Static Shock Fan Fiction ❯ Right Here ❯ Chapter Nineteen ( Chapter 19 )

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

Right Here
Chapter Nineteen


His slippered feet whispered along the scuffed floor. Ebon’s trial continued on with constant revelations of his crimes here in Dakota, and while D and V worked on quieting those that were anxious for shorter sentences as they were brought to the light, the members were carrying on their assigned tasks. Due to his fried brain, Shiv had been appointed as one of the executioners– “All he’ll ever be good for,” he’d heard D whisper to V.

They’d learned that he couldn’t do basic, independent thinking for himself–he needed guidance. Had lectured him on huffing–had looked down at him–treated him like a child. Which, in a way, he admitted he was. But he didn’t need to be condescended. Theresa hadn’t treated him this way–he still missed her. It was a harsh ache that never went away.

Shiv had gone about his duties, quietly, doing what had been appointed to him. At least he didn’t have to think much. If he continued following blindly, maybe they’d leave him alone.

They were moving their base of operations from the community center to another location–he was helping load all their belongings into a rental truck. Being the dead of night, not much activity was happening.

As days passed, and Dakota’s winter gradually eased into spring, Shiv found himself entertaining the thought of just–running away. Getting out of the city. He didn’t like the way D and V handled things; he didn’t like the way he was being treated. But while the thought made him hopeful, he knew what happened to those that had tried. Many were gunned down; car bombs were brought back into style; poisonings; one unlucky soul was tracked down into Mexico by some of V’s contacts.

Ebon’s rivals were literally beaten down into submission; Shiv had watched several of these incidents as rival gang members were taken into out; as more families were tortured; and the city officials being paid to look in the other direction.

D and V had things under their control; it had been foolhardy to think that they couldn’t have accomplished what they had between the pair of them.

He felt trapped; immobilized; forced into what he had to do just to survive. No one would understand these things, of course.

He picked up the remaining boxes in Ebon’s room, and prepared to haul them away when something fell from the top box. He set the others down with an annoyed snarl, and picked up the piece of clothing. A pair of dark green boxer-briefs. He looked at it with a stupefied expression, then made a face, holding it between his index finger and thumb, hoping that they were clean. He didn’t recall Ebon preferring this type of underwear, but it was in his belongings...

V had held a meeting last night, bringing him to a slow realization that things were actually going to work. Ebon was being sentenced for death, bringing Dakota to a relieved state. The trial was finally winding down, and arrangements were being made to transport the charged murderer to Dakota State Penitentiary. The exchange with Jerome Williams, who had gone understandably uneasy with the entire thing, was set to go down within the week; Ivan Evans was going to be examined for any trace of mutations that the previous cure missed. During the transport back, D, V, Jerome and a couple of the others would meet the transport to perform the exchange. Jerome had taken on Ivan’s mannerisms and looks with the help of Ivan’s crew members, and could easily pass as the former meta.

But as such, knowing what he was looking forward to made him very apprehensive. He was giving his life away for someone else.

Shiv was experiencing a mixture of feelings on Ivan’s return–for one thing, he wasn’t sure how well Ivan would adjust to the changes D and V had made to his business. He also wasn’t sure how he was going to adjust to the change of being human, not having his powers to rule. He knew Ebon had come to completely rely on his powers, the way he himself had. He hadn’t forgotten that V had told him to ‘not worry about it’, that it ‘was handled’...But he guessed he’d find out what that meant when they retrieved Ebon.

It was that next night when he found himself heading back into Dakota for something to eat; they had finished the move and it had been successful. No longer based at the half-finished community center, they had taken over a building scheduled to be condemned near the industrial area of Dakota; a sound structure set near Lake Dakota.

Kangorr was visiting with his daughters once more–Aaliyeah and Sierra, Shiv remembered, recalling the wallet-sized photos of two cute girls–and he was not hanging out with the other members. He didn’t connect with them, and he always ended up being bashed, anyway.

There was only so much a guy could take, and he was taking his limit.

He found a small pub that offered sub sandwiches and soups, and eagerly groped the counter for assistance. The bewildered worker behind the counter took his order, and hurried off to fulfill it, leaving Shiv to look around with a wide grin, eager for food. The pub was half-filled, due to the dinner crowd, and he really wasn’t bent on wasting his time on reading the newspaper or anything. By the time his order was ready, he paid for it and was out the door, chewing eagerly at a large sub.

Juggling his fountain soda, bag of soup and a cookie, he made his way down the sidewalk, intending to head back to the hideout when he stopped short. Panicking, he dropped his meal and dove for cover behind a parked F-150.

He quietly watched as Hotstreak and a few of his friends walked down the sidewalk, all of them talking excitedly about some girls they were planning on seeing later. Shiv stared after them, then sighed when he saw that his food had been destroyed by them walking all over it. Salvaging what he could, he had a third of a sandwich left and a smushed cookie. He was a little confused, though–the last he’d heard, he thought that Hotstreak had been with Richie. Weren’t couples, even gay couples, supposed to be faithful to each other? He wondered about that as he finished his sandwich.

It wouldn’t be nice if he were with the nerd, and he was out playing with some trailer trash...Shiv felt indignant at the thought. If he knew Hotstreak enough, he knew the meta would do what he wanted, regardless of what others said. That was just how he was. Richie probably didn’t have a say in what the redhead did or said. He’d probably be like his mother–all quiet and passive, agreeing with what he said just to avoid an argument.

Shiv had seen the way the two parents had interacted with each other–Sean had been overbearing and dominating, angrily proving his point while Maggie nodded and agreed with him, even though her expression had said otherwise. Shiv had seen this while spying on them last year–he couldn’t remember the reason why he’d done so. He’d thought back then that had been a pretty sad way to live. No matter that he was doing the same thing with Ebon and the others. It was always different when one witnessed the actual happening, too blind to see that themselves were trapped within it.

He wondered what the guy was up to–Richie. He hadn’t seen him since that night, and he still felt overwhelming guilt clench at his stomach. One thought led to another, and he dumped his trash into a nearby receptacle.

It was curiosity, really, that drove him to see what the blond was up to. Shiv had seen Static doing his thing nightly–getting more than rough with the suspects he caught, more so than Shiv had ever seen the teen do–and Gear was permanently out of commission. No one had seen him since that night–and Shiv felt bad at that.

He still did. His conscience proved that it still worked as he thought of these things from time to time.

The nerd’s house was easy to find–Shiv knew the location because he’d gone there a few times last year. Dakota’s spring nights weren’t as cold as they had been during the winter, but they were still chilly. He stood in a hooded sweater and baseball cap, staring at the house with a contemplative expression. He took in the windows that were lit with light within, and the green Corolla in the driveway. He kept expecting Hotstreak to come strolling up, sneaking toward the back for whatever business he had with the blond; it had been something Shiv had seen him do a few times before.

Cautiously, he glanced around himself, then looked back at the house. He figured Richie was in there, nice and warm, doing whatever he did with his two mismatched parents.

Shiv shrugged, then turned and walked off.

The guilt ate at him. If he thought about it, he would have done many things differently. He wouldn’t have helped Ebon rope Gear into that trap; he wouldn’t have given him that knife. He would have said something that would have stopped the living shadow from doing what he had. Maybe if he had...maybe that wouldn’t have happened, and Theresa would still be alive.

He took his time making his way back to the hideout. He had so many things to think about.

OooooooooooO

The exchange was performed smoothly–the transport van stopped to let Ebon off and allow Jerome in. His crew stood around anxiously as this exchange was performed, the guards taking blood money from the death that wrecked Dakota’s streets, leaving with the L.A. native for the penitentiary.

Ivan Evans inhaled deeply of the night air, closing his eyes in peaceful respite as he enjoyed the outside chill.

Shiv eyed him anxiously, pacing in his worn jeans and thin coat, and wondered silently of his future.

Glancing at the faces that watched Ivan, he asked quietly, “Now what, boss? What we gonna do now?”

Ivan exhaled slowly of that he’d inhaled, and shifted his eyes down to the nervously pacing Asian. His smile was lazy, crooked, and he was already conjuring up plans as he flexed his fingers and rubbed at his wrists. It had been over four months since he’d been on Dakota’s streets, and that length of time spent behind bars told him that he wasn’t mean to be human. His dependency on his powers had left him feeling as shaky and fragile as a heroin addict. Looking at his human skin, he detested the color and the normalness of it.

“Now, we get me back my powers, Shivvie-Shiv,” he said quietly, his mind already working on that fact.

“But, Dr. Todd-guy transferred outta Dakota. How we gonna–?”

“We ain’t usin’ him, stupid. I’ve already got things set-up.” Ivan’s smirk was visible as they began walking toward their respective vehicles.

“Then...who are you going to use?”

Ivan merely laughed, rubbing his hands together. “It’s been too long! Wonder what he’s gonna do when he sees me again...”

“Who?”

“Shut up and get in the car, Shiv. We’ll discuss that later.”

Shiv frowned, but did as he was told. As they rode back to the hideout, he had a sinking feeling that things were going to get bad.

OooooooooooO

Virgil was grumbling as he let himself into the Gas Station, tossing his empty soda can aside. He was fully prepared for a night of patrol, but his mind was focused on the brown envelope he held in one hand. He stared down at the return address, checking the weight once more; he knew Dakota University had accepted him. Daisy had called excitedly an hour earlier, to declare that her first two choices had accepted her. Virgil had counted many rejection notices from those he’d chosen, and was disappointed. He did want to attend Dakota U–but he had grown dispassionate about the city lately. He’d been wanting a chance to get out.

He looked up, tossing the envelope aside, and stopped short.

On the far counter, spread out methodically, was Gear’s uniform. He’d gotten so used to see it wadded up within that blue bag that to see it out and on display made him severely apprehensive. Glancing around, he realized that Richie’s computer that he used for Backpack’s uploads and various other related subjects was running a diagnostic over its unused status, the monitor filled with streaming information. It was odd to have this sort of activity running through the Station again. After such a long hiatus, it felt out of place and new all over again.

He looked over at the uniform, and felt his insides curdle. He wasn’t sure what to think as he took in the turtleneck’s shredded front and sleeves; a knife had made simple work of his best friend’s costume. He vaguely wondered why Richie had held that in account when he’d created the thing. But just like Backpack and its absence of basic scissors, it probably had just been a simple oversight.

He quietly took in the way the knife had torn through the neckline of the main costume; how it formed a ragged tear down the middle, and shredded in various areas throughout the torso and the legs–from the way it was spread, it was almost as if it had been torn apart in various directions, rather than a single direction.

He had to swallow, hand going to his mouth–had others physically helped Ebon tear off Richie’s protective gear? He thought of Richie’s reaction to Theresa, and wondered if that was so.

He heard movement from the back, and turned away from the table, not wanting to look at it. Richie hadn’t told him he was coming out here–otherwise, Virgil would have waited for him.

When his friend walked out from the back storage room, head bent over a box full of tools, Virgil cleared his throat. Richie looked up in surprise, then gave an embarrassed laugh.

“Oh, I didn’t know you were going to be here, V,” he said, setting the box aside and heading over to the computer to check on the diagnostic.

“You didn’t tell me you were comin’ here,” Virgil said, glancing into the box.

“It was a split decision. I wanted to do some things...”

“Don’t you have work, tonight?”

“Yeah, but I agreed to take the later shift. Being a Friday, an’ all,” Richie said, looking away from the monitor. He gestured at the far counter. “I was finally able to take that out. It’s kinda embarrassing...I totally didn’t take a knife in account to everything else.”

Virgil stared down at his friend, and vaguely noted that Richie needed a hair cut. As it was, that blond shag of his was hanging over his eyes, ears–he kept swiping it from his face.

“You...you okay?”

“Yeah...I mean...it’s been awhile. And I need to move on...I can’t just–like, stick around in it forever,” Richie muttered, looking back at the monitor. “For a long time, I avoided all my stuff. Backpack–even the Shock Vox. I didn’t want any reminders. But in order to move on, I have to confront and accept. I don’t know. I was thinking of repairing it...”

Virgil’s eyebrows rose. “You’ll come back?”

Richie shrugged. “I...haven’t decided. It all depends on my work schedule. It won’t be as easy as before. It...it would just look strange if Gear came out only on weekends.”

“Yeah...kinda...”

“Any way, I came back here...laid that sucker out...and I was a little...angry, I guess. Disgusted. All that. But even more so. I can’t find my...well...y’know, my underwear’s missing. The thought of him taking it as a fucking reminder makes me ill. I just hope that they weren’t clean. I hope I left behind major streaks.”

Virgil burst out with uncomfortably hysterical laughter. “THAT’LL be something to think about. Ebon handling your stanky underwear.”

“I had Taco Bell that day, too.”

Virgil’s shoulders shook as Richie joined him with his own laughter. He reached out, giving him a half hug. “You’re awesome, man. How long you gonna be here?”

“Well...I wanted to check out Backpack...that night, Ebon manipulated the shadows into solidified material...I was wondering if it were telekinesis. I mean, I don’t have to worry about it, anymore, since he was cured, but...I was just curious.”

Virgil nodded in quiet understanding, watching Richie as he moved away from him, fingers flying over the worn keypad. The previous information stream was replaced by continuously running numbers and figures that flitted by much too fast for Virgil to pinpoint. He wrinkled his nose, unsure of what he was seeing, but knowing that Richie was absorbing the information left behind in Backpack’s memory banks.

“He had teleported Backpack and my Zap Caps to some community center out there on Weston and Third,” Richie murmured. “That was over twenty blocks away from the rooftop where we were at. I don’t know why he’d take them there...unless it was a place he frequented, or was just a random guess...but his powers are based on whether or not he’d been there before, right?”

“I was given that impression, but there were times when he teleported to places that he ain’t ever been,” Virgil said, frowning.

Richie shrugged, running his hands over the keyboard again. A city map came up, and the address was inputted. Once he had the information, he pulled up a stool to settle down. Virgil leaned on his shoulders with both hands, staring over his head as he memorized the address.

“I could check it out, tonight,” he suggested. “Ya’know...just look at it.”

“It could just be random. Oh, see the legend? This part of the Projects was funded by a council decision–”

“Rich, you take up smoking?” Virgil blurted out, leaning down to sniff his hair.

“NO! No, I...kinda was with Fr–Hotstreak after school. Never mind that!” Richie then growled, waving at his face to make him straighten away. “Anyway, it supposed to be completed with funds the city raised in order to have a place for the kids and teens in that area to have a place to go to. To keep them off the streets. But the funds were mismanaged.”

“Yeah, pops said something about that. Something about a council member embezzling?”

“Yeah...to pay for cosmetic surgery and a trip to Cancun for a teenage daughter. But that’s where Backpack ended up.”

“I’ll check it out. Prolly nothing there...”

“Yeah...prolly–probably,” Richie corrected himself. “After that...huh. Well, I don’t think he’d have business there, anyway. That’s on Fr–Hotstreak’s side of the city. And they avoided each other. Unless Ebon was clever enough to just hide out under his nose.”

“Hotstreak was probably too distracted to realize that. And it ain’t like they go and search each other out all the time...”
“No...But...there’s that. After that, Backpack had locked onto my signature and tracked me down to the hospital. I have a chip implanted on me just in case we were ever separated.”

“Which is completely freaky,” Virgil insisted, giving him a look.

“Well...precautions and all...He was also programmed to lock onto you if you were about, so...”

“You didn’t implant a chip on me, did you?”

“No! Not without your permission.” Richie stared at the screen, returning to the continuing diagnostic. “He’s sentenced to death, V. And there’s no way for him to escape.”

Virgil glanced at him cautiously, pushing away from his shoulders. “You good?”

“Yeah...I feel good about it. I think that’s why I came over here, really. All that and plus...what I’d said earlier.”

“Yeah...everyone’s hella happy about it. He got what he deserved.”

Richie nodded faintly, running a thumb over his chin. He turned to look at Virgil, then spotted the brown envelope. “You were accepted?”

“Oh..yeah...to Dakota U. You still takin’ that year off?”

“Yeah. I got the scores back from the SAT’s...”

Virgil grinned. “Don’t even say shit, Rich. You prolly scored off the charts. Pops was wondering why you were taking them so late. Which reminds me, you comin’ over Sunday? For the dinner?”

“I might----I will. There’s no reason for me not to,” Richie said firmly, setting one foot down on the floor and sending his stool spinning. As he spun, he said, “It’s at six, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Want me to bring anything?”

“You do that, and Sharon will have your head. Y’know how she gets. Thinks she’s bein’ all insulted if ya try to help out. OH...oh...uh, also...pops got a phone call yesterday...”

Richie stopped spinning, but swayed for a few moments. “Oh yeah? What about?”

“...Your dad.”

Richie snorted, pushing away from the stool. “What’d he want? I can’t believe he’d take time out of his busy life just to bother your father about me.”

Virgil pressed his lips tightly together, then grimaced. “He was just callin’...wonderin’ how you were doin’.”

Richie shook his head, busying himself with examining the damage done to his costume.

“Didn’t say anythin’ else...was surprised that you weren’t with us, I guess. Kinda...I guess he wanted to talk to you.”

“Stupid bastard...I mean, it’s pathetic. I so wanted to go back home all that time when he kicked me out, but...now, I have my own things going. I have a part time, I have a place to stay–and he wants to talk to me? Hah. I’ve got other things to do rather than worry about what he wants. I’m sorry, V, but I just don’t think it’ll work that way.”

“I kinda figured...”

Richie fiddled with the shredded ruins for a few moments, then said quietly, “He hit me and mom a lot, V. I didn’t want to tell you. I didn’t want your pity or your concern.”

“He–!”

“But I had all these excuses and stories and everything, and it was just–pathetic. But I don’t need him. I’m doing fine on my own.”

“Rich, he–so, all those times when you came to school–?”

“Yeah, I’m clumsy, but not THAT clumsy.”

“...the scooter thing? Right after Hotstreak–?”

“I came out. He broke my arm.”

“...Hotstreak never–?”

“NO! He’s never hit me, or used any of that sort–he knew what my father was doing. Which was kinda something between us.”

Virgil frowned. “One of our enemies knew before I did–”

“It’s old now, Virg. I just wanted to let you know, there was more than I let on. I don’t want to go back to him. I’d love to see mom, but not him. I’m sorry he bothered you guys, but...I’m just telling you now, I don’t want to go back to him. I don’t want to talk to him. I don’t need him.”

“Yeah...okay...I just...it sucks that I didn’t know, Rich. I could’ve helped.”

“To do what, V? Have your dad call social services? To have me removed and living with some foster family? No way. Things are good, now, though....I’m sorry, V. I didn’t mean to sound bitter and–”

“No, no...it’s all right.” Virgil frowned, then shook his head. “Maybe you should get your mom out of there...”

“If she hasn’t left all this time, V, then she won’t leave at all. I love my mom, Virg. I really do. But that’s her own decision to make. I can’t force her to do it.”

“Yeah...true...SO!” Virgil clapped his hands together. “On that note! When ya go to work?”

“Francis is picking me up...away from here, I mean...”

Virgil found it frustrating that Richie was hiding Hotstreak from him. Never telling him where they were staying, what they did; and Richie made sure that Virgil wasn’t anywhere near him when he met with the meta. Protecting him. It frustrated, annoyed, and hurt Virgil to know that his best friend took these measures to protect the guy.

“We have a couple of hours. Wanna go eat, somewhere? Before I head out?”

“Nah...I need to save my money–man, I sound old, huh?”

“I’ll treat. This time. I’m craving pizza. C’mon!”

“...with American ham?”

“With Canadian Bacon, yes.”

“Okay. Let me finish this up. Then we can go.”

Virgil nodded firmly, then gave his friend a studious stare as he turned around to finish checking over Backpack. He couldn’t believe Richie hadn’t told him of his father’s abuse–all that time, all those bruises, those marks...he felt angry over it, but Richie had come out from the entire thing okay. And things were working fine–despite the fact that he ‘loved’ and lived with a well-wanted asshole that caused him grief most nights with his exploits–and Richie was doing fine. Virgil had heard the way Richie had taken to confessing that major secret–casual, off-hand, as if it were nothing. And maybe now, it wasn’t.

Virgil had noticed that Richie was less tense, less wound up when he came to school. There had been days when he’d seen his friend moving stiffly and tenderly, but he’d been told they were either products caused by Gear activities or clumsy goof-ups. It was disturbing to think that all that time, he’d been hurt by someone that he trusted. It was common, out here in Dakota; the abuse, the neglect...but to hit so close to home made Virgil sick.

But as he watched his friend talk to Backpack about the lack of viruses and activity the AI had gone through within the last four months, he realized he wasn’t going to take it very hard. Richie had moved on–he was almost the same person he was back then. If he were going to treat it lightly, then Virgil would have to, as well.

OooooooooooO

Later on, Richie looked over at Hotstreak. He smiled warmly at his side profile. The older meta was driving him to work after he had pizza with Virgil– just as promised. Most days, they never saw each other this early; the redhead kept himself busy during the day, and they never saw each other until after the blond came home, which was usually around twelve thirty, counting the bus run. Being able to see him twice before working gave Richie an uplifted feeling.

He reached down to stuff his shirt into his backpack, having slipped into his work t-shirt earlier. He was working late–why some truckers wanted their vehicles washed so late at night was beyond him, but there were some that did–and didn’t get off until twelve thirty. Hotstreak had assured him that he’d pick him up then, as well.

As he straightened, he saw the Composition notebook stuffed between the front seat and middle console. That notebook continued to fascinate him with its unknown contents. He drummed his fingers on the door with a thoughtful expression.

“What’s that?” he then asked, gesturing at it.

Hotstreak glanced down at it, then turned his attention back to the road. “Oh. Plans.”

“Planning on taking over the world?” Richie joked, grinning at the thought.

“Nah. Gotta make money somehow...”

“Ah.” Richie stared at the notebook for a few seconds longer, then shifted to look at him. “You destroy it all, right? I mean, everything you write down–”

Hotstreak rolled his eyes, fairly exasperated at the question. “Duh, man. I don’t wanna leave no evidence of what I do.”

“Okay...”

“Don’t worry about it. When I do write shit down that’ll stand to implicate me, I destroy it.”

“...I’m sure, that if you’re ever caught, none of that would–”

“Oh, I’m not plannin’ on getting caught. No sireebob,” Hotstreak said with a satisfied smile. “I did too many things, man. Ain’t no way I plan on that. Plus, they got that cure goin’? Not uh.”

Richie stared at him in silence. He got the meaning–but he had to clarify it. “W-what do you mean?”

Hotstreak glanced at him. “I mean, I ain’t going to jail. I ain’t doin’ that.”

“I don’t understand–”

“I’m saying that I ain’t goin’ to jail, I ain’t goin’ to prison–they ain’t takin’ me alive.”

Richie couldn’t say anything; he merely stared at Hotstreak in silence.

“Goin’ down in a blaze of glory, man. When I know I can’t get out of a situation, I’m gonna make ‘em do it,” Hotstreak continued, unaware of what he was doing to his companion.

“...Suicide by cop?”

“I ain’t goin’ to jail,” Hotstreak repeated firmly. “They’ll do it. They’re already jumpy around me, anyway. They think I’m makin’ a wrong move, an’ BANG! Off I go...to heaven, hell, or that place in between for all the wrong I gone an’ done in my life.”

Richie felt his entire being freeze, his mind going numb with what he was hearing. In a sense, he understood why Hotstreak felt the way he did. Sensing his stare, Hotstreak looked over at him. He took in the blond’s shocked features. Felt momentarily guilty.

He shook his head. “I can’t do it, Richie. I can’t go back there–staying there in a small cell, looking out from behind bars...? I can’t do it.”

“Francis...”

“Rich, I made up my mind. A long time ago. The shit I done? Especially when I got my powers? I’m goin’ to be there for fuckin’ years. Robbery, vandalism, arson, assault, my thing with drugs...I ain’t doin’ it.”

Richie looked away. Hotstreak could tell that what he was saying was hard for the other to take. But Hotstreak had given it a lot of thought, and it was something he’d long ago accepted. Death was natural–it was part of life. Going out this way was fitting for him and this lifestyle.

He drove in silence. Dakota’s various lights passed by as he took the side streets to the travel stop center, and he drummed his fingers along the steering wheel. He could tell Richie was troubled by what he was telling him. He looked over at him once again.

“Rich, that’s just how it goes,” he insisted in a soft tone. “I...I ain’t like you, Rich. I–I’m a coward. I ain’t strong like you. I run from my problems. Hide from them. Instead of facing them, I’d rather turn away from them.”

“I...it’s just...listening to you talking about it so casually–!”

“I know it ain’t somethin’ you’re, like, cool with. Rich, to you, it’s...I dunno. Probably strange. But I can’t face up to what I did. Can’t face the consequences–”

“So, you’ll–!”

“Yeah. Either that, or y’know...a gang fight, someone gets lucky–I’ma die, Rich, an’ I know it. People like me, we won’t die like you. All peaceful and shit. Nah, it’s up to the streets to decide.”

“I don’t like it,” Richie muttered, staring at his hands.

“But that’s just how it is.”

“...If you do–”

“Not ‘if’. When. What?”

“...I-If you do...I can’t–what am I supposed to do? How–I’m just supposed to accept this and move on? To hear you talk like this and just...accept it?”

Hotstreak sighed. He couldn’t remember how they had gotten onto this subject in the first place.

“You can still change things!” Richie insisted. “If you plead insanity, admit or give information–!”

“I ain’t snitching on anybody!” Hotstreak snapped, appalled at the suggestion. “All that I know, I’m takin’ with me. I ain’t givin’ anyone away! Not in my crew...that’s not how it works.”

“But–!”

“I told you, Rich. I. Ain’t. Goin’. To. Jail.”

“Francis...”

“I shouldn’t have said anythin’. Don’t think about it, anymore.”

Richie stared out the window as Hotstreak pulled into the travel center parking lot. Parking in the far corner facing the truck wash, Hotstreak looked at him. He saw the strained features; he could imagine he heard the wheels turning in that head of his. He reached over, his fingers curling over Richie’s hand.

“That’s just how things are, Rich,” he said again.

Richie looked at him. After a moment, his fingers gave a reassuring squeeze. “With that attitude you’ve got going on, and with the things you do–every time I leave you, I could be saying goodbye for the last time.”

Hotstreak stared at him for a few minutes, rubbing Richie’s fingers with his. “I am–I admit it, Rich, that I am a coward. I can’t do prison. Without my powers, I’m nothing. I don’t want to lose what I have, now. To be vulnerable–Rich, I’d be eaten alive in there. That–that is the only way.”

Richie met his eyes. “This is serious stuff, Francis...”

“...Yeah.”

“I don’t want to lose you.”

Hotstreak rubbed his lips, his eyes taking in Richie’s features. He thought of their relationship; all the things they’d endured, overcome. All the sacrifices made and all the intensity they had for each other. He had realized he’d do anything for Richie, the blond returning the favor–but this couldn’t be done.

Jail time. This was something he couldn’t do.

Something snapped, then. Something dark and intense, suddenly more powerful than the subject now. His fingers interlaced Richie’s with resolve.

“You won’t, Richie,” he said, his voice suddenly husky with rising intensity.

Confusion marred Richie’s features, and he pulled his face back to look at him. “What?”

“You won’t lose me–and I’ll never be without you.”

“You–?”

“I don’t want to be without you, either. I don’t think I could leave you behind. I want you with me all the time.”

Realization dawned on Richie, as well as horror. He was numb as Hotstreak rushed on, inspired by what he’d decided.

“I won’t leave you, Richie. Cuz you’ll come with me. We’ll be together, an’ no one will keep us apart. We have no one but each other. That’s all we have. No family, no ties–”

Richie tried to talk, his mouth moving, but nothing came out. His shock left him nearly speechless as Hotstreak grew vehement with his decision.

“I can’t be without you, not after all this. I can’t leave you. We’re too tied together–” At his shaking negative to the spiel, Hotstreak rushed on with continued insistence. “I’ll find you. We’ll go together. Then you won’t have to worry about being alone. You won’t have to be alone. We’ll always be together–!”

“Francis, this is crazy!” Richie finally managed to exclaim, his voice shaky. “This is–you’re telling me that you’re willing to kill–!”

“It’s the only way, Rich!” Hotstreak said fiercely, ignoring his protests and the obviously scared expression on the blond’s face. He reached out, gripping his face between his hands, to somehow make him feel what he felt. “I want to make sure we’ll always be together. I don’t want you to be alone, an’ in pain cuz I’m too cowardly to pay for my fuckin’ consequences. I want to be with you–always.”

“Jesus, Francis–!”

“I need you, baby. I need you to be with me. I’m lost without you. I can’t let you go–I can’t let you go...”

“This isn’t the way–!”

Hotstreak silenced him with a kiss. He knew Richie was disturbed by what he said. But he was settled on the subject. He was absolute. No one would take his place, and he didn’t want to cause Richie any more pain. Richie would just have to accept it.

Richie pulled himself away with a forceful jerk, fumbling with the car door handle. He was giving Hotstreak a troubled expression, but he forced himself to focus on getting his backpack and getting out.

“We’ll talk about this later, okay?” he said before shutting the door and hurrying away.

Hotstreak was satisfied with his decision. It was the only way for both of them. It wasn’t like everyone was going to grieve for them, anyway. Richie had the Hawkins’, and they weren’t anything positive, not with Virgil being a bitch about everything. And Hotstreak had no one else. No family–his friends understood that he was meant for a fast death on the streets. It’s just how it was.

Staring after his loved one’s hurrying figure, he knew that it had to be. Shaking his head, he put the car in reverse and headed out to carry out more of his ‘plans’.
Hopefully that situation wouldn’t come up any time soon...they still had so many things to do.