This is my entry into my friend glados-still-alive's FeelsFest contest! I hope you like it, and if you have any feedback I'd love to hear it.

Sunlight streamed through the trees, bathing the graveyard with a dull green glow. The summers' heat prompted most to stay indoors with their air conditioning, but the boy Making his way down the rows of gravestones had no care for the temperature. His tousled brown hair had been brushed to perfection, and his lanky limbs were covered in an ill-fitted suit. He'd obviously Made an effort to iron it, but it just looked awkward. There was a bouquet of forget-me-nots clutched in his hands so tightly that his knuckles were white. He stopped in front of a specific grave, crouching down and staring dully at the headstone.

"… Hey, Ma," he said shakily, bowing his head, "I brought ya somethin'." His voice cracked. He set the bouquet on the ground, blinking away tears. He brought his hand up to his face, drawing a shuddering breath. "I know they're your favorite. 'Least that's what the other boys said." He sniffled as his self control began to fray. The ache in his chest was far too real. A year later and he still hadn't accepted it. He couldn't accept it. He dropped to his knees, glancing around at the graveyard around him. It was empty. He gripped his hair in his hands, grief overcoming him in waves as sobs racked his body. "Oh god, Ma I'm so sorry. I-If I'd…" he shook his head, shuddering, and closed his eyes. This was all his fault. If he hadn't accepted Engineer's offer to spend that Fourth of July with him and his family and gone home instead, this wouldn't have happened. He shuddered. He could still remember getting the news. A phone call from his oldest brother, in the middle of the grand finale of the fireworks display. Engineer's daughter had driven him to the airport only a few moments after he'd gotten off of the phone. He hadn't Made it in time. By the time the plane landed in Boston, she was already dead. He hadn't even gotten the chance to say goodbye to her.

Then there was the funeral. Oh, the funeral…

It was sunny out, as was the norm for summers. Of course, for the procession Making their way through the graveyard, it might as well have been raining. Scout was a mess; his face was pale and almost skeletal in appearance, and he had dark rings under his eyes. His suit looked like he'd only just pulled it out of his closet; it was rumpled and uneven, and his tie was sloppily done. The smug smirk that usually decorated his face was absent, replaced by a grim line. His eyes were watering, but he restrained the tears. With so Many family members around he needed to keep up his reputation. At the moment, though, he wanted nothing more than to drape himself over the casket that his elder brothers were carrying and sob until he couldn't anymore. Ma was gone forever; some drunk had gotten a bit too rowdy on the night of the Fourth of July and shot at her for some kind of joke, but the shot had landed. It had been a one in a million chance, but it had happened. A flash of anger cut through the grief. Chance. That was all it had been. All it had taken was one rowdy partygoer to end her life. Something so stupid and accidental had destroyed one of the only people he'd ever looked up to in his life, literally and figuratively. It Made his blood boil. His hands balled into fists and he drew in a sharp breath through his nose, nostrils flaring. The silent procession Made its way to her grave.

Scout had pooled his money with his brothers to buy her the nicest headstone that they could afford. It was what she deserved, after all. It was several times larger than most of the others, with engravings and inscriptions chipped into it. It was Made from white Marble. Scout shuddered as they started to lower her into the ground, a few involuntary tears running down his face. He let out a choked sort of sob, wiping his face and drawing a shaky breath. Not now. There were people around. If he could just last a couple more hours until everyone else had gone… he grit his teeth, trying desperately to steel his resolve.

The priest said a few words and they began to lower the casket. Scout took in a trembling breath, biting his finger in an attempt to keep himself quiet. He received a few pitying looks from the people around him, but he ignored them. He didn't want their sympathy. He didn't need it.

After the casket had been lowered into the ground, people began to leave. Scout felt a tension welling in his chest, threatening to pop at any moment. No… he had to last just a little while longer. He watched dully as the last person strode away, leaving him alone. For a few seconds, crushing silence filled the graveyard. His eyes went to the casket in the ground, and a strangled noise escaped him. His legs failed him for the first time in his life, and he collapsed to his knees. A second later he dissolved into ugly sobs, wrapping his arms around himself. He couldn't believe this. He was a grown Man, he shouldn't be so emotional over this… men didn't cry, right?

Now, though, Scout didn't feel like a Man. No, here, in front of his mother's grave, he was a little boy. A lost little boy who wanted nothing more than to somehow get his mother back. His mind went back to the accident, tears dripping down his face. The culprit was being detained at the police station. The Man who had taken his mother away from him. He was sure that he could take on a couple of cops if they tried to stop him. His sobs slowly began to die down as the grief was replaced by boiling fury. The sheer extent of his anger startled him, but he didn't care. He wanted to find that Man and beat him until he couldn't move anymore, and then he wanted to squeeze the life out of him with his bare hands. His frame shook as his iMagination took hold. His hands closing around that wretched Man's throat and squeezing until he wasn't living anymore… he deserved it for what he'd done.

Without a doubt, Scout would have kept fantasizing about it for hours if it weren't for a faint shimmer in the air beside him. His reaction was instinctive and immediate; he launched himself to his feet and shot a fist out.

Much to his surprise, the punch landed on something solid. There was a startled yell and the sound of someone staggering, followed by a cry of "MERDE!" A second later the Spy Materialized, clutching at his gut. He was dressed sMartly in a pressed black suit, and his red balaclava was fitted snugly over his face.

Scout's eyes went wide. "What the HELL are you doing here?!" he practically screamed, stalking forwards and shoving the FrenchMan as hard as he could. Since he hadn't had a chance to recover from the punch yet, he was able to send him to the ground.

The boy knew an opportunity when he saw one. He launched himself at him, fists flying blindly. "Get—the—hell—away—from—my—Ma—you—slimy—BASTARD!" he shouted between hits, breath coming in short gasps. By the time the last blow hit, Spy was a bloodied mess. His nose was bubbling with blood and his lip had been split open. Scout breathed raggedly, glaring hatefully at the FrenchMan. Strangely, he hadn't retaliated. In fact, it seemed almost like he was content to just sit and let him beat on him. Confusion flashed across his face as Spy laughed weakly, closing his eyes. "… You pack quite a punch, mon fils."

Scout's eyes flashed. "Don't use your fancy-ass pansy talk with me, you freakin' coward! What the hell are you doing here?" It was all he could do to keep from continuing to beat him.

Spy coughed weakly. "I was simply here to pay my respects to a beautiful wo—"

WHAM!

Scout's fist collided with his jaw. "Don't talk about my Ma!" he screamed, red flooding the corners of his vision. "You had your chance with her, so get away!"

"Boy—"

"NO! SHUT UP! I ain't freakin' hearin' it, slimeball!" He punched him again, harder this time. "I don't want you defilin'—"

Spy seized his wrist. "Don't insult me, boy! I May have left your mother, but I had good reason!"

Obviously that had been the wrong thing to say. Scout felt red hot tears streaming down his face again, but he was too angry to care. He twisted his arm free of Spy's grip and lunged forwards, wrapping his fingers around his throat. "There's NEVER a good reason to hurt my Ma! She's… she was…" a strangled sob escaped him, and he gripped the Spy's neck as tightly as he could. He gagged, thrashing underneath him. Scout responded by leaning forwards, blocking his airway entirely. He glared viciously, despite the sobs that were Making him tremble like a leaf. "I-I'm gonna freakin' kill you, you b-backstabbin' cockroach!"

"Vous ne voudriez pas tuer la famille," Spy choked out, eyes bulging from his head.

His eyes narrowed. "What did I say about your freakin' fancy talk?!" he lifted his head up and sMashed it into the ground as hard as he could. Spy's struggles began to weaken. Scout felt a thrill of something akin to fear rush through his veins, and it gave him resolve. The bastard deserved it anyway. He Managed to tighten his grip a bit more, slamming his head into the ground again. "Ma deserved someone who'd freakin' t-take care of her, not s-some sick weasel who s-sweet talked his w-way into her b-bed an' then left! Yaa didn't d-deserve her an' I d-don't want you t-taintin' her memory by bein' here!" He was near-hysterical by this point. The FrenchMan spluttered, trying to speak, but Scout slammed his head into the ground again. "I'm gonna kill you," he hissed, fury dripping from every syllable, "for real. No cheatin'. How d'you feel about that?"

Spy thrashed, gripping at Scout's wrists with wide eyes. He grinned and slammed his head into the ground again, harder. Spy's eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he fell limp. Scout knew better, though. He felt a faint flash of doubt; he'd never killed a Man before. Not for real, anyway. His mouth dried out, and he stared at the unconscious Man. He looked so… pathetic.

Then his mind went to what he'd done to his mother and any scraps of pity that might have been stirring in his heart shriveled and died. He reached out beside him, groping for something. His hand found a rock, and he lifted it up over his head.

Everything was a blur after that.

He remembered the horrible cracking noise that had rung through the air every time the stone struck vividly. The feeling of hot blood running over his hands as time went on, and the pain when his fingers had been caught between the rock and Spy's shattered skull. He sobbed openly, knowing that there was no one around to see. Before he knew it, it had grown dark.

The boiling fury that had taken over his mind receded, being replaced by a horrible empty feeling. The world around him finally came back into focus, and he stared at the bloodied corpse before him. The face had been beaten and Marred to the point that it was unrecognizable. His stoMach dropped. Had… had he done that? He scrambled off of him with wide eyes, feeling vomit rising in his throat. No, he couldn't have… panic caused his heart to leap. He drew a shuddering breath, looking down at his hands. They were covered in crimson blood. He began to tremble, gasping. Oh, no. One more terrified look at the body and he was staggering backwards. He needed to get back to his hotel, get help, do something.

"No," a voice in his head said firmly. The voice of Reason. The voice of his mother. "Calm yourself. Think rationally."

Scout didn't want to think rationally. He wanted to curl up and cry until he either died or passed out from exhaustion. His legs wobbled as he started to kneel down.

"Oh no you don't. Your mother didn't raise a convict— at least, not one that gets caught. Now calm yourself."

Scout gasped in a trembling breath. Of course, she was right. She was always right. Slowly, he got to his feet, taking deep breaths in an attempt to steel his nerves. His eyes flicked around, both searching for something to focus his eyes on to help him calm down more and checking to see if anyone was coming. A cream-colored envelope lying on the ground beside Spy caught his attention. It must have fallen out of his pocket when… he shivered. He hesitated, feeling bile rising in his throat again, before creeping forwards and snatching it from the ground. He turned it over in his hands, shaking. The word on the envelope was written in Spy's elegant handwriting.

Scout.

He bit his lip, trembling fingers going to the seal. He was just about to open it when the sound of a barking dog Made him jump. He tucked his envelope into his pocket and fled.

He needed to get himself cleaned up.

Scout didn't move for a long while, just sitting and talking to his mother's grave. Eventually though, he had to get up. He bit his lip, eyes going to another grave beside his mother's. It was Marked by nothing more than a sMall concrete cross. He went and stood in front of it, staring for a moment. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a single white lily, tossing it onto the grave. He bit his lip.

"… Sorry, dad."

He turned and walked away.