath as he willed Static to hurry up and find him. Facing the living shadow made him uneasy, but for some reason, this was making him feel even more uncomfortable. His grip on the two Zap Caps tightened as he searched for a way out.
Backpack gave a warning, previous information about Ebon slipping away from the screen’s interface and directing his attention upward. He had time to gasp and move before Shiv came down on him with a happy cackle, his arms shifting into twin katana blades.
“Found you! You know, you really need a more duller costume,” the Asian said with a serious face, pulling his blades out from the brick they’d embedded into. “That neon green does NOT blend in with the darkness. You might want to consider a more darker color.”
“Well, considering you’re so highly educated about so many things vogue, I’ll take your advice on it,” Gear said, lifting himself into the air, and letting one Cap fly.
Shiv gave a squeak as he performed a cartwheel out of its path, the Cap exploding into a useless pile of tentacles.
“Ha! Ha! Envy my gymnastics talent!” Shiv demanded, pulling another cartwheel that didn’t look so hot. His legs buckled and he tumbled to the roof with a giggle.
Gear found himself distracted by the meta’s antics, readying his throwing arm for another throw. Backpack suddenly gave warning, and he pulled himself out of the way, avoiding Talon’s dive. Her wings fluttered past him, her breath coming out in a hiss as she pulled herself out of the sharp descent.
“Geez I’m popular tonight. To what do I owe this fab-tab-lous of all attention?” he asked as he darted out of reach from both Talon and Shiv, wondering where Ebon was.
“Eat my projectiles!” Shiv demanded, tossing several gleaming cards in his direction. Gear quickly avoided contact with them, watching them fly by and slam with small explosives into the rooftop of an apartment building nearby. They didn’t cause much damage, but if they’d connected with him–he turned and flung the Zap Cap at Shiv, ensnaring him this time as the meta had been distracted with looking somewhere else.
He gave a protesting shout as he went down, Gear turning his attention back to Talon–finding her missing. He gave the skies a quick scan, turning in a circle, jerking his Shock Vox out of his pocket.
“Static, I can really use your help out here, man! Where are you?” he demanded, pulling out another Cap.
Something dark caught his vision, and he glanced up, ready to move as he tried to determine the threat. Something utterly foul and heavy hit him then, and he was enclosed within the darkness with a surprised yell. Heavy weight slammed into his head and shoulders, causing him to grunt with the pain that accompanied this attack. He lost all control as he was knocked out of the sky, falling into the sidewalk below with a resounding clang and a whole lot of pain that rendered him temporarily useless. Aware that he was being covered with trash, vaguely realizing that a Dumpster had him trapped like a bug under a cup, he struggled to shake himself out of his pain filled haze, moving onto his hands and knees. He heard voices outside the metal trash containment, and paused to listen. He grimaced as he reached up to rub at his shoulders, which had bore much of the weight earlier. His uniform had been made to endure small impacts, which took away some of the brunt, but the effect was going to leave some pretty questionable bruises there.
“Think he’s dead?” Talon asked, the flutter of her wings and the sound of weight settling onto metal telling him she’d perched onto the belly of the Dumpster.
“Nah. I’ve seen him take more than that,” Shiv reassured her. She must have released him while Gear had recovered from the impact of the Dumpster.
Soooo much confidence, Gear thought with a grin, then gave a startled gasp when the first blade slammed through the metal, missing his head by inches. Another swept through the metal once the first slipped out, grazing along his shoulder. Shiv was cackling maniacally as he pierced the Dumpster with his blades, Talon watching with a mixture of amusement and pity. Really, the boy needed other activities to amuse himself with.
The Dumpster shifted, lifting upward, one of Shiv’s arms becoming caught within the lift. Talon hurriedly lifted off as Gear struggled to tip the Dumpster over, his rocket boosters flaring with the energy he needed to do so. Once he was able to, he maneuvered out from the dirty, swinging doors, wincing as he clutched one of his arms. One of those blades had cut him deep; his blood ran warm through his fingers and costume as he focused on the immediate danger of here and now.
“Aw, did you get cut by glass?” Shiv pulled his blade out from the Dumpster, and shifted that one into a mace; the other shifted into saw blade, his lips pulling back into a sinister cackle as he advanced.
“Just a scratch!” Gear said hurriedly, avoiding the swings of the mace and the jab of the saw blade.
He let go of his arm, ducking as Shiv swiped at his head with the mace. Backpack, upon mental command, climbed off his back and jumped at Shiv, startling the meta with its quick movement and strong pin; once the meta was pinned, Gear turned to locate Talon, ready to toss his last Cap. The bird woman took flight, and released a scream that sent all his sensors on the fizz. His ears rang, and the pining strength of her scream had him dropping to the pavement, his hands slapping against his ears. The sound seemed to penetrate his brain, erasing all thought and coherent recognizance as he tried to block out the sound.
It stopped just as abruptly, but his ears were still ringing loudly, and he found himself not fully aware of the situation. It felt as if his brain, which had been compared to a computer, had temporarily frozen with an overload of information...which wasn’t a very good comparison, but it sure distracted him from the pain of his arm and from the aching sensation that accompanied his overload. His eyesight seemed to have failed, as well as everything else–all that he was aware of was the problem with his head...
He became aware of a deep voice that said something, causing the other two to titter, but after that... there was nothing. He blinked several times, glancing around himself. His vision was coming back, slowly focusing on the red and blue strobe lights that were coming his way. Shakily, he rose to his feet, coordination off as he tried to focus behind the scramble of his brain. He hadn’t realized that Talon’s scream could pack so much of a punch–he’d have to see what he had to do to modify his helmet to prevent this in the future.
“You all right, buddy?” someone asked, and he blinked again, noticing that it was a police officer that was addressing him, holding him by the shoulders to steady him.
He nodded, because he wasn’t sure how to formulate words quite yet, but the man was unconvinced. He was shouting for help, but Gear realized that an ambulance was accompanying the arrival of the police. Shakily, he pulled away from the man, and shot into the sky. His brain wasn’t working very well, but instinct had him heading home with much confusion.
Once he reached his open balcony door, he climbed in with much trouble, flopping to the floor with uncoordinated grace. Some pinpoint of his mind was screaming at him, that he shouldn’t be here at home dressed as he was, but he ignored it. His thoughts felt entirely scrambled, confusing him with the mixture of images that didn’t make any sense.
He stripped out of his costume and boots, tossing them underneath his bed as he heard someone knocking at his door. His helmet was tossed underneath his pillow just as the door opened, and his mother walked in with a puzzled expression.
“Richie? What...what are you doing?” she asked as she took in the fact that he was standing in his underwear. He hurriedly pulled a sheet off his bed, shakily wrapping it around himself as he tried to find the words to answer her. But instead, he stared at her blankly, feeling dizzy as the room spun. She furrowed her brow with confusion as she received no answer, clutching her robe tightly to herself as she tried to figure out why her son looked so out of it. Was he sleepwalking?
“Just go back to sleep, baby,” she then whispered, pointing at his bed. She felt relieved. Maybe this was all that it was. He probably just fell out of bed, which explained the loud sound earlier. When he looked blankly at the bed, she frowned, shaking her head. “Just go back to sleep. You probably had a bad dream.”
He nodded, then, and sat down at the edge of the mattress. Maggie stared at him for a few moments with puzzled wonder, then turned and walked out of his room, shutting the door behind her. Richie glanced around the darkened contents of his room, then rose from the bed, heading for the dresser. He pulled out some clothes, then some shoes, and searched through the darkness for his glasses. He had a vague sensation that everything he was doing was wrong–but there was another sensation telling him he was right. Thoughts on chasing after Ebon and the others, to find out what they were doing had him driven as he located his costume underneath the bed, patting the pockets for his glasses. He found them, and sighed as he realized that they may have been smashed some point during the night.
The gas station came to mind, for some reason, and he shoved his costume back under the bed, tucking his glasses into his jeans pocket. He climbed out his bedroom window, carefully taking the balcony down to the ground. Groggily, he ran a hand down his face. Something...why wasn’t his brain working? His instincts were screaming at him, telling him that everything was wrong–that he should get to Virgil. A smaller part of him was telling him in a logical, firm tone that Talon’s scream may have affected him greatly than he thought. Static didn’t have this sort of trouble–usually, it had been a physical effect that he could shake off easily. This couldn’t be the same effect...the sonic aspect must have scrambled everything that made his brain operate.
He began to hurry, staggering slightly as he made his way toward the gas station. His coordination was off, so he felt he must look strange to those that might be wandering around at this time of night...he must have looked like a drunk staggering home from some party. Which was a shame, really, because he didn’t touch the stuff.
Tires squealed in protest, a horn blared, and he looked up in surprise as the car’s front grill bumped him, sending him wheeling backwards until he hit the pavement on his ass.
“Stupid kid! Get the fuck off the streets!” the guy roared, revving his truck, then swerving around him.
Focus, idiot, focus! Richie thought to himself, getting up from the pavement and running off again. While it registered that he’d just narrowly escaped death or harrowing injuries, it didn’t really affect him in the way that it should have; he dismissed it easily, just needing to get to the gas station.
Once there, he found himself confused; he’d left his room through the window...shouldn’t he be doing that, now? But everything was boarded up...he tried the front door and found it locked. Staggering around the back, he found that door open and walked in. He instantly felt at home and relaxed, no matter that the door should have been closed and locked. It was pitch black inside, and he stumbled over everything, feeling unfamiliar with the lay-out even though he knew he was home.
He found the ratty, beat-up couch that lined one wall, and gave a sigh of relief. Kicking off his shoes and tossing his glasses aside, he collapsed onto the thin cushions, snuggling deep for a good night’s rest. Maybe that’s all he needed...
OooooooooooO
He had to wrap the chocolate confection in a waxed sheet of paper; carefully, so that it didn’t touch and ruin the pretty roses that decorated the very top. All the while, his eyes were focused on the task so that he wouldn’t look into the smirking face that stared at him from over the counter.
“That should be all of it,” Shiv announced, grinning as he surveyed all the things he’d taken over forty-five minutes to chose, knowing all the right words to say and what buttons to push to drive Hotstreak into a combustible fit. The guy hadn’t blown, yet, but he knew from a glance that he was nearing that line.
Taking a deep breath, trying very hard not to upset the woman that watched him carefully tuck the cupcake into a carry-out box, Hotstreak took painstaking care to cover all that he’d wrapped with another waxed sheet of paper that had the bakery’s logo on it. Then he covered the box with a pretty floral lid, Shiv leaning across the counter with a grin.
“So, I was thinking, Red...I was having a conversation with myself the other day, and I said, ‘Shiv’, I said, ‘Do you really think the Big Red could really keep on the straight and narrow?’ And then I said to myself, ‘Self, why don’t you go and see for yourself? Miracles can happen...’”
The old woman sneaked a glance at Hotstreak’s face, judging his mood as she rang up the total.
“So I came down here, and I see you’re workin’ a desserts shop! Imagine my delight and surprise at seeing you in that pretty apron, serving pretty things, with such a hot momma!” Shiv leered in the old woman’s direction. She sniffed haughtily and brought up the total. “The older the better, they say. You may never know–she might teach you a thing or two...or do women even do it for you? That Foley person enough for you, big guy? He must suck dick real good to have you around for so long...”
“THIRTY-SEVEN FORTY THREE,” the old woman announced, in her clearest accent as Hotstreak reached across the counter and grabbed Shiv’s collar, intending to pound his face into the glass display. Calmly, she reached over and pried his fingers from the grinning meta’s shirt and held out a hand for Shiv’s money.
Shiv reached into his pocket, smirking–but he took a couple of steps away from the counter to ensure his safety.
“Like I was saying–maybe women don’t do it for you, anymore? I saw your guy the other day–you know, I never really thought guys were appealing. But that Richard...” here, he whistled with low appreciation, “without those stupid sweaters of his, he’s actually quite okay. With his face in the pillow, I think I could hit that–!”
“I’m going to fucking kill you–!”
“Ha! Ha! Calm down, Red...ain’t like you care, right? You don’t like guys that way. ‘Specially that one. Of course, I’m just kinda curious cuz you sound like a jealous bitch right now. Laters! Ha!” Shiv snatched his box of confections after tossing what had been in his pocket, and took off.
Lint, a balled up piece of gum and seventeen cents danced off the counter and fell onto the floor.
His plan worked, naturally–he heard Hotstreak jump over the counter, the woman shouting something in jibber-jabber, and he put the heat in his heels as he raced out from the shop, cradling his box full of desserts carefully. He veered into a nearby alley, giggling as he heard the obvious footfalls of Hotstreak right behind him.
He jumped atop of a car parked in designated spots for the owners’ of the various shops in the area, and took a chance to leap atop of another, a truck with an open bed. He heard Hotstreak running right after him, on the pavement, and chanced a look as he leapt from the truck’s roof. Unfortunately, his foot caught on the edge of the truck’s bed, and he fell forward, his box flying out into the open.
He cried aloud at the loss of his desserts, and felt Hotstreak’s abnormally warm hands on his shirt, pulling him up before he even touched the pavement. Before anything could be exchanged, though, the sound of a man appreciating what he found caught their attention. Shiv grinned at the rescue of his food as Hotstreak dropped him with a disgusted frown.
Ebon withdrew a cupcake, and dropped it into his mouth, stretching the orifice to do so. Chewing with appreciation, he nodded in Hostreak’s direction. “Compliments, man. Never knew you did this pansy bullshit.”
“Fuck you...”
“Me too, boss, me too!” Shiv panted hungrily, racing over to snatch the box and cram a cupcake into his mouth.
“I wanted to talk to you, man. Nothin’ bad...just peaceable conversation,” Ebon then said, drifting away from Shiv, facing Hotstreak the entire time. “See, I hadda lotta time to think in jail...you got out ahead of me, an’ got a, ahem, cake sentence...I was admittedly a lil’ jealous...takes a man to admit his weaknesses, however temporarily they may be.”
Hotstreak felt the back of his neck prickle. Ebon’s ‘niceness’ was obviously something up to no good. His eyes flitted to the sides, looking for anything that would pose some harm to him. He stepped back against the wall of one building, keeping his eyes on Ebon and his hench, his fists curled at his sides. Ebon’s eyes narrowed, and he could barely make out the smirk that alighted his hidden features.
“Somethin’ wrong, Stone?”
“Just ain’t used to you bein’ all nice,” Hotstreak spat. “What the fuck is up with you?”
“See...last night...me and the boys hit this place downtown...Talon got word of a deal goin’ down there between some Crips and Bloods...hadda check it out for myself. Unfortunately, we got interrupted...”
“Is this gonna go someplace, or what?”
“Shut the fuck up! We got interrupted, an’ my boys handled it...but something was left behind in the process. Check it.”
Ebon reached into the depths of his being, withdrawing a familiar device that looked worse for the wear. Apparently, Shiv was using it for target practice with various weaponry–the sides were dented in, the single eye dangled uselessly from the back, and it was missing a couple of its legs...but Hotstreak would recognized Backpack anywhere. He schooled his features into that of annoyance, lifting an eyebrow.
“So you got lucky...?”
“Wanna ask your opinion on somethin’...before idiot here fucked around with it, do ya think it would find its way to its master?”
Hotstreak blinked, then shrugged. He didn’t like Ebon’s tone. He didn’t like it at all. Contemplative...wondrous...things that weren’t very agreeable. He recalled Ebon’s stupid dream, and his gut twisted. But he couldn’t show what he felt. Not to this guy. “Fuck if I know...I didn’t make th’ thing.”
“Check it, check it...” Ebon dropped it, the rattle of electronics and metal resounding off the walls of the alleyway. Both of them stared as the spindly metal legs straightened, then evenly spread, noticeably struggling to rise. There were protesting creaks from the thing, the dangling eye blinking rapidly, struggling to rise as well. Taking a few steps, it wobbled then crashed onto its side, the eye blinking color once more.
Ebon prompted the thing back to its feet with the toe of his shoe, steadying it as it began walking once more. It was trying to take cover underneath the vehicles that lined the inside alley, and both followed it cautiously. As it started to scale the back wall of the insurance building nearby, Ebon retrieved it with a certain nod. The legs moved in protest, the eye weakly rising to look at him with its blinking activity.
“Looks like it,” Hotstreak muttered, shrugging again, wondering what this had to do with him.
Ebon flung the thing at him, making him grunt with the unexpected weight. “Do it, then. Make sure it gets there.”
“What–? What the fuck do I care? I don’t want to do shit wit’ this thing!” Hotstreak flung it back at Ebon.
Ebon, with a noticeable smirk, gripped Backpack tightly within both hands. “I see. Well...that’s that, then. See? Ain’t nothin’ bad...just a peaceable conversation...”
“Told ya, boss-man!” Shiv exclaimed from behind them, his mouth covered with bright frosting. “He gone good for good. He isn’t a bad Francis anymore! He’s a good Francis...aw...makes him huggable.”
He squeezed the box of desserts in delight.
“You’re right, Shiv. You’re right. You’ve gone soft, Stone. Didn’t think I’d see it, but...” Ebon shrugged, turning away from Hotstreak.
Hotstreak clenched his fists, trembling with an internal debate as both Ebon and Shiv began walking off, Ebon slapping Shiv for eating most of the confections.
“Wait...WAIT!”
Both turned around, Backpack’s legs moving in protesting action as Hotstreak stepped away from the building, desperate to keep his reputation.
“What’d you want me to do?”
“Ain’t like you’re gonna do it, or anything, right?” Ebon questioned warily, giving him an uninterested stare. “You don’t do shit for me. I was just wonderin’ if you were down for somethin’...somethin’ to prove you ain’t truly fell down the well.”
“Depends...”
“Then what’s the use of me tellin’ ya? Either you are, or you ain’t.”
Hotstreak frowned, dropping his eyes to the robot, then back at Ebon.
Ebon smirked again, knowing he had him where he wanted him.
OooooooooooO
Richie sighed gustily as he rested his elbows atop of his knees, feeling the pull of his sore shoulders and back. The back of his head hurt just as bad, throbbing just enough to remind him of that modification to his helmet. His upper arms, back and chest were sore as well, but those were a different story.
Staring out over the courtyard, his mind kept racing, rebuilding everything that it had held so preciously before Talon’s attack. He was more than confused when he woke up this morning at the gas station...having no real idea how he’d gotten there. He found that his arm was cut, the bleeding stopped only by the crust of previously dried blood. It had ruined his shirt and stained an area of the couch. It wasn’t much, but drops here and there was definitely noticeable. He’d doctored himself up, tore up his ruined shirt and borrowed one of Virgil’s, from a supply that they both kept at the station for obvious reasons.
When he realized that he couldn’t find his costume anywhere, remembering flits of how he’d undressed at home, he’d panicked. Especially so when he couldn’t recall ever bringing Backpack with him after pinning Shiv.
The morning had gone down the drain after that–he’d used what resources were there at the station to get ready for school, but his school things were back at his house. With much reluctance, he’d headed over for home, and felt everything sink inside of him when he saw that his father’s car was still parked in the driveway. Judging from the sun’s position in the sky, it was obviously not an hour in which he could pretend that he’d been in his room all this time..he had to face his parents anyway.
Thanks to his running away that one time, his father had grown to ensuring that he never did that again. Sean grew intensely suspicious whenever Richie returned from someplace late, and constantly questioned him. If he felt Richie were lying, he’d even make a few phone calls to ensure this. Richie had learned long ago that if he didn’t want to put people in awkward positions, and himself in deep trouble, he should keep to his truths and not his lies.
When he walked in through the front door, his worried mother and angered father were immediately onto him. His mother had mentioned sleepwalking, but his father took in his clothing and immediately launched into a tirade that involved rough shaking and screaming. He’d dragged Richie up the stairs without pause, his grip on his upper arm similar to steel, and shoved him hard into his room, where he proceeded to tear apart anything that hadn’t been torn apart the night before. He wanted to know if Richie were doing drugs, if he were with a gang, if he had a girlfriend he was supposedly getting pregnant–the rest of the morning was spent being lectured and threatened for his behavior at school, for walking off campus for no good excuse. And, because Richie wasn’t wearing his glasses again, quietly explaining that they were broken, Sean had grown infuriated.
He’d grabbed Richie’s other arm, shaking him repeatedly as he shouted about taking better care of things, that he couldn’t afford to keep supplying him with these things.
Because of that rough handling, his wound had begun bleeding again, wetting his sleeve–his father noticed and demanded that he show him what happened. Richie couldn’t very well explain that he’d fought a meta with the ability to create weaponry with his arms, so he quietly explained that it was the product of a knife encounter that afternoon, with some gang members that had tried to haggle him for his backpack. His father accepted the lie, but was disgusted that his son had appeared weak to those members.
Because Sean was so close to finding his costume underneath his bed and his helmet within his pillows, he’d forced himself to cry a little, protesting his treatment and that of yesterday’s gang encounter. Anything to throw his father off the trail. It worked, of course...
This led to more shoving, screams, and hitting, but he didn’t like to think over those instances, so he didn’t think about it.
By the time Sean wore himself out, it was just past lunch–he dropped Richie off at school with a snarl promising punishment if he didn’t come home right after school.
Sitting atop of the table, he was able to pinpoint all the injuries he’d gotten from last night’s encounter with the Meta Breed, and those from his father. He just felt...sore. Too sore to do anything or care about anything. He hadn’t bothered going into school quite yet. He just needed some time alone to recover from everything.
“Hey, Richie...”
He turned to glance over his shoulder, seeing Daisy walk over quietly, looking more than anxious as she eyed him with her pretty, dark eyes. He managed a smile, but his eyes flit beyond her and around her for Virgil. Who hadn’t even come to mind at all during this tumultuous time.
“Oh, he was suspended for a couple of days...didn’t he tell you?” she asked, correctly interpreting his glance.
“I haven’t had the chance to talk to him, yet,” Richie confessed, shrugging slightly, minutely wincing at the action. “...Is he mad at me? I didn’t mean to...get mad at him.”
Daisy took a seat beside him, sighing as she brushed her short, dark hair from her face. Her glasses were folded and tucked in the collar of her shirt, hoop earrings dancing as she shook her head. “I wasn’t allowed to talk to him, either. His father has him grounded...but the message I got from him told me he was okay. He said he reacted without consideration to your feelings...but I have to think, Richie...why would you get so mad at him? He’s your best friend...he thought Hotstreak hurt you. He just wanted to protect you. He was hurt, Richie, that you were angry at him for that.”
Richie sighed. More guilt and heartache. “I–I reacted much differently than I thought I would. I was just angry that Virgil wouldn’t listen to me. That he attacked Francis without really listening to me. He didn’t hit me–I fell down my stairway, and I tried telling Virgil that. But he didn’t listen. And Francis was doing so well...I don’t know. It just frustrated me, I guess. And I reacted in a way that I shouldn’t have.”
Daisy lifted an eyebrow. “Since when did Hotstreak become ‘Francis’?”
“Er...I...I dunno.” Another shrug, another wince. “I just...shortened his name, I guess. Gets tiring when one has to say it over and over again.”
Daisy giggled softly. “I guess it would be. It takes a brave person to volunteer to help someone like him out...but...he was kicked out of Dakota yesterday. He’s not coming back here.”
“Yeah...I heard that, too,” Richie muttered, absently rubbing a sore spot on his upper thigh. His father used the back of his hand there–he was aiming for his groin during his lecture about getting girls pregnant, and Richie’s quick reflexes shifted precious cargo out of aim.
Daisy stared at the pavement for a few seconds, then made a sound as she reached into her knapsack. She pulled out some papers. “I found these when I was correcting them earlier, today. Do you think you’ll see him?”
“What are they?”
“His completed English essays...”
“I thought he didn’t turn these in because of that evacuation...”
“He did. There were teachers still here. You should’ve seen Mr. Kyle’s face when he read this.”
“A C, huh?”
“Yeah...the guy needs to work on his grammar and punctuation...but it’s the highest grade he has so far.” Daisy smiled, looking up at him, noting the bruise that Virgil had grown infuriated with. She schooled herself into not cringing. “Maybe if you give that to him, he’ll feel a little encouraged.”
“Yeah...thanks. If I see him, I’ll give it to him.”
“Don’t be mad at Virgil because he cares for you, Richie,” she then said, reaching over to pat his shoulders. She noticed the wince and quickly pulled her hand back. “You okay?”
“Huh? Oh...just my...when I tripped, just...bruised it. I know he cares for me, Daisy. I can’t stay mad at him just because he does. I just...I’m having a hard time, right now. And he’s in my face about things I...don’t feel comfortable with.”
“With what?”
“Huh?”
“What’s giving you a hard time?”
“Oh, just...stuff. Hey, thanks, all right? If you happen to hear from Virgil before I do, can you tell him I’m sorry?”
“Sure, but...” Daisy trailed off as Richie hopped down from the table, doing so gingerly. She furrowed her eyebrows as he walked off, tucking Hotstreak’s essay into his back pocket. Sighing, wondering if it were all her fault for keeping the two friends apart, she left the table with a depressed expression on her face.