Right, so, I've started working on Erol's past. There was a fair bit of interest in knowing what had happened to him before A Family Ripped and Torn. Now, after much deliberation and procrastination, I have the first chapter in what should be, at most, a four chapter story. I attempted to do the final editing on this one myself, I don't know if I managed to catch everything, but I'm hoping I did. For the record, this ties in somewhat to A Family Ripped and Torn, there are a few references to events from that one, if anyone is confused I encourage you to either ask me or to go read the other fic if you haven't already.

Erol is Naughty Dog's, his parents are mine.

Sola heard the front door slam and she smiled in spite of herself, no matter how many times she told Erol not to slam the door, he did.

"Hi, Mom!" the boy shouted from the front landing. He noisily kicked off his shoes and walked into the kitchen, grinning broadly at his mother.

Sola couldn't help but smile back at him, "Hi, honey, did you have fun?" she asked.

Erol nodded vigorously, "It was awesome, me and Torn just played the whole time. We didn't even have to look after Ripp, his mom was feeling good enough to do it today," the redheaded boy paused, "Torn wants me to come over again tomorrow, I can, can't I, Mom?"

"Of course you can," Sola suddenly looked contemplative, "We need to go back-to-school shopping sometime; how about we go the day after tomorrow?" she suggested, knowing full well that she had final say.

Erol shrugged. "Sure." He glanced around the kitchen rather disinterestedly. Sola turned to stare out the kitchen window, gazing up at the blue sky; she loved it when the sun was out. "Mom?"

"Hmm?" she didn't bother turning around.

"What's for dinner?"

"Well, I was thinking spaghetti," she looked over her shoulder at her son, "Sound good?"

Erol gave her a skeptical look. "Are you going to make your sauce?" he asked hopefully.

"Of course."

The boy nodded enthusiastically, "Can I help?"

Sola pointed to the exit of the kitchen. "Not like that, you're filthy. Go wash up and then you can help."

"But, Mom," Erol sulked, "I don't want to."

"Scoot."

"But..."

"No buts. Get."

"Mom..."

"Today, Erol."

Erol sighed, defeated, "Fine." He shot his mother an unhappy glance before slinking out of the kitchen. He walked into the bathroom and turned on the tap. He let the water run over his fingers for about ten seconds before turning off the tap and drying his hands on a towel.

Erol walked back into the kitchen where his mother was filling a pot with water, she finished and set it on the stove to boil.

Sola gave her son a scrutinizing glance, "You were fast," she said, "Are you above using soap or something?"

The boy squirmed under his mother's gaze, "I, um..."

Sola laughed, "So you didn't use soap. I should have known."

Erol turned his brown eyes up to look at her. "How did-"

"Call it a hunch, and you just proved me right," Sola took a damp dishcloth from the sink, beckoning Erol closer. The boy eased forward slowly. "Hands," Sola commanded. Her son hesitated before extending his hands to her, palm up. She crouched down and deftly used the dishcloth to clean his fingers before moving on to wipe his face. Erol wrinkled his nose and made a sour expression at his mother. "Oh honestly, if you'd done this yourself," Sola muttered.

"Mom," Erol whined, "Quit it. I can wash my own face!" he insisted.

"Apparently you can't. Now hold still," Sola mock scolded. She pulled the cloth away from him. "There, now I can see your beautiful face."

Erol rolled his eyes, "You could see my face anyways Mom."

Sola flicked her son gently in the nose, "Anyway," she corrected automatically.

"Anyway what?"

"Anyway, there's no's,' Erol."

He stuck his tongue out at her. "Anyways," he glanced around the kitchen, "Have you started the sauce yet?"

"No, I haven't had the chance to."

"Well what are you waiting for?!" Erol asked indignantly.

Sola laughed, "Go grab the tomato paste from the pantry so we can start."

"Okay!" Erol grinned before dashing off to go get the tomato paste.

Sola stood and walked over to the counter to get out the can opener and a second pot. She wordlessly took the can from Erol when he brought it to her. The thick red liquid went into the pot with a 'splat' before Sola set it on the stove, handing Erol a wooden spoon. "Let me know when the water starts to boil," she instructed, leaving Erol to watch the stove while she went to choose her spices from the pantry.

"Mom?" Erol asked from where he stood on a kitchen chair he'd dragged to the stove.

Sola looked back at him, "Yes, honey?"

"What do I do with this?" he asked, brandishing the wooden spoon like a lethal weapon.

"Stir the sauce, don't let it burn."

"But it's not sauce yet, it's just red mush."

"Stir it anyway, it can still burn."

"Fine, though it's still not sauce," Erol said, "Mom, what do I stir the water with?"

Sola rolled her eyes, "You don't; just let me know when it boils."

Erol nodded, "Gotcha," he replied before turning to give the tomato paste the evil eye and childishly threaten it while brandishing the spoon again.

Sola smiled and went back to selecting her seasonings. Choosing five spice bottles she closed the pantry door and walked over to where Erol stood on his chair, happily stirring the sauce with a vigor that sent it flying all over the counter and backsplash. Sola set down the spice bottles and reached out to grab the eight-year-old by the wrist.

"Erol, honey, you're splashing. You don't need to go that fast, you're just making a mess now."

Erol grinned at his mother, "I know. Great, isn't it?"

"Erol," Sola chided, she was about to continue when she was interrupted by the rattling and clanking of the lid on the pot of water as its contents boiled. She reached over and removed the lid, setting it on the counter.

Erol smirked, saying, "I think the water's boiling now," he waited a moment before attempting to continue stirring the sauce in the hopes that the slight distraction had caused his mother to loosen her grip. She hadn't. She still had a firm grasp on his wrist, "Let go of me, I can't stir it!" he cried in childish indignation.

"Don't splash." Sola said firmly releasing him and crouching down to get the uncooked pasta from the cupboard.

About fifteen minutes later. The spaghetti and sauce were both done and Erol began pestering Sola to start dinner.

"Come on, please?" he begged.

"Not until your father gets home, be patient. I don't think he's going to be much longer."

Erol shot her a sulky glare, "But I don't want to wait."

"He'll probably only be another couple minutes, you'll survive." Sola gave Erol a look of false sympathy, "Why don't you go set the table?"

Erol scowled, "No."

It wasn't more than five minutes later when the front door opened and Erol's father, Buir, walked in. He dropped his briefcase by the door.

"Dad's home!" Erol cheerily told Sola, a grin spread wide across his face.

She rolled her eyes and patted her son on the head, "I knew that."

Erol shook his head, refusing to accept that his statement had been useless, "No you didn't. I had to tell you."

Buir walked into the kitchen asking, "What did you have to tell your mother, Erol?"

"Nothing much, just that you were home," the boy replied, smirking slightly.

Buir smiled back at his son, "Well how else would she have known?" he asked jokingly.

"She wouldn't. Come on," Erol said, flicking his head at the table, "Dinner's ready!"

Sola put a hand on Erol's head, "You can wait a couple minutes for your Dad to change out of his work clothes first. Just relax for a bit would you?" Erol gave his mother a mortified 'how-can-you-do-this-to-me?' look. "I know. Sucks to be you." She told him, voice laced with fake sympathy. "Since you have nothing else to do, and you seem to need reminding, you can go set the table." Sola watched Erol slowly walk over to the cupboard to get out plates, she turned to her husband, "Welcome home, honey." She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, "How was work?"

Buir sighed, "Same as always, hectic." He returned the kiss Sola had given him, "Dinner smells delicious sweetheart, what did you make?"

Sola smiled reaching up to undo Buir's tie, "Spaghetti," she pulled the tie off and handed it to her husband. "Erol helped."

He shook his head slowly, "And me with out any kind of antidote." He smiled, at his wife. "That explains Erol. I swear Sola; you mix up the equivalent of catnip for him every time you make your sauce."

"Erol-nip." She said. "And don't worry; the only thing he made was a mess."

"That sounds like Erol, couldn't be neat if his life depended on it. Yeah, Erol-nip, I think that describes the effect well enough," Buir agreed, nodding, "Well, I'd better get changed before he's driven into insanity by the smell."

Sola laughed, "Go on then," she gave her husband a gentle shove towards their bed room. She turned around and saw that Erol had nearly finished setting the table. Nearly meaning he'd just dumped the silverware in the middle of the table and left it at that. "Erol."

"Yes, Mom?" he asked innocently from where he stood by the counter.

"This isn't set properly," she told him, pointing at the small pile of cutlery.

"Well, I couldn't remember what order things went in," Erol said defensively, "Besides; I don't see anything wrong with it."

"I however, do. Come here, I'll show you," Sola motioned Erol over, "Forks go on the left, knives and spoons on the right." She explained, arranging one set of utensils around one of the plates. "Do the other two please."

Erol muttered something about 'unnecessarily complicated things' and proceeded to set the remainder of the cutlery properly. Buir reentered the kitchen as Erol finished; his work clothing had been exchanged for a simple pair of slacks and a t-shirt.

"We can eat now, right?" Erol asked his mother, a begging note to his voice.

She laughed, "Yes, Erol, we can eat now."

The three sat around the dinner table, quiet for the most part, Erol had wolfed down his first and was halfway through eating his second helping by the time any real conversation had started. Buir looked pointedly at his son. "So, what were you up to today?" he asked.

The redhead was about to answer his father around a mouthful of spaghetti when Sola cleared her throat loudly, "Swallow that first."

Erol did. His brown eyes met with his father's golden ones, "I hung around with Torn."

"Oh?" the man raised an eyebrow, "Did you have to watch Ripp?"

Erol shook his head, mouth once again full of noodles. He swallowed, "I have to tomorrow though. They're going school shopping." He pulled a face, "I don't want to go back to school."

"Sure you do," Buir said cheerfully, "You like school."

"Yeah right," Erol took another bite of spaghetti, now ignoring his mother's look, "It's boring," he mumbled. "I'm not going to have to do what we were doing last year, am I?"

Sola looked concerned, "What do you mean 'doing last year'?"

"Taking our homework to Torn everyday. That sucked. I hope he actually shows up this year."

"That was rough for both of you. I'm sure he won't be at home all the time this year. His mother's doing much better now though, isn't she?" Sola asked.

Erol shrugged, "It never seems to last. She's always sick."

His parents exchanged troubled looks; there was no way that they could guarantee anything. Buir spoke first, "It'll be okay, Erol, you're tough." He gave the boy a hearty slap on the back and the subject of school wasn't touched again.

Comments are much appreciated. It's a much more cheery start than I tend to use on my work, I don't know how much longer I'm going to be able to keep it up.