I.

"What do you think, Dean?" Annie Hughes looked over prospectively at her art suitor of two months. The man had said in the beginning that the word "lover" was just too junkie-sounding for his taste. He lowered his paper and glanced over at Hogarth, the-recently-turned ten-year-old usually stayed engrossed in his sketchbooks and homework pages.

"Kid." Dean accousted him.

The child looked up from fingering a gold-glittered red ball, glanced over at his mom and then looked down again. Dean tried again but Hogarth didn't respond. With a rough sigh, the thirty-one-year-old beatnik rose from his seat and went over to sit facing away from mother and son. The radio station was tuned in to Christmas music; he lit up a cigarette.

Normally disapproving, Hogarth's mother sent her son a look and nodded for him to act.

He looked from her to Dean, and realizing this was more than just his mother trying to get him to accept a new fatherfigure for once, stood up and approached him. "Dean," he said softly. "I'm sorry." A puff of smoke flew out of the man's lips. His eyes stayed right on the radio. "I know you and Mom have been trying really hard on these holidays for me but-,"

"But nothin'," The man stood abruptly, met Annie's stubborn but still saddened eyes and then looked down at Hogarth, "This isn't gonna work, kid. I've tried and tried to be the father you've needed for so long, but every damn time..." he sighed, ground the bud in a red candle and left. Hogarth frowned at his display and shook his head at Dean's words.

"He's got a lot on his plate, huh Mom?"

But when Hogarth looked he saw his mother was in tears.

"Mom," he approached her.

"I just wanted things to go right for once, Hogarth. You know I've brought men in before. But, Dean..." She gestured at him having paused on the stairs. Only his grey trouser pants were showing and they instantly disappeared at his mention. "I thought I'd finally gotten it right." The woman smiled through her tears. She walked over from the bright tree, knelt to her son's level and took him in her arms. "I thought I'd found the right man, Hogarth."

He closed his eyes and placed his arms around his mother.

...

Dean lounged in the bedroom across from Hogarth's room, a quiet stream of Dixieland Jazz from his childhood floated from the radio he held next to his side. He fiddled a sliver of a toothpick around in his teeth and stared at the ceiling, wishing desperately he could cocoon it with paper and tobacco. The band he had grown up around in New Orleans had never been adverse to a good smoke now and again; Dean closed his eyes at this.

He started scatting a little, his dangling toothpick bouncing, pretending he was a singer.

"Dean?" A hand circle around and knocked on the inside of his door.

"What? Go away." He said groggily, he kept his eyes closed and still tried singing.

"Mom wants to talk to you." Hogarth peeked slightly into the room.

An eye opened and peered over at him. "You want to talk to me."

"You're always there for me. Why can't I be here for you?"

"Times change." Dean said flippantly, closing his eyes again. The intent and rather hurtful uncharacteristic behaviour made Hogarth's mouth drop open. "Good way to catch flies."

"I thought you were my friend." Hogarth muttered.

"I'll always be your friend." The man turned to face away from him. "That's all I can do."

"When in doubt, well endowed remember?"

Dean happened a slight glance over at him. "You weren't supposed to hear that."

"You're more then just my mom's boyfriend." He waited, no response. Jazz still played.

Hogarth's brows lowered. "Your music's for faggots anyway."

Somehow it never bothered Dean when Hogarth got testy with him. At Halloween, he had let the boy cry in his room on his bed, bemoaning how he would never have the chance to go trick or treating with his best friend, on Thanksgiving Dean had held Hogarth's mother in his arms. And then, in the middle of the night, had held a pajama-clad Hogarth. He had rocked him to sleep and tucked him in bed. Now, two weeks later, he stood and turned.

"What?" Dean said. He was without expression.

"Faggot." Hogarth repeated bluntly.

This time, instead of ignoring his ribbing or joking his sarcasm off, the two stared long and hard at one another. Something in Dean wasn't good-natured or even lenient. This evening, Dean was not going to tolerate his young friend's cries for attention. He moved stiffly around the bed, Hogarth grinned at this and took off running. The boy fled down the stairs. He took two and even three at a time as he heard Dean coming after him. He was almost to the door when he realized what he had said. Faggot. Hogarth felt sorry.

"Dean, I-,"

The man grabbed his arm and jerked him around. Hogarth reeled back in fear. The fury that had resolved in Dean's brown eyes took heed of the child's state and he lessened his grip on Hogarth, his face then relaxed and he closed his eyes as he breathed. He released him. There was nothing but a jacket and keys in his other hand. When he opened his eyes again they were sad and shimmered just a little. Dean opened the door and began to leave.

"I'm sorry, kid. I'm truly sorry this didn't work out." He peered over his shoulder at him.

"Dean," Hogarth couldn't even whimper his name out, "You promised." Tears surfaced.

"I know, kid." He placed his hand on his head. "I'll come visit sometime, but now isn't it."

"Why?" Hogarth croaked out.

"It has nothing to do with you, Hogarth. Your mother and I need a break, that's all."

The man walked across the porch and down the stairs.

"Where will you go?"

"Where do you think?" He flung his jacket over one shoulder. Dean tossed his keys a bit.

"You should be with us, we're your family."

His friend stopped at that and turned.

"You don't know anything about my family, Hogarth." He slowly shook his head. "Us fag music lovers got to stay together." Dean saw Hogarth tremble. "You said it, not me." The man flatlined his lips and shook his head again. "You'll catch your death out here kiddo."

Hogarth ignored his choice of words. "I think you need us just like we need you."

Dean turned on his heel and with his eyes closed again asked the boy, "And why would you say that?" his opened them and stared out into the dark, dismal forest. He shivered.

"Because you were there when I needed you... the," Hogarth's words caught, "the most."

To be continued...

~ Lavenderpaw ~