The clack of the gavel rang through the otherwise silent courtroom. Silent confusion, slow realization, and then outrage. Murdoc was just happy his sorry ass wasn't doing life.

"Take care of him, are you mad?" the kid's mother screamed, not the first to break the silence but the loudest voice in the room. "He's already taken care of him, and now he's… he… Look what's happened!"

"Mrs. Pot, I can assure you a great amount of thought has been put into this decision," said the judge. Murdoc almost scoffed, but given that these idiots had just lightened his sentence to community service, he didn't want to do anything to reverse that decision.

"Bullshit!" cried the woman. "If you assholes knew the first thing about law you—"

She was cut off as the bailiff took hold of her and tried to calm her down. Most of the jury were already gone, probably already thinking about what they were having for lunch. Ignoring Mrs. Pot, the judge began to do the same.

"Mrs. Pot, the decision is final," he said, shuffling his great lumbering body out of the room, "Mr. Niccals is surely capable of such a duty, and perhaps it will even teach him a thing or two. Good day."

Mrs. Pot was still screaming a string of curse words as she was escorted out. As the guards undid Murdoc's cuffs, he finally let out the smug grin he'd been holding in for most of the trial.

He wasn't entirely free yet, of course. Apparently he was supposed to be a nurse to the dumb kid who got in the way of his car all those weeks ago. He almost burst into laughter just remembering how far the kid flew, and how he hit him so hard he knocked one of his eyes clean out.

An honest man might be worried about taking care of some injured kid. Thankfully, though, Murdoc was not an honest man.

"What do you mean you can't do it?" Murdoc shouted into his rubbish cell phone.

"Maybe we can get one of our abuelas to look after him," Julio said on the other end of the line, "But we sure as hell ain't taking care of some bedridden kid. Pedro an' I ain't nurses, man."

Murdoc ground his teeth together. To let out a little steam, he swerved his freshly "borrowed" car into the lane next to him and cut off some lady with a car far nicer than the one he was currently driving. The loud honk satisfied him just enough to make sure he didn't fling his phone out the car window.

"You think I'm a better option?" Murdoc spat into the phone, "Everything I touch dies, Julio. I got lucky with just knocking this kid's nonexistent brains out, but I don't think killing him is gonna go over so well."

"Then make sure he doesn't die, hombre."

Murdoc could have crushed his phone with his bare hands (probably would have if he could afford another one). He didn't get it. Julio was his guy, for the right price he always said yes to the job. But for the first time, right when Murdoc actually needed him, he decided to bail!

Murdoc slammed his thumb down on the end call button and stuffed the infernal machine in his pocket. He'd deal with Julio later. Now, though, his exit was coming up.

After asking half a dozen different hospital staff members where "Mr. Stuart Pot" was, he finally reached the room his new 'patient' was being held in. Without knocking, Murdoc strolled right through the doorway.

"Alright, where's the little shit?" he asked, going for dramatic effect on purpose. He couldn't wait to see the rage in that Pot lady's eyes…

But rage was not what he found.

Mrs. Pot was currently sitting on a rather uncomfortable looking chair, slouched over her son's unresponsive body. Her face was buried behind one of her arms, and the other was stretched out to hold the kid's hand. Murdoc realized her shoulders jumping slightly as she cried. She didn't even seem to notice when he came in.

It made Murdoc uncomfortable. He didn't do tears. Besides, just about an hour ago in the courtroom she'd been kicking and screaming like a bat out of Hell.

Murdoc coughed, and she still didn't seem to notice him.

"Come on then," said Murdoc, "Hand 'im over. Law's law, y'know."

Mrs. Pot finally looked up at him. Her eyes were red and wet, tears still streaming down her face. Murdoc waited for the recognition to kick in and her sadness to melt into anger.

"You're here to take him…" was all she said, in such a sad, pathetic voice that made Murdoc itch.

"Yes, yes, I'll watch him and read him bedtime stories," Murdoc strained. "Wake him up so we can get going."

"He is awake," she said, her puffy eyes fixated on her unmoving son.

"Come again?"

"He's catatonic," she said to him, so calm despite her tears. They were numb tears now, hopeless. Tears of giving up. Murdoc's stomach turned. "You've killed my little boy. You've taken everything but the shell. The doctors don't think he'll ever wake up."

A tense, cold feeling shivered through Murdoc, starting in the pit of his stomach. Catatonic? Coma? What the hell was that supposed to mean? Did he really hit the kid that hard? How the hell was he supposed to take care of someone that couldn't move, or talk? Forget the issue of him pissing by himself, the kid was a ragdoll! Murdoc would have to spoon-feed him and wipe his ass and change his clothes and give him sponge-baths!

No, not Murdoc. Whoever he managed to convince to do it for him would. If not Julio, then that bloke from the drug store. Maybe even Henry if he paid enough. Anyone but Murdoc. He calmed down as he thought it through, and tried to convince himself he was doing the kid a favor by making someone else look after him.

"Right," Murdoc managed, only missing a beat, and even that bugged him. "How're we getting him in the car?"

Two hours later, after all the chaos of transporting the kid to his run-down flat, after giving up on trying to assure the Pot lady he wasn't intending on killing her precious little boy, and finally managing to shove everyone out of what little and rotten living space he had, Murdoc was finally alone.

Well, not alone, he supposed. Until he could find someone to dump the kid on he'd be stuck with him. Then again, he was pretty unresponsive. Murdoc could slap him in the face and the little idiot wouldn't even be able to raise an arm. Eyes half-open - though most often simply closed - body limp, propped up slightly with a pillow, laying on his little bed the staff had wheeled in for him.

The only thing that indicated he was even alive was the soft, rhythmic breathing and the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

Medically speaking, Murdoc wasn't sure what exactly what he'd done to the kid, but so far it seemed to be just like falling asleep and not being able to wake up. He could almost envy him. Some of Murdoc's happiest memories were dreams.

Pulling away from his thoughts, Murdoc dug the cell phone out of his pocket and dialed Julio's number. Maybe he could intimidate some sense into the bastard.