Static Shock Fan Fiction ❯ One ❯ Chapter Eleven ( Chapter 11 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Manga-Chick 
The sacrifices one performs for another happens to overwhelm common sense
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Drama | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 09.26.2005 | Pages: 5 | Words: 6.8K | Visits: 588 | Status: Completed
The sacrifices one performs for another happens to overwhelm common sense
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Drama | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 09.26.2005 | Pages: 5 | Words: 6.8K | Visits: 588 | Status: Completed
One
Chapter Eleven:
Richie was trying not to cry–he had to admit that as he hurried down the sidewalk. His mind wasn’t focused on many things but on the person he had to leave behind. He knew what he had to look forward to in the future, and that wasn’t doing very well with him. But he knew his role.
He wiped at his eyes, fighting hard to look as if he weren’t crying. Because he wasn’t. Really. Just...his allergies were acting up.
So focused on his task was he that he didn’t hear Static approach him until a hand reached out and grabbed his shoulder. Startled, he whirled around, knocking his head into Static’s disk. He hissed with pain as Static leapt off his disk with hurried apologies.
“Where the hell have you been?” Static demanded, giving him a frantic look. “You know, you’ve got the police looking for you! And your parents are worried sick, Richie!”
“They are? The police?” Richie asked, rubbing his forehead as he squinted at his friend. “What for?”
“They said Hotstreak–” there was a funny catch to Static’s voice that made Richie blink, seeing the way his friend’s eyes widened, glazed, then refocused on him, “they said he kidnaped you.”
Richie shook his head furiously. “No. No, he didn’t. He just----he just wanted to talk.”
“Talk...right...”
Richie looked at him closely, and didn’t miss the way Static pulled himself backwards, clumsily keeping their distance. He gave his friend a confused expression.
“What?”
“Er..nothin& #8217;. Nothin’! Just–you need to let your parents know you’re okay. They are worried sick!”
“Oh, I’ll bet,” Richie muttered, turning away from him.
“Where have you been?” Static then asked, hurrying to keep up with him. “Where did you go? Are you all right? You weren’t hurt, were you–?”
“No! All right? I wasn’t hurt, there’s nothin’ wrong with me, it’s just all–I thought you were mad at me...”
Static pointed at a nearby byway that led into the back entrance of a boutique, away from prying eyes and ears. Richie walked into it, glancing at him curiously as he removed his hand from his forehead. As the two walked in, Static had to control himself from screaming and demanding out loud, every detail (well, certain details excluded, of course) that he had on Hotstreak and his relationship. Not for the sake of gossip, but for...other things.
“What’s goin’ on, Richie?” he demanded, facing his friend, arms crossed over his chest. “What is really going on with you?”
“N-nothing. I mean...it’s all the same.”
NO IT ISN’T! Static’s inner Static screamed maniacally.
“Your parents mentioned you staying out late...you been caught coming in from patrol? Or...or is there something you’re not telling me?”
Richie blinked, then shook his head–then looked at him closely. He tried for a nervous laugh. “What are you, my mom?” he asked, failing miserably for a smile when Static tightened his expression.
“Is there somethin’ you need to tell me, Richie?” he asked, his tone deepening and lowering. “Somethin’ that needs to be told? For the sake of our friendship?”
Richie stared at him in silence for a few moments, then gave an expression of disbelief. “O-our friendship? V! What the hell–?”
“You’re keeping something from me, an’ you don’t want to tell me, because either you’re scared, or because it compromises the both of us!” Static shouted angrily.
He punctuated his shouts with the back of his hand against his open palm. “You’ve been lying to me, you’ve been avoiding me, you’ve been keeping things from me, and makin’ me feel as if I ain’t adequate enough to be your confidante! I’ve been everything to you for years, an’ for you to push me away like this–!”
“Why are you being so damn uppity about what I do, Virgil?” Richie cried. “I’m allowed to keep some things from you! I’m allowed to choose what I say to you, or what I don’t! If I don’t want to tell you something, then I’m not going to tell you–!”
“It wasn’t like that before him!” Static screamed. “Before him, you were tellin’ me everything! You were right there beside me, all the time, keepin’ no secrets–!”
“So, just because I have a life outside of what we have, I’m the bad guy here? And what do you mean, ‘he’?”
“HIM! You know who and what I’m talkin’ about, Richie! Ever since he came back to school, you got all screwy. You started hiding things from me. You won’t talk to me. You won’t–!”
“STOP! I won’t have this conversation with you! I won’t argue with you about this! I don’t fuckin’ care what–!”
“There ya go. Pushing me away again,” Static huffed, pushing his hands through the air. “‘Step off, Virgil, you aren’t important, anymore’. ‘Don’t tell me that guy’s bad, Virgil, because he’s really not underneath all that bullyin’ an’ violence...’”
“I HAVE NEVER–!”
“IS there somethin’ you want to tell me, Richie?” Static interrupted, arms crossed over his chest. “Is there somethin’ I should need to know?”
Richie stared at him in silence, then shook his head, his eyes staying on him the entire time.
Static lost it.
“Well, since it ain’t comin’ from you, let me tell you what I just saw not even ten minutes ago, Richard. I just saw you, an’ my most hated enemy, in a fuckin’ liplock that rivaled Anna and Enrique...I was willin’ to let you talk to me about things. I was willin’ to listen to whatever you had to say. I wanted you to tell me on your own. But apparently, I ain’t that important to tell,” Static snapped, staring at the rush of blood that fell from his friend’s face, the rapid shift of eyes.
“Keepin’ that stuff from me...why? WHY? WHY, RICHIE? Why with him? Why with guys? I fucking HATE him! I fucking hate him, and everything he stands for, an’–an’ you all up on his dick. It’s fucking disgusting, man. Fucking disgusting. I can’t believe you! He’s the one you’ve been gettin’ all those things from–! Like now! It’s disgusting, Richie!”
All his anger, his pent-up hurt and concern, spilled out in that frustrating and venting shout, each word laced with his every emotion. His thoughts, and his unexpressed hurts. He wanted Richie to know how he felt about everything, and wanted to get it out in the clear. But his words weren’t the right ones...nor were they the smartest. He realized this as soon as he shut his mouth, staring at his friend with a sullen expression.
Richie stared at him in silence, then did the strangest thing–his expression went blank, shutting away whatever and all that he was feeling and thinking, leaving Static with nothing to see but an emptiness that was common on the faces of those he didn’t know very well. That hurt, but nothing hurt more than knowing their friendship was being destroyed by something like Francis Stone.
“I understand,” Richie said quietly, nodding slightly. “Is...is that all? I have to get home.”
Static wanted to take everything back. If only Nina hadn’t lost her powers–! “Richie, wait.”
“No, I understand. It’s all right. If that’s how you feel, Virgil, that’s how you feel. I never wanted to tell you, because...because I knew I would lose you. But...it’s all in the open, now. You know my big bad secret. Just...just know that...if I had the chance...I’d never take it back. I’d just do it again. And again. Not to spite you–but because I had felt good. I was happy. I’ll see you later, all right? At school, maybe...”
“...Richie, wait...”
Richie turned, waving over his shoulder as he walked off.
Static’s mouth clamped tightly shut, and he wanted to kick himself. He hadn’t wanted to push his friend away...but he felt so damn...hurt! He didn’t know any other way to express himself, and all his emotions had pushed to the surface, leaving him in an uncontrollable mess that just pushed them even further apart.
What was worse, was that he still didn’t approve of this relationship; that he couldn’t readily accept that his friend liked guys; that the guy he was apparently ‘happy’ with was his enemy. He couldn’t just say, “Oh, that’s okay, man,” because it wasn’t. It really wasn’t. He loved Richie–he really did. He would do anything for the guy–but for him to reveal these things, uncomfortable unknown things that made Virgil Hawkins terribly uneasy, this was one of those times where the mouth moved faster than the acceptance.
He felt extremely terrible for feeling this way–but this was THE WAY! He couldn’t just ACCEPT things just like that, in a snap. One had to give a guy time to adjust! And this time was just way too full of drama...too much drama. He needed a break from it all. He needed...he needed time. He needed time for Richie to settle his affairs; he needed time to accept his friend’s sexuality; he needed TIME TO ACCEPT THIS CHANGE!
His head slumped, and he unfolded his disk. It looked like a long, hard road ahead of him.
OooooooooooO
Richie’s mother greeted him enthusiastically when he walked through the door, pouncing on him with much relief, cheer and concern. Her hands flitted to his naked face, looking for injuries, questioning his whereabouts–it felt good to have someone giving him the comfort that he felt he needed during such a tumultuous time. He almost started to cry when Sean walked hurriedly into the foyer, and Richie felt himself close up again, looking at his father stoically.
Lewis had wanted to see him if he showed up at home. The three headed down to the police station in intense silence.
Richie wondered when his father was going to speak to him, but from the sight of white knuckles and tight lips, he wondered just how long his father was actually going to hold back.
The questioning was general–they just wanted to know what Hotstreak wanted. He thought of what he’d said in the car; he hadn’t known the police were on their trail.
“I tutored him at the high school,” he said quietly, fiddling with his fingers. He was sitting across from Lewis and a couple of detectives, including a man that looked to be Hotstreak’s parole officer, and his mother and father were sitting off to the side. “Um...we just...talked. I guess it’s hard for him to...open up to someone. But...we talked good enough.”
“He confided in you?” Lewis asked, raising his eyebrows. “Can I ask about what?”
“He...he wasn’t sure if he was doing the right thing. Sticking to his parole. He...he had a lot of problems with trying to stick to that. A lot of pressure from his so-called friends...but I tried telling him that it was good.”
“But he didn’t think so.”
Richie shook his head.
“So he broke into your house–”
“He didn’t break in,” Richie said hurriedly, shaking his head again. “I...I told him if he...if he ever wanted to talk, he could...come talk to me. Basically, he was invited to my home. Only...only it wasn’t the best time for him to ring the doorbell–”
“At three o’clock in the morning?” his father snarled, Lewis looking over at him with a questioning glance. “He wanted to talk to you at three o’clock in the fuckin’ morning? Why couldn’t he wait?”
“If you don’t mind, sir, I’ll ask the questions,” Lewis interjected, holding up a hand. He turned back to Richie, who kept his stoic expression as he looked across the table at the four men. “How did he know how to enter?”
“I...told him...if needs be, he can come up there. So...not to disturb my parents,” Richie said carefully, making sure not to make any sort of eye contact with his parents. “My window was open. He knew the invitation was there, and he used it.”
“So, you’re good friends with him–?”
“No. No, I...I’m not. He just...needed someone to talk to. Someone, I guess, that wasn’t influenced like the others he ran around with.”
“You’ve got some injuries on you.” Lewis indicated his neck, and Richie flushed.
“No, I–I got...these...um...before.”
“You have a girlfriend?”
“Uh...I...”
“We need to verify your coming home late last night...your mother mentioned that you were seemingly under the influence...care to explain for the benefit of your parents, and for our records? As far as we know, you might have assisted Stone in his escape...”
“NO! I didn’t–! Look. I...I sneak out a lot. I...I get tired of being...of–of rules. I sneak out, and I meet people, and...” It wasn’t all a lie. He did sneak out. He did get tired of rules, and as far as he knew, he was meeting people–as Gear. But he couldn’t say that. “...I was...I did get a contact high.”
“You were under the influence of drugs?”
“No. I was...I was around it. But I won’t give names or locations, because that’s not important. I didn’t get any injuries from...from him. I didn’t do anything wrong–I’m a teenager. I experiment.”
“Then your girlfriend...she can verify your appearance?”
Richie was quiet for a few moments, then glanced at his parents nervously before looking Lewis in the eye. “I choose not to bring my boyfriend into this matter...I don’t want to out him.”
Lewis looked startled for a few moments, then shrugged. “So, all Francis Stone did was...was talk. Did he...mention he was running from anybody...? Anything important that we should be knowing about...?”
“He just...wasn’t sure if he was doing the right thing. He did nothing wrong, that I know of. He just wanted to talk.”
“So, he took you–”
“I went with him.”
“–broke into your parents’ house–”
“I invited him in with saying that my room was always open for him!”
“–noticeably forced you out while you were recovering from this so-called contact high from an undisclosed party with a closeted boyfriend...and all he wanted to do was talk?” Lewis’ skeptical tone made Richie shift in his seat, feeling more than awkward and nervous as he tried hard to clear Hotstreak’s name from this breaking and entering offense....
“Yes, sir.”
“He commonly threatens you and beats you up at Dakota Union...there’s no need to protect him, son. We know his kind. We know what he’s capable of. If needs be, we can transfer you and your family out of the area to–”
“I’m not afraid of him, and yes, he does beat me up at school. But I hold no grudges against him, nor do I feel the need to run away from him.”
“He is capable of killing, son,” Lewis said seriously, unblinking as he stared at Richie. “He can kill you, and your parents if he felt he were being threatened.”
“He shouldn’t have to feel that way with me,” Richie said quietly, staring at his hands. “I’m nothing threatening to him. I don’t know him enough to blackmail him with anything, nor would I take the chance to confess his secrets, should he ever confide them in me. If he comes up to me wanting to talk, I’ll listen. Mainly because he felt comfortable enough with me to do so in the first place...”
“It sounds as if you’re closer to him than you’re letting us know,” Lewis said quietly, raising an eyebrow.
“He trusts me,” Richie said evenly, looking at him. “That’s all there is.”
Lewis tapped his pen against his pad of paper, the others making hasty notes in their own pads. Finally, he glanced over at Richie’s parents, and sighed as he straightened in his seat. “So...you don’t want to press charges.”
“No. He did nothing wrong.”
“Bullshit,” Sean interjected, causing everyone’s heads to snap in his direction. “That’s my house! I didn’t invite him in! And I don’t take being threatened by some young punk with powers---!”
“We can bring that charge against him, Mr. Foley, but if your son refuses to do anything for–”
“Richard, you tell that man the truth! You tell him the truth! Don’t you lie for him because you’re scared of him!”
“I’m not lying,” Richie said quietly, refusing to meet his father’s eyes.
Sean rose from his chair, looking furious as he looked over at Lewis. Lewis merely shrugged, shaking his head in helplessness. “Richard’s underage. He’s my son. I want to press charges.”
“We can work with you on that, Mr. Foley. But as far as Richard’s concerned, if Stone hadn’t threatened him or hurt him, we can’t work with that. The case would drop on lack of evidence.”
“Richard!”
“I’m sorry, da–!”
“Mr. Foley, would you like to take this conversation to another room?” Lewis asked curiously. “We can talk things out, there.”
Sean looked ready to argue, but he suddenly calmed. Resuming his seat, he shook his head. “I’m just pissed that my son has been lying and sneaking around, sir. Excuse me.”
Lewis nodded, then looked at the others. While everyone left their seats, he took his time getting up from his. Looking at Richie, he said quietly, “Thanks for coming down here to tell us this, Richard. As for your late night activities, it just wouldn’t do to get caught up in that scene. We don’t want to see you down here with the others–please reconsider your lifestyle and the experiments you partake in. There is so much hate and violence in this city–it just wouldn’t do if someone like you got caught up in it. There’s hope for you. Understand?”
“...yes, sir.”
Lewis tucked his chair underneath the table, and looked at the parents. “Thanks for coming down here, Mr and Mrs Foley. As for those charges, I’ll need you to fill out a few forms. Those can be located in front.”
“Thank you.”
Nearly an hour later, Richie felt incredibly tense and sick as he sat in the back seat of the Corolla, staring out the window. He couldn’t possibly feel worse–leaving Hotstreak, having Virgil find out his secret in the worst way and having him hate him for being ‘disgusting’, and for his parents to listen to more of his lies and his inadvertent coming out. His stomach twisted with a knot that made him grimace, his hands going to cover the ache. His head started to pound with tension, and he felt sicker the closer they got to their house.
His father was furious. Sean wasn’t known for his restraint when he was furious.
Vaguely, he wondered if there was some sort of Freudian complex in his love for an explosively tempered pyro, whose temper seemed to match his father’s. But he took that back. Because Francis Stone knew when to control himself, thinking of consequences maybe a second too late–but his father never did.
His bruises ached mournfully as they pulled up into the driveway. He wished Virgil would get over his anger. He hoped that his best friend would someday understand. He swallowed hard and took a deep breath when they got out of the car. He took his time as he headed into the forlorn two story house. When he felt his father’s fingers curl over his upper arm, and a snarl leave his lips, he knew it was okay to cry. He was going to, anyway.
OooooooooooO
Virgil hesitated in shutting his locker door, his eyes flitting over to where Richie’s was. The boy hadn’t come to school in a week, and he felt intensely bad for what had transpired before they’d parted. He wondered if Richie were staying home because he was depressed, or if his parents had other plans for him. Apparently, from what he learned when he visited Lewis that night, Richie had been staying out late at nights and partaking in activities that weren’t cooperative with the law. Which made him feel worse, because he felt that Richie had lied about such things to avoid confessing being one of the two superheroes of Dakota...which also brought to mind that while Richie Foley was absent from school, Gear was absent from superheroism. Lewis had asked where he was–Static hurriedly mentioned a secret mission with the Justice League just to give his partner space.
Sullenly, he slammed his locker shut. He still felt what he did about Richie’s choice to become involved with Hotstreak–now that a majority of his shock had passed, he was able to sort through his emotions on the situation. He felt minutely disgusted that his friend preferred guys over girls–but he could work with that. He could accept it better than he had when he found out. But he still felt hurt and betrayed that Richie carried on such activities with Hotstreak–but finding this out sure explained a lot of things. He couldn’t understand the love that could pass between two men, but he could understand love. Love was love in many things–for friends, family, girlfriends/boyfriends–and if Richie thought he found it in his worst enemy...then what was his opinion going to matter with his friend’s decision to love him?
Was it even love? He thought that Hotstreak was just taking advantage of his friend and using him to get his jail cell lovin’ ass for jail-like pleasures...
But he couldn’t think that way whenever he reflected on the older male’s face that day, when he pushed away from Richie. That single expression had shown him many volumes of feelings that he’d never considered the guy having. That guy actually felt things for Richie. He actually cared for him. And that’s what stumped Virgil–sure, Richie was a great guy, but was he a guy that actually inspired someone like Hotstreak to...to care for him that way? Big, tough, bigoted and violent Hotstreak with geeky, awkward, silly, excitable Richie? It just seemed...wrong. But right. Like Frieda said that other day: if they were together, the world would make sense. Opposites attract.
But why two males?
That was the thing Virgil didn’t understand. He wasn’t homophobic–just severely uncomfortable with the aspect. Even more so when he wondered why Richie just didn’t keep it in the closet. He would be more comfortable with it, then. He would be comfortable with...with not knowing.
He felt intensely evil. He didn’t want to feel this way–but why deny what he felt? He had to learn to accept it, though–maybe Richie was avoiding him for a reason. Virgil compared himself to the likes of Alva as he headed to class. To have his best friend scared of him, for being the way that he was, made Virgil intensely guilty.
He felt lonely without Richie/Gear. Patrols were quiet and he found himself yearning to have his partner back at his side. They could fly through Dakota, talking, joking and laughing as they always had, having fun getting the bad guys...but this time, Static would be concerned with making sure Gear wasn’t hitting on him, or flirting with him.
Not that he had before, he thought with a frown, taking his seat. It was just the principle of the thing.
Or...perhaps he had...and Virgil hadn’t noticed. He reached up to clench his dreads, glaring at his desk. Why did things have to come this way? To be so complicated? It was bad enough they were having a hard time with other things in their lives–why this?
But he missed Richie. And he had some apologies to make, considerations to consider. He could go on and on about how homosexuality being so close to him made him wary, but while he did that... he’d never have his friend back. Richie pulled away from him for a good reason–because he must have known Virgil’s reaction.
He knew, and prepared himself–and Virgil had indeed reacted in the worst way.
“Some friend I am,” he muttered sullenly to himself. “Can’t even accept a person that I knew for years for what he is.”
“Huh?” Daisy asked from beside him, blinking. “What?”
“Oh...nothin’.”
Ooo ooooooooO
He knew that what he was doing was incredibly stupid–certainly not one of his most intelligent of ideas. But his own motivation and his own guilt and feelings kept him walking, knowing where Ebon usually hung out if he weren’t with the other members of the Breed. The Projects were filled with their usual chaos and noise, and finding Ebon’s crew was easy–looking for the big group of flashy cars and the loud bass had been a mere twenty minute search.
They were stationed in an abandoned lot between two buildings scheduled to be condemned, and everyone was having their time with some broads, money, drink and drugs. Something he wasn’t new to, and certainly wasn’t shocked by.
When he found the group, he felt himself hesitating. Did he really want to do this? He had a vague idea of what could happen–he was by himself. He was outnumbered. But he had his powers, and he doubted anybody could come up with enough water to disable him. He just wanted to set things straight with
Ebon...and...in a way...let the guy have his revenge for the foiling of his plans last week with him. With Hotstreak. If Ebon was still pissed, the redhead was willing to let the guy take his rage out on him...not on Richie. It was the only diversion he could think of without actually incriminating himself on the relationship he had with the blond.
He swallowed hard, then took a deep breath. Being on the run from the authorities and Ebon’s crew had been tiring...but he could do it. His own gang and friends had helped him along, but this pressing issue with Ebon kept him from totally relaxing. He just...couldn’t let the guy get at Richie, just because of him.
So, he came up with this brilliant plan–confront Ebon on his own turf, with no Crew to back him up. Pluses and aces if Ebon had his crew with him. His humiliation would be satisfying enough for Ebon to forget about Richie. He was sure of it.
He’d dressed himself in dark clothing to avoid drawing attention from people on the street, and his hair was covered by both a sweater hood and a baseball cap. The incoming night helped disguise him as well.
So, as he crossed the street to walk up to the loud laughter and activities from Ebon’s gang, no one paid too much attention until he grew close enough to shout for Ebon.
Instantly, attention was drawn toward him, and he fought the urge to lash out at this moment. When everyone realized that he was here, on his own, without his crew, they grew cocky. Shouts filled the air, everyone keeping a cautious distance as all eyes turned to him. He stuffed his hands into his sweater pocket–if they allowed him in, saw him as a non-threat for now...
Someone let loose with a full beer bottle, and it crashed at his feet. Someone else threw some rocks, and taunts about his sexuality began. He ignored it all, looking for Ebon as he strolled within the hornet’s nest, looking for the living shadow. Inside, his street instincts were screaming about how stupid he was, that if he attacked now–he’d leave intact.
But he kept thinking of how Richie would open his arms to him in bed–that gesture of solace and readiness to give comfort propelled him. Ebon would have none of that.
Ebon appeared nearby, simply rising from the shadows cast on the ground from the nearby street lights, his eyes narrowed as he confronted the other meta.
“Thought you ran away, sucka,” his gravelly voice was filled with contempt as he faced Hotstreak, his boys surrounding the pair of them. Hotstreak heard hurried whispers, and sensed movement leading away from the scene–but he focused on Ebon, keeping his hands deep within his sweater pocket. “You got balls, punk, gettin’ here in my face. Without your Crew.”
“Ain’t no need fo’ them,” Hotstreak muttered, shoulders tense. “Came to you directly. You still pissed I kept you from your bitch?”
“Fuck you, cracker. You ain’t shit.”
“No need to get all up on this...I’m right here. Wanna have words? I’m right here. Willin’ to listen. Never even looked at anybody, yet. You can spit your little whine at me right here.”
“Got words with you, you fuckin’ jailbait. Yeah, I’m pissed. Pissed that you still ain’t shit. You still ain’t enough for me to even worry about. You still just nothin’. I’m pissed off, cuz I don’t have anybody to fuck around, with. No equal–no one. Yet, you come on up here, like you’re somethin’, and I gotta do somethin’, now.”
“You scared of me, Ebon?”
“You ain’t never inspired fear in me, Francis,” Ebon said with a sneer, shaking his head. “You ain’t nothin’ but a boy. On the wrong side of the tracks. Tryin’ to be somethin’ he ain’t. You nothin’ to me, son. Don’t know why you be doin’ this shit.”
“Wanna set shit straight wit’ ya. Givin’ ya a chance to say what’s on yer mind. Right here.”
Ebon snorted, shaking his head from side to side. “Ain’t got nothin’ to say to you. I don’t care what shit you plan on. Just that you made your last mistake.”
“What’chu gonna go? Talk to me death? Ain’t nothin’–Static did worse.”
“Static’s a bitch. Just like you. Someone be likin’ you real good in prison, Francis. Which is where you’ll end up. Right after a brief stay in County.”
“Sounds interestin’. What’s takin’ me to County?”
“Gotta lotta enemies here, Stone. It ain’t all me. Some of these boys are pissed you and your crew fucked over their families–brothers, cousins...women. Some of them been wantin’ you more than me.”
“So, what’chu gonna do? Have them talk me ta death?”
Ebon sneered at him. “You came here. You on my turf. You deal with what I give out. You ain’t shit, Stone. An’ I’ll make sure you know that. I’ll break you. Me an’ my boys...”
“Cuz you need help with doin’ it, huh? Can’t do things on your own. Haveta have other people to do shit for you,” Hotstreak sneered back, shaking his head. “You pathetic, man. Utterly.”
“Says you.”
The harsh hiss of the fire extinguisher startled him, his sweater being soaked as the retardant covered him from head to toe. He was expecting something of this nature, but not so soon. As soon as that extinguisher was set off, another and another was being used on him. He ducked to avoid being sprayed in the face, and that’s when the attack began. He expected it–just not so soon.
He heard Ebon laughing hysterically as he was jumped by several of his crew, various weaponry of considerable weight being brought down onto his vulnerable frame. He merely did what he could to produce a show of fighting back, but it wasn’t enough. He wasn’t enough to fight back against ten or more guys that were eager to show him just how much they hated him. He had to curl up on the ground, arms around his face, feeling everything that was being done in revenge and hate–to endure this, he thought of Richie.
Ebon would lose interest in him because of this. Because he got his revenge. That brought Hotstreak immense satisfaction. He did what he could to keep Richie from getting hurt–now, it was all on him. He had to do the rest.
OooooooooooO
That night, Static considered heading over to Richie’s house, to somehow coax him into coming out so that they could...talk. And he knew he wasn’t going to lose his cool like last time. He believed that Richie had no more secrets to tell–unless...he were a girl, or something, and even then–! He shook his head as he coasted through the normal route he took around the Projects. He resolved himself to go and talk to Richie–but he was hesitating. He didn’t want his friend to shut himself away from him again, and was planning out his every word.
A commotion upon an empty lot drew his attention, and he coasted over with a casual outlook, wondering what this group of familiars were doing. A bunch of vehicles with tinted windows, chrome, and men that dressed in dark clothing and gold–Ebon’s human gang. He furrowed his brow, wondering what they were doing when he realized they were all surrounding something. Once he drew closer, he reacted with some shock.
Ebon was standing over Hotstreak, screaming obscenities and insults, and punctuating each one with a savage kick to the guy’s obviously unconscious body. There was blood everywhere, and there were at least twenty of those guys armed with weaponry. The ground was pretty muddy, several fire extinguishers lying around in haphazard manner–Ebon exploited the guy’s weakness, and him and his gang went in for the kill.
His only real thought was that Richie was going to be really depressed if he found out Hotstreak had died.
“Hey, hey, hey!” he shouted, startling the lot. Immediately, everyone was racing for their vehicles, guns being drawn in defense. He deflected bullets with a simple shield as he zoomed in close, eyeing Ebon in particular.
“Fuck you, Static!” the man roared, stepping away from Hotstreak. “I just settled my business! Ain’t nothin’ with you!”
“Did you kill him?” Static shouted in a slight panic. Dead bodies just didn’t settle with him. Even those he would love to see dead.
“I better have! He ain’t fuck wit’ me, no more,” Ebon muttered, his shadowy form starting to disappear as he began sinking into the ground.
Static considered zapping him just to make him stick around a little more, but jumped from his disk, ignoring the sounds of various vehicles pulling away from the lot.
Everyone was making their getaway–but he refused to give chase. As far as he was concerned, Hotstreak got what he deserved. He walked over to the prone body, looking for any signs of life. The older male’s face was slack, his facial muscles loose in his unconscious state. He saw the rise and fall of his back, and could hear the snoring associated with the half blockage of an air passageway, so the guy was breathing...
It looked as if every one of those gang members had a chance to beat him–boot prints all over his clothing, blood from various open wounds...it was hard to tell just how many bloody wounds he had, considering the baggy, black clothing...the man was also covered in dirt and retardant.
Static stared down at him in open mouthed silence, having seen dead bodies in such states before, but never of anyone he knew personally. He looked around himself...he was gawking, really. He should be getting help. But to see Hotstreak as a victim rather than the batterer...it made him feel...vindicated.
A flurry of feathers and a feminine gasp caused him to jump back, Talon slamming into the ground at Hotstreak’s side, pulling him up from the dirt. She was slightly hysterical as she checked for signs of life, awkwardly pulling his head into her lap. The snoring was alleviated, but the gurgling noises were obvious. He had serious chest injuries.
She looked up at him, digging her fingers into the dirt and flinging it at him.
“Aren’t you going to help?” she shrieked, her voice breaking and raising in volume. “How could you just stand there?”
Static was jolted into moving, numbly throwing his disk out, jumping onto it. Talon was just sitting there, crying softly as she tried waking up the unconscious man.
Shaking his head to clear out his dazed state at coming upon this scene, millions of questions suddenly filtering through his sobered mood, Static hurried out for help–even though a small part of him wanted to take as much time as it did to keep the guy from waking up again.
Chapter Eleven:
Richie was trying not to cry–he had to admit that as he hurried down the sidewalk. His mind wasn’t focused on many things but on the person he had to leave behind. He knew what he had to look forward to in the future, and that wasn’t doing very well with him. But he knew his role.
He wiped at his eyes, fighting hard to look as if he weren’t crying. Because he wasn’t. Really. Just...his allergies were acting up.
So focused on his task was he that he didn’t hear Static approach him until a hand reached out and grabbed his shoulder. Startled, he whirled around, knocking his head into Static’s disk. He hissed with pain as Static leapt off his disk with hurried apologies.
“Where the hell have you been?” Static demanded, giving him a frantic look. “You know, you’ve got the police looking for you! And your parents are worried sick, Richie!”
“They are? The police?” Richie asked, rubbing his forehead as he squinted at his friend. “What for?”
“They said Hotstreak–” there was a funny catch to Static’s voice that made Richie blink, seeing the way his friend’s eyes widened, glazed, then refocused on him, “they said he kidnaped you.”
Richie shook his head furiously. “No. No, he didn’t. He just----he just wanted to talk.”
“Talk...right...”
Richie looked at him closely, and didn’t miss the way Static pulled himself backwards, clumsily keeping their distance. He gave his friend a confused expression.
“What?”
“Er..nothin& #8217;. Nothin’! Just–you need to let your parents know you’re okay. They are worried sick!”
“Oh, I’ll bet,” Richie muttered, turning away from him.
“Where have you been?” Static then asked, hurrying to keep up with him. “Where did you go? Are you all right? You weren’t hurt, were you–?”
“No! All right? I wasn’t hurt, there’s nothin’ wrong with me, it’s just all–I thought you were mad at me...”
Static pointed at a nearby byway that led into the back entrance of a boutique, away from prying eyes and ears. Richie walked into it, glancing at him curiously as he removed his hand from his forehead. As the two walked in, Static had to control himself from screaming and demanding out loud, every detail (well, certain details excluded, of course) that he had on Hotstreak and his relationship. Not for the sake of gossip, but for...other things.
“What’s goin’ on, Richie?” he demanded, facing his friend, arms crossed over his chest. “What is really going on with you?”
“N-nothing. I mean...it’s all the same.”
NO IT ISN’T! Static’s inner Static screamed maniacally.
“Your parents mentioned you staying out late...you been caught coming in from patrol? Or...or is there something you’re not telling me?”
Richie blinked, then shook his head–then looked at him closely. He tried for a nervous laugh. “What are you, my mom?” he asked, failing miserably for a smile when Static tightened his expression.
“Is there somethin’ you need to tell me, Richie?” he asked, his tone deepening and lowering. “Somethin’ that needs to be told? For the sake of our friendship?”
Richie stared at him in silence for a few moments, then gave an expression of disbelief. “O-our friendship? V! What the hell–?”
“You’re keeping something from me, an’ you don’t want to tell me, because either you’re scared, or because it compromises the both of us!” Static shouted angrily.
He punctuated his shouts with the back of his hand against his open palm. “You’ve been lying to me, you’ve been avoiding me, you’ve been keeping things from me, and makin’ me feel as if I ain’t adequate enough to be your confidante! I’ve been everything to you for years, an’ for you to push me away like this–!”
“Why are you being so damn uppity about what I do, Virgil?” Richie cried. “I’m allowed to keep some things from you! I’m allowed to choose what I say to you, or what I don’t! If I don’t want to tell you something, then I’m not going to tell you–!”
“It wasn’t like that before him!” Static screamed. “Before him, you were tellin’ me everything! You were right there beside me, all the time, keepin’ no secrets–!”
“So, just because I have a life outside of what we have, I’m the bad guy here? And what do you mean, ‘he’?”
“HIM! You know who and what I’m talkin’ about, Richie! Ever since he came back to school, you got all screwy. You started hiding things from me. You won’t talk to me. You won’t–!”
“STOP! I won’t have this conversation with you! I won’t argue with you about this! I don’t fuckin’ care what–!”
“There ya go. Pushing me away again,” Static huffed, pushing his hands through the air. “‘Step off, Virgil, you aren’t important, anymore’. ‘Don’t tell me that guy’s bad, Virgil, because he’s really not underneath all that bullyin’ an’ violence...’”
“I HAVE NEVER–!”
“IS there somethin’ you want to tell me, Richie?” Static interrupted, arms crossed over his chest. “Is there somethin’ I should need to know?”
Richie stared at him in silence, then shook his head, his eyes staying on him the entire time.
Static lost it.
“Well, since it ain’t comin’ from you, let me tell you what I just saw not even ten minutes ago, Richard. I just saw you, an’ my most hated enemy, in a fuckin’ liplock that rivaled Anna and Enrique...I was willin’ to let you talk to me about things. I was willin’ to listen to whatever you had to say. I wanted you to tell me on your own. But apparently, I ain’t that important to tell,” Static snapped, staring at the rush of blood that fell from his friend’s face, the rapid shift of eyes.
“Keepin’ that stuff from me...why? WHY? WHY, RICHIE? Why with him? Why with guys? I fucking HATE him! I fucking hate him, and everything he stands for, an’–an’ you all up on his dick. It’s fucking disgusting, man. Fucking disgusting. I can’t believe you! He’s the one you’ve been gettin’ all those things from–! Like now! It’s disgusting, Richie!”
All his anger, his pent-up hurt and concern, spilled out in that frustrating and venting shout, each word laced with his every emotion. His thoughts, and his unexpressed hurts. He wanted Richie to know how he felt about everything, and wanted to get it out in the clear. But his words weren’t the right ones...nor were they the smartest. He realized this as soon as he shut his mouth, staring at his friend with a sullen expression.
Richie stared at him in silence, then did the strangest thing–his expression went blank, shutting away whatever and all that he was feeling and thinking, leaving Static with nothing to see but an emptiness that was common on the faces of those he didn’t know very well. That hurt, but nothing hurt more than knowing their friendship was being destroyed by something like Francis Stone.
“I understand,” Richie said quietly, nodding slightly. “Is...is that all? I have to get home.”
Static wanted to take everything back. If only Nina hadn’t lost her powers–! “Richie, wait.”
“No, I understand. It’s all right. If that’s how you feel, Virgil, that’s how you feel. I never wanted to tell you, because...because I knew I would lose you. But...it’s all in the open, now. You know my big bad secret. Just...just know that...if I had the chance...I’d never take it back. I’d just do it again. And again. Not to spite you–but because I had felt good. I was happy. I’ll see you later, all right? At school, maybe...”
“...Richie, wait...”
Richie turned, waving over his shoulder as he walked off.
Static’s mouth clamped tightly shut, and he wanted to kick himself. He hadn’t wanted to push his friend away...but he felt so damn...hurt! He didn’t know any other way to express himself, and all his emotions had pushed to the surface, leaving him in an uncontrollable mess that just pushed them even further apart.
What was worse, was that he still didn’t approve of this relationship; that he couldn’t readily accept that his friend liked guys; that the guy he was apparently ‘happy’ with was his enemy. He couldn’t just say, “Oh, that’s okay, man,” because it wasn’t. It really wasn’t. He loved Richie–he really did. He would do anything for the guy–but for him to reveal these things, uncomfortable unknown things that made Virgil Hawkins terribly uneasy, this was one of those times where the mouth moved faster than the acceptance.
He felt extremely terrible for feeling this way–but this was THE WAY! He couldn’t just ACCEPT things just like that, in a snap. One had to give a guy time to adjust! And this time was just way too full of drama...too much drama. He needed a break from it all. He needed...he needed time. He needed time for Richie to settle his affairs; he needed time to accept his friend’s sexuality; he needed TIME TO ACCEPT THIS CHANGE!
His head slumped, and he unfolded his disk. It looked like a long, hard road ahead of him.
OooooooooooO
Richie’s mother greeted him enthusiastically when he walked through the door, pouncing on him with much relief, cheer and concern. Her hands flitted to his naked face, looking for injuries, questioning his whereabouts–it felt good to have someone giving him the comfort that he felt he needed during such a tumultuous time. He almost started to cry when Sean walked hurriedly into the foyer, and Richie felt himself close up again, looking at his father stoically.
Lewis had wanted to see him if he showed up at home. The three headed down to the police station in intense silence.
Richie wondered when his father was going to speak to him, but from the sight of white knuckles and tight lips, he wondered just how long his father was actually going to hold back.
The questioning was general–they just wanted to know what Hotstreak wanted. He thought of what he’d said in the car; he hadn’t known the police were on their trail.
“I tutored him at the high school,” he said quietly, fiddling with his fingers. He was sitting across from Lewis and a couple of detectives, including a man that looked to be Hotstreak’s parole officer, and his mother and father were sitting off to the side. “Um...we just...talked. I guess it’s hard for him to...open up to someone. But...we talked good enough.”
“He confided in you?” Lewis asked, raising his eyebrows. “Can I ask about what?”
“He...he wasn’t sure if he was doing the right thing. Sticking to his parole. He...he had a lot of problems with trying to stick to that. A lot of pressure from his so-called friends...but I tried telling him that it was good.”
“But he didn’t think so.”
Richie shook his head.
“So he broke into your house–”
“He didn’t break in,” Richie said hurriedly, shaking his head again. “I...I told him if he...if he ever wanted to talk, he could...come talk to me. Basically, he was invited to my home. Only...only it wasn’t the best time for him to ring the doorbell–”
“At three o’clock in the morning?” his father snarled, Lewis looking over at him with a questioning glance. “He wanted to talk to you at three o’clock in the fuckin’ morning? Why couldn’t he wait?”
“If you don’t mind, sir, I’ll ask the questions,” Lewis interjected, holding up a hand. He turned back to Richie, who kept his stoic expression as he looked across the table at the four men. “How did he know how to enter?”
“I...told him...if needs be, he can come up there. So...not to disturb my parents,” Richie said carefully, making sure not to make any sort of eye contact with his parents. “My window was open. He knew the invitation was there, and he used it.”
“So, you’re good friends with him–?”
“No. No, I...I’m not. He just...needed someone to talk to. Someone, I guess, that wasn’t influenced like the others he ran around with.”
“You’ve got some injuries on you.” Lewis indicated his neck, and Richie flushed.
“No, I–I got...these...um...before.”
“You have a girlfriend?”
“Uh...I...”
“We need to verify your coming home late last night...your mother mentioned that you were seemingly under the influence...care to explain for the benefit of your parents, and for our records? As far as we know, you might have assisted Stone in his escape...”
“NO! I didn’t–! Look. I...I sneak out a lot. I...I get tired of being...of–of rules. I sneak out, and I meet people, and...” It wasn’t all a lie. He did sneak out. He did get tired of rules, and as far as he knew, he was meeting people–as Gear. But he couldn’t say that. “...I was...I did get a contact high.”
“You were under the influence of drugs?”
“No. I was...I was around it. But I won’t give names or locations, because that’s not important. I didn’t get any injuries from...from him. I didn’t do anything wrong–I’m a teenager. I experiment.”
“Then your girlfriend...she can verify your appearance?”
Richie was quiet for a few moments, then glanced at his parents nervously before looking Lewis in the eye. “I choose not to bring my boyfriend into this matter...I don’t want to out him.”
Lewis looked startled for a few moments, then shrugged. “So, all Francis Stone did was...was talk. Did he...mention he was running from anybody...? Anything important that we should be knowing about...?”
“He just...wasn’t sure if he was doing the right thing. He did nothing wrong, that I know of. He just wanted to talk.”
“So, he took you–”
“I went with him.”
“–broke into your parents’ house–”
“I invited him in with saying that my room was always open for him!”
“–noticeably forced you out while you were recovering from this so-called contact high from an undisclosed party with a closeted boyfriend...and all he wanted to do was talk?” Lewis’ skeptical tone made Richie shift in his seat, feeling more than awkward and nervous as he tried hard to clear Hotstreak’s name from this breaking and entering offense....
“Yes, sir.”
“He commonly threatens you and beats you up at Dakota Union...there’s no need to protect him, son. We know his kind. We know what he’s capable of. If needs be, we can transfer you and your family out of the area to–”
“I’m not afraid of him, and yes, he does beat me up at school. But I hold no grudges against him, nor do I feel the need to run away from him.”
“He is capable of killing, son,” Lewis said seriously, unblinking as he stared at Richie. “He can kill you, and your parents if he felt he were being threatened.”
“He shouldn’t have to feel that way with me,” Richie said quietly, staring at his hands. “I’m nothing threatening to him. I don’t know him enough to blackmail him with anything, nor would I take the chance to confess his secrets, should he ever confide them in me. If he comes up to me wanting to talk, I’ll listen. Mainly because he felt comfortable enough with me to do so in the first place...”
“It sounds as if you’re closer to him than you’re letting us know,” Lewis said quietly, raising an eyebrow.
“He trusts me,” Richie said evenly, looking at him. “That’s all there is.”
Lewis tapped his pen against his pad of paper, the others making hasty notes in their own pads. Finally, he glanced over at Richie’s parents, and sighed as he straightened in his seat. “So...you don’t want to press charges.”
“No. He did nothing wrong.”
“Bullshit,” Sean interjected, causing everyone’s heads to snap in his direction. “That’s my house! I didn’t invite him in! And I don’t take being threatened by some young punk with powers---!”
“We can bring that charge against him, Mr. Foley, but if your son refuses to do anything for–”
“Richard, you tell that man the truth! You tell him the truth! Don’t you lie for him because you’re scared of him!”
“I’m not lying,” Richie said quietly, refusing to meet his father’s eyes.
Sean rose from his chair, looking furious as he looked over at Lewis. Lewis merely shrugged, shaking his head in helplessness. “Richard’s underage. He’s my son. I want to press charges.”
“We can work with you on that, Mr. Foley. But as far as Richard’s concerned, if Stone hadn’t threatened him or hurt him, we can’t work with that. The case would drop on lack of evidence.”
“Richard!”
“I’m sorry, da–!”
“Mr. Foley, would you like to take this conversation to another room?” Lewis asked curiously. “We can talk things out, there.”
Sean looked ready to argue, but he suddenly calmed. Resuming his seat, he shook his head. “I’m just pissed that my son has been lying and sneaking around, sir. Excuse me.”
Lewis nodded, then looked at the others. While everyone left their seats, he took his time getting up from his. Looking at Richie, he said quietly, “Thanks for coming down here to tell us this, Richard. As for your late night activities, it just wouldn’t do to get caught up in that scene. We don’t want to see you down here with the others–please reconsider your lifestyle and the experiments you partake in. There is so much hate and violence in this city–it just wouldn’t do if someone like you got caught up in it. There’s hope for you. Understand?”
“...yes, sir.”
Lewis tucked his chair underneath the table, and looked at the parents. “Thanks for coming down here, Mr and Mrs Foley. As for those charges, I’ll need you to fill out a few forms. Those can be located in front.”
“Thank you.”
Nearly an hour later, Richie felt incredibly tense and sick as he sat in the back seat of the Corolla, staring out the window. He couldn’t possibly feel worse–leaving Hotstreak, having Virgil find out his secret in the worst way and having him hate him for being ‘disgusting’, and for his parents to listen to more of his lies and his inadvertent coming out. His stomach twisted with a knot that made him grimace, his hands going to cover the ache. His head started to pound with tension, and he felt sicker the closer they got to their house.
His father was furious. Sean wasn’t known for his restraint when he was furious.
Vaguely, he wondered if there was some sort of Freudian complex in his love for an explosively tempered pyro, whose temper seemed to match his father’s. But he took that back. Because Francis Stone knew when to control himself, thinking of consequences maybe a second too late–but his father never did.
His bruises ached mournfully as they pulled up into the driveway. He wished Virgil would get over his anger. He hoped that his best friend would someday understand. He swallowed hard and took a deep breath when they got out of the car. He took his time as he headed into the forlorn two story house. When he felt his father’s fingers curl over his upper arm, and a snarl leave his lips, he knew it was okay to cry. He was going to, anyway.
OooooooooooO
Virgil hesitated in shutting his locker door, his eyes flitting over to where Richie’s was. The boy hadn’t come to school in a week, and he felt intensely bad for what had transpired before they’d parted. He wondered if Richie were staying home because he was depressed, or if his parents had other plans for him. Apparently, from what he learned when he visited Lewis that night, Richie had been staying out late at nights and partaking in activities that weren’t cooperative with the law. Which made him feel worse, because he felt that Richie had lied about such things to avoid confessing being one of the two superheroes of Dakota...which also brought to mind that while Richie Foley was absent from school, Gear was absent from superheroism. Lewis had asked where he was–Static hurriedly mentioned a secret mission with the Justice League just to give his partner space.
Sullenly, he slammed his locker shut. He still felt what he did about Richie’s choice to become involved with Hotstreak–now that a majority of his shock had passed, he was able to sort through his emotions on the situation. He felt minutely disgusted that his friend preferred guys over girls–but he could work with that. He could accept it better than he had when he found out. But he still felt hurt and betrayed that Richie carried on such activities with Hotstreak–but finding this out sure explained a lot of things. He couldn’t understand the love that could pass between two men, but he could understand love. Love was love in many things–for friends, family, girlfriends/boyfriends–and if Richie thought he found it in his worst enemy...then what was his opinion going to matter with his friend’s decision to love him?
Was it even love? He thought that Hotstreak was just taking advantage of his friend and using him to get his jail cell lovin’ ass for jail-like pleasures...
But he couldn’t think that way whenever he reflected on the older male’s face that day, when he pushed away from Richie. That single expression had shown him many volumes of feelings that he’d never considered the guy having. That guy actually felt things for Richie. He actually cared for him. And that’s what stumped Virgil–sure, Richie was a great guy, but was he a guy that actually inspired someone like Hotstreak to...to care for him that way? Big, tough, bigoted and violent Hotstreak with geeky, awkward, silly, excitable Richie? It just seemed...wrong. But right. Like Frieda said that other day: if they were together, the world would make sense. Opposites attract.
But why two males?
That was the thing Virgil didn’t understand. He wasn’t homophobic–just severely uncomfortable with the aspect. Even more so when he wondered why Richie just didn’t keep it in the closet. He would be more comfortable with it, then. He would be comfortable with...with not knowing.
He felt intensely evil. He didn’t want to feel this way–but why deny what he felt? He had to learn to accept it, though–maybe Richie was avoiding him for a reason. Virgil compared himself to the likes of Alva as he headed to class. To have his best friend scared of him, for being the way that he was, made Virgil intensely guilty.
He felt lonely without Richie/Gear. Patrols were quiet and he found himself yearning to have his partner back at his side. They could fly through Dakota, talking, joking and laughing as they always had, having fun getting the bad guys...but this time, Static would be concerned with making sure Gear wasn’t hitting on him, or flirting with him.
Not that he had before, he thought with a frown, taking his seat. It was just the principle of the thing.
Or...perhaps he had...and Virgil hadn’t noticed. He reached up to clench his dreads, glaring at his desk. Why did things have to come this way? To be so complicated? It was bad enough they were having a hard time with other things in their lives–why this?
But he missed Richie. And he had some apologies to make, considerations to consider. He could go on and on about how homosexuality being so close to him made him wary, but while he did that... he’d never have his friend back. Richie pulled away from him for a good reason–because he must have known Virgil’s reaction.
He knew, and prepared himself–and Virgil had indeed reacted in the worst way.
“Some friend I am,” he muttered sullenly to himself. “Can’t even accept a person that I knew for years for what he is.”
“Huh?” Daisy asked from beside him, blinking. “What?”
“Oh...nothin’.”
Ooo ooooooooO
He knew that what he was doing was incredibly stupid–certainly not one of his most intelligent of ideas. But his own motivation and his own guilt and feelings kept him walking, knowing where Ebon usually hung out if he weren’t with the other members of the Breed. The Projects were filled with their usual chaos and noise, and finding Ebon’s crew was easy–looking for the big group of flashy cars and the loud bass had been a mere twenty minute search.
They were stationed in an abandoned lot between two buildings scheduled to be condemned, and everyone was having their time with some broads, money, drink and drugs. Something he wasn’t new to, and certainly wasn’t shocked by.
When he found the group, he felt himself hesitating. Did he really want to do this? He had a vague idea of what could happen–he was by himself. He was outnumbered. But he had his powers, and he doubted anybody could come up with enough water to disable him. He just wanted to set things straight with
Ebon...and...in a way...let the guy have his revenge for the foiling of his plans last week with him. With Hotstreak. If Ebon was still pissed, the redhead was willing to let the guy take his rage out on him...not on Richie. It was the only diversion he could think of without actually incriminating himself on the relationship he had with the blond.
He swallowed hard, then took a deep breath. Being on the run from the authorities and Ebon’s crew had been tiring...but he could do it. His own gang and friends had helped him along, but this pressing issue with Ebon kept him from totally relaxing. He just...couldn’t let the guy get at Richie, just because of him.
So, he came up with this brilliant plan–confront Ebon on his own turf, with no Crew to back him up. Pluses and aces if Ebon had his crew with him. His humiliation would be satisfying enough for Ebon to forget about Richie. He was sure of it.
He’d dressed himself in dark clothing to avoid drawing attention from people on the street, and his hair was covered by both a sweater hood and a baseball cap. The incoming night helped disguise him as well.
So, as he crossed the street to walk up to the loud laughter and activities from Ebon’s gang, no one paid too much attention until he grew close enough to shout for Ebon.
Instantly, attention was drawn toward him, and he fought the urge to lash out at this moment. When everyone realized that he was here, on his own, without his crew, they grew cocky. Shouts filled the air, everyone keeping a cautious distance as all eyes turned to him. He stuffed his hands into his sweater pocket–if they allowed him in, saw him as a non-threat for now...
Someone let loose with a full beer bottle, and it crashed at his feet. Someone else threw some rocks, and taunts about his sexuality began. He ignored it all, looking for Ebon as he strolled within the hornet’s nest, looking for the living shadow. Inside, his street instincts were screaming about how stupid he was, that if he attacked now–he’d leave intact.
But he kept thinking of how Richie would open his arms to him in bed–that gesture of solace and readiness to give comfort propelled him. Ebon would have none of that.
Ebon appeared nearby, simply rising from the shadows cast on the ground from the nearby street lights, his eyes narrowed as he confronted the other meta.
“Thought you ran away, sucka,” his gravelly voice was filled with contempt as he faced Hotstreak, his boys surrounding the pair of them. Hotstreak heard hurried whispers, and sensed movement leading away from the scene–but he focused on Ebon, keeping his hands deep within his sweater pocket. “You got balls, punk, gettin’ here in my face. Without your Crew.”
“Ain’t no need fo’ them,” Hotstreak muttered, shoulders tense. “Came to you directly. You still pissed I kept you from your bitch?”
“Fuck you, cracker. You ain’t shit.”
“No need to get all up on this...I’m right here. Wanna have words? I’m right here. Willin’ to listen. Never even looked at anybody, yet. You can spit your little whine at me right here.”
“Got words with you, you fuckin’ jailbait. Yeah, I’m pissed. Pissed that you still ain’t shit. You still ain’t enough for me to even worry about. You still just nothin’. I’m pissed off, cuz I don’t have anybody to fuck around, with. No equal–no one. Yet, you come on up here, like you’re somethin’, and I gotta do somethin’, now.”
“You scared of me, Ebon?”
“You ain’t never inspired fear in me, Francis,” Ebon said with a sneer, shaking his head. “You ain’t nothin’ but a boy. On the wrong side of the tracks. Tryin’ to be somethin’ he ain’t. You nothin’ to me, son. Don’t know why you be doin’ this shit.”
“Wanna set shit straight wit’ ya. Givin’ ya a chance to say what’s on yer mind. Right here.”
Ebon snorted, shaking his head from side to side. “Ain’t got nothin’ to say to you. I don’t care what shit you plan on. Just that you made your last mistake.”
“What’chu gonna go? Talk to me death? Ain’t nothin’–Static did worse.”
“Static’s a bitch. Just like you. Someone be likin’ you real good in prison, Francis. Which is where you’ll end up. Right after a brief stay in County.”
“Sounds interestin’. What’s takin’ me to County?”
“Gotta lotta enemies here, Stone. It ain’t all me. Some of these boys are pissed you and your crew fucked over their families–brothers, cousins...women. Some of them been wantin’ you more than me.”
“So, what’chu gonna do? Have them talk me ta death?”
Ebon sneered at him. “You came here. You on my turf. You deal with what I give out. You ain’t shit, Stone. An’ I’ll make sure you know that. I’ll break you. Me an’ my boys...”
“Cuz you need help with doin’ it, huh? Can’t do things on your own. Haveta have other people to do shit for you,” Hotstreak sneered back, shaking his head. “You pathetic, man. Utterly.”
“Says you.”
The harsh hiss of the fire extinguisher startled him, his sweater being soaked as the retardant covered him from head to toe. He was expecting something of this nature, but not so soon. As soon as that extinguisher was set off, another and another was being used on him. He ducked to avoid being sprayed in the face, and that’s when the attack began. He expected it–just not so soon.
He heard Ebon laughing hysterically as he was jumped by several of his crew, various weaponry of considerable weight being brought down onto his vulnerable frame. He merely did what he could to produce a show of fighting back, but it wasn’t enough. He wasn’t enough to fight back against ten or more guys that were eager to show him just how much they hated him. He had to curl up on the ground, arms around his face, feeling everything that was being done in revenge and hate–to endure this, he thought of Richie.
Ebon would lose interest in him because of this. Because he got his revenge. That brought Hotstreak immense satisfaction. He did what he could to keep Richie from getting hurt–now, it was all on him. He had to do the rest.
OooooooooooO
That night, Static considered heading over to Richie’s house, to somehow coax him into coming out so that they could...talk. And he knew he wasn’t going to lose his cool like last time. He believed that Richie had no more secrets to tell–unless...he were a girl, or something, and even then–! He shook his head as he coasted through the normal route he took around the Projects. He resolved himself to go and talk to Richie–but he was hesitating. He didn’t want his friend to shut himself away from him again, and was planning out his every word.
A commotion upon an empty lot drew his attention, and he coasted over with a casual outlook, wondering what this group of familiars were doing. A bunch of vehicles with tinted windows, chrome, and men that dressed in dark clothing and gold–Ebon’s human gang. He furrowed his brow, wondering what they were doing when he realized they were all surrounding something. Once he drew closer, he reacted with some shock.
Ebon was standing over Hotstreak, screaming obscenities and insults, and punctuating each one with a savage kick to the guy’s obviously unconscious body. There was blood everywhere, and there were at least twenty of those guys armed with weaponry. The ground was pretty muddy, several fire extinguishers lying around in haphazard manner–Ebon exploited the guy’s weakness, and him and his gang went in for the kill.
His only real thought was that Richie was going to be really depressed if he found out Hotstreak had died.
“Hey, hey, hey!” he shouted, startling the lot. Immediately, everyone was racing for their vehicles, guns being drawn in defense. He deflected bullets with a simple shield as he zoomed in close, eyeing Ebon in particular.
“Fuck you, Static!” the man roared, stepping away from Hotstreak. “I just settled my business! Ain’t nothin’ with you!”
“Did you kill him?” Static shouted in a slight panic. Dead bodies just didn’t settle with him. Even those he would love to see dead.
“I better have! He ain’t fuck wit’ me, no more,” Ebon muttered, his shadowy form starting to disappear as he began sinking into the ground.
Static considered zapping him just to make him stick around a little more, but jumped from his disk, ignoring the sounds of various vehicles pulling away from the lot.
Everyone was making their getaway–but he refused to give chase. As far as he was concerned, Hotstreak got what he deserved. He walked over to the prone body, looking for any signs of life. The older male’s face was slack, his facial muscles loose in his unconscious state. He saw the rise and fall of his back, and could hear the snoring associated with the half blockage of an air passageway, so the guy was breathing...
It looked as if every one of those gang members had a chance to beat him–boot prints all over his clothing, blood from various open wounds...it was hard to tell just how many bloody wounds he had, considering the baggy, black clothing...the man was also covered in dirt and retardant.
Static stared down at him in open mouthed silence, having seen dead bodies in such states before, but never of anyone he knew personally. He looked around himself...he was gawking, really. He should be getting help. But to see Hotstreak as a victim rather than the batterer...it made him feel...vindicated.
A flurry of feathers and a feminine gasp caused him to jump back, Talon slamming into the ground at Hotstreak’s side, pulling him up from the dirt. She was slightly hysterical as she checked for signs of life, awkwardly pulling his head into her lap. The snoring was alleviated, but the gurgling noises were obvious. He had serious chest injuries.
She looked up at him, digging her fingers into the dirt and flinging it at him.
“Aren’t you going to help?” she shrieked, her voice breaking and raising in volume. “How could you just stand there?”
Static was jolted into moving, numbly throwing his disk out, jumping onto it. Talon was just sitting there, crying softly as she tried waking up the unconscious man.
Shaking his head to clear out his dazed state at coming upon this scene, millions of questions suddenly filtering through his sobered mood, Static hurried out for help–even though a small part of him wanted to take as much time as it did to keep the guy from waking up again.