Here's a plot that's been bugging me for a while, pun intended of course. Please enjoy!

I'm working on editing this story. Here's the first chapter of the edit.

Mr. Grasshopper moved frantically, sterilizing the wound with a swab of rubbing alcohol. He then began to stitch it up. The wound looked terrible. It tore through James' pale skin, beginning just below the boy's left shoulder blade, down across his back, and ending just as it tore into the muscle of the right buttock. It was horrific to see, and if Mr. Grasshopper hadn't seen the boy fall, he knew that there was a very slim chance that James would have survived the injury.

Once Mr. Grasshopper had sewn the last stitch, a sense of relief flowed over him. The wound could no longer bleed, and he allowed himself to relax. After washing his four hands, he carried James into his room. The boy was set down gently on the bed. Mr. Grasshopper wondered if he should try to dress James, but he decided that it would only lead to more pain. Better to just let him rest. The insect paused when he grabbed the blanket, seeing them for the first time.

They were all different shapes and sizes. Some were small and round and shiny. Others were long and jagged, and they looked as if the skin had been split once upon a time. Yet others were so thin they were almost nonexistent. Almost. Mr. Grasshopper didn't really know what to think of the mass of discolored lines that ran across the back of the child that he had sworn to raise kindly.

The word finally came to him: scars. James was covered in dozens of scars. They were no doubt from those vicious aunts of his. A burning anger made the great insect narrow his eyes, and a surge of hatred for those two brutes flashed through him. But along with those feelings, another feeling tried to creep through him, and that feeling came with memories. He shook his head, gripping it on either side with his upper hands as he forced the memories of pain and humiliation away. He didn't want to think of that. When the memory was squashed back into the back of his mind, he lowered his hands.

The scars were everywhere, and Mr. Grasshopper reached out slowly to touch one, wondering if it felt anything like his own, but knowing inside that it wouldn't. James' outside was of flesh; Mr. Grasshopper's was an exoskeleton. James suddenly moved, slapping the hand away. The bug looked up at the boy's face, surprised. He hadn't seen him wake. James' face was a mottled red, and his eyes held fright and something else.

Mr. Grasshopper straightened, embarrassed that he'd been caught. He tried to brush it off. "Are you alright, my dear boy? You took quite the fall and I—"

"What are you doing?" James demanded, his voice shaking.

"When you fell, your back was torn open by an outcropping of metal. I stitched the wound for you."

James was still angry at him, and he snatched the blanket from the oversized grasshopper then jerked it up over his head. Mr. Grasshopper flinched at the near-violence that overcame the usually kind, tender boy. Though he knew what was wrong, he decided to ask James. It would give him a chance to answer, or to ignore him.

"James? Whatever is the matter?"

"Go away!" James snapped. He sounded afraid, genuinely afraid of his guardian. Mr. Grasshopper didn't like that.

The insect stared at the shivering lump in the bed and tried to think of something to say. He wanted to be kind, but firm. The boy needed a friend, somebody to listen to him, to tell him that his pain and shame were legitimate, and that everything would be okay. The grasshopper took a slow, deep breath as he sat down beside his charge.

"My dearest boy," Mr. Grasshopper said, his voice low and soothing. "I think I know what is wrong. You are afraid because I've seen your scars. Is that it?"

"You're going to tell the others," James whispered. The shame coated each word, and the memories began to stir again. The insect answered quickly.

"Not if you don't want me to." The grasshopper paused then said, "But Mrs. Ladybug will see them when she doctors your wound."

There was a moment of silence before James replied. "You're a doctor, too," he argued weakly. He lowered the blanket from his head, his face paling at the waves of pain that resulted from the action. "Can't you just do it?"

Mr. Grasshopper shook his head. "You know that Mrs. Ladybug will insist."

James just about sobbed, and he put his face in his hands. Mr. Grasshopper watched him, playing with his four hands. What James didn't know was that the great bug understood his feelings, understood them from a personal place. Scars meant that somebody had been hurt. Hurt meant that there was a vulnerability. And that vulnerability produced feelings, feelings that became associated with memories. And the memories that James had were not pleasant at all.

Mr. Grasshopper once again had to fight back the memories that threatened to overwhelm him. His hands clenched together tightly, and he closed his eyes to prevent tears. The grasshopper knew how James felt because he felt the same way. He didn't want their family to know about his own scars any more than James wanted them to know about his. When the memories sank back down, Mr. Grasshopper opened his eyes to see James watching him, wary and confused. He knew that he must have looked strange, and his face burned in embarrassment, but he wondered. Could he trust the boy? The answer was immediate. Yes, he could. Without a doubt. But not yet, he thought. What to do about this situation, though? How do I help him?

After several minutes of deep thinking, Mr. Grasshopper sat up. "Very well, James. I have a solution to this dilemma." The bug paused, pressing his hands together. "If you'll recall, tomorrow I leave for a string of concerts all around the country. I leave extremely early before anybody else is up. If you find it acceptable, I shall bring you with me before they know it. I will leave a note for them, explaining that you got up early and begged and pleaded to come. I will say that I gave in—they will believe that as it is hard to refuse you anything."

There was a short pause, then Mr. Grasshopper continued. "You will have to be able to feign wellness when you're in public with me for the cameras and such, but if you can handle that, then I believe it will keep your scars a secret. That way you can heal enough while we're gone that you won't be bedridden when we get back and you can continue on your normal routine. Does that sound good to you?"

James' expression pinched as he considered this. Then he smiled and nodded. "Great. What do I need to do?"

"You had better rest for a while. When you feel like you can, please pack a small bag. Leave your school things here, bring a book or two if it fits, but if not, we'll get you some out on the road. If you are unable to pack your things, you shall stay here and we shall tell Mrs. Ladybug."

"Okay. Thanks," James said gratefully, closing his eyes and relaxing as best he could.

Mr. Grasshopper strode back into the dining room and cleaned up the blood, the medical supplies, and the ruined clothes. His movements were swift and precise, and he knew he needed to hide any evidence of the injury if his plan was to work. He cleaned up the broken glass from a vase he had swept off the table in his haste to stitch up the wound. Then he carefully set the table for dinner, picked out a new vase to put the old flowers in, and placed the vase in the center of the table. Nobody would question him about where the old vase had gone. Between Mr. Centipede and James roughhousing and the Glowworm's lack of care when moving through the house, they went through vases quickly.

After making sure that everything was as normal as possible, Mr. Grasshopper went into his room and finished packing. When he was finished, he set his suitcase beside the front door then went into the kitchen to cook. He was so consumed with the planned deception, he didn't even get the satisfaction he usually got as he cut up the thawed chicken; all of the bugs felt very delighted and amused when they ate chicken. That bird was such a menace to every one of their kinds that it fulfilled some vindictive urge inside of them.

He finished cooking then made two plates before putting the rest of the meal in the oven to keep warm. Mr. Grasshopper took one of the plates to James. He paused in the doorway to observe the boy, who had dressed himself and was slowly, painstakingly packing his things into a small bag. The old green grasshopper noted that James' hands were shaking, betraying his pain. He cleared his throat, and the boy looked up.

"Here's your supper, James. Eat quickly, then I suggest you go to bed. We must get up at three tomorrow morning. Besides that, it'll keep you out of the sight of the others, who would notice the impediment in your movements."

James took the plate and gingerly sat on the bed. He stared at his hands as he said. "Thank you, Mr. Grasshopper. I really appreciate it."

Mr. Grasshopper could tell he meant it for more than his dinner. He nodded and replied quietly, "You are quite welcome James."