Just a brief assignment for English (which seems to be the reason behind all the stories here) that I figured was worth posting. Set after Dill has run away and arrived back in Maycomb.

X-X

The humid air pressed against Dill's skin, clogging at his throat. He swallowed deeply, swollen tongue scraping dryly around the roof of his mouth but this only seemed to encourage the itching sensation. With a groan he rolled back onto his front; elbows digging into the dusty carpet. The fading rays of sunlight shone into his eyes and he gave a gusty sigh of defeat – chin dropping to cupped palms – inwardly deciding to put up with this rudeness.

"Why do you reckon Boo Radley's never run off?"

Scout's words from the other night drifted back, tickling at his mind as the lock of hair tickled at his forehead. Dill brushed the fair strands back thoughtfully.

All this time and still not one sign of'im. Maybe Jem'd been right before and Boo wasn't even around anymore – just died long ago and still everyone kept on talki'n and talk'in. He could've run away too – tired of his family and being unwanted, maybe to some place where people understood and needed him instead of just seeing a pain in the backside.

But then again...

The possibilities swarmed through Dill's head, bouncin' around like a pack of bees. His brow furrowed in concentration as he squinted out onto the deserted road, if he could just get a glimpse...

"I think the intelligence service can keep informed on the doings of Maycomb without your help son."

Atticus's warm rumble broke the silence and Dill almost hit the roof. He sprang to his feet with a startled yelp that echoed around the sitting room; eyes bulging in their sockets.

Scout and Jem's father leaned casually in the doorway, newspaper folded in one hand. "You look like you've seen Boo Radley himself." He let out a dry chuckle and raised an eyebrow. "Though I would have thought that wouldn't scare you in the slightest – considering your dedication in tracking him."

Dill rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, staring down at his feet drawing awkward patterns on the carpet. "Mr Finch sir I wasn't ah – I was just, just 'bout to –"

Atticus chuckled again and Dill stumbled to a stop; perhaps silence was the best defence in this case. Even Jem got caught out with his daddy's lawyer tricks.

"Much as I enjoy the presence of a permanent boarder in my sitting room." Atticus continued seriously (at least Dill thought he was serious but the sides of his mouth were quivering suspiciously). "I was actually looking for my own children, where're Jem and Scout?"

"Calpurnia wanted 'em in the kitchen over yonder...sir."

"Ah."

To Dill's surprise he just left the short answer hanging and strolled over to the armchair, dropping in with a contended sigh; newspaper spread unopened across his knees – not even making an effort to go and find them. Sometimes the world of grown ups made no sense at all.

Dill slumped back onto the carpet, eyes darting between the door and Atticus. He wondered if now he was going to get in trouble for runnin' away; p'raps before Atticus had just been saving it all up for him.

"So tell me son:" Atticus leaned forward with a slight creak and Dill tried to fight down a sudden lump in his throat at the ominous words. "Why did you run away?"

Dill's hands curled into fists, sudden shaking jabbing at his belly. He wasn't afraid – he wasn't.

"Well..." He gazed at the floor, mind racing frantically. "Y'see my daddy; he doesn't like me all that much and one day he just got so sick of me cluttering up the house, he decided that I'd be better off in the basement." His voice strengthened, wiggling round to get comfortable. "And so he chucked me down the steps – real hard Sir I've still got the bruises, I can show em' to you if you'd want. An-and he shoved these real heavy chains round my feet and hands, tight so the blood went all over the floor – there was so much I coulda drowned if I ain't careful and then...and then..." Dill faltered, words grounding to a halt as he tried to remember what came next. He slumped forward, shoulder's sagging.

Atticus was all too much like Jem – impossible to lie to. Must've been taught.

"I told Scout t'other night," he mumbled, still staring at the floor. "They – they just didn't want me, sir. Nothin' I did, nothin' I tried made any difference. They didn't care where I was really so long as it wasn't botherin' them so I figured why not go where I want? Neither one of em' would worry."

The silence seemed to stretch out forever; distant chatter of voices drifting along the street, flies buzzing outside the window with their irritating thrum. Above him Atticus didn't say a word – a wild hope sprung to being that perhaps he'd fallen asleep; Dill scratched his neck meditatively and after weighing up the options decided to risk looking.

He craned up to meet the gentle eyes of Scout's father. Feeling his cheeks warming under the power of the gaze – serious, kind and so different from his own parents – he squirmed, licking cracked lips.

"There is nothing more tragic," Atticus said at last; the quiet steadiness of his voice calmingly Dill's rolling belly faster than he'd thought was possible. "Than a child who has a mother yet is lacking the crucial essence of a mother's love. An orphan deprived, not of mentors of their own blood but of something far more important."

Dill's face scrunched up in confusion, nose wrinkling. It happened often with Atticus that he'd finish listening to him talk and not have clue what'd just been said. Crucial essence of what? Mother?

A sudden jolt sent another lump up to his throat as he remembered that Scout and Jem didn't have a mother anymore. He didn't think of it much – them having Atticus and all – but Dill realised that they were, not quite orphans but maybe...half orphans?

Still there mother hadn't wanted to leave them, she'd just been sick and had to go– not like his folks who'd dump him off at any place given the chance.

The lump in his throat grew at that thought; swelling bigger and bigger til it was like he had a baseball stuck down there. He made a heroic effort and swallowed it down; choking out the words burning through his tongue. "Mr Finch, can – can I ask you' a question?"

Atticus leaned forward so more, laying the paper aside to focus fully on Dill. "What is it son?"

Dill shuffled closer, a sudden tingling rushing through his palms. "Is it my fault Sir? "" The question jumped out on a high note and suddenly he couldn't stop the rest from spilling out. "Did I do somethin' to make em' hate me so much? I mean, I see you an' Scout an' Jem and all an' you want em' around. How come my folks don't want me? What'd I do?"

He took a shaky breath at the sudden burning in Atticus's eyes and wonder's if there was somethin' rude he said. But Dill doesn't think the look is angry not really, it's somethin' else – not quite describable.

"Son." The word settles comfortably, carrying warmth through his blood.

"You mustn't ever think that do you hear me?" The tone's firm and somehow make's Dill believe the words. "You're parents are going through a hard time at the moment I'm sure but you mustn't ever think it's because of you; you haven't done anything wrong – Spying on the innocent neighbours discounted of course."

Dill lets out a deep puff of relief, his fringe blowin' up. "Thanky Sir I –" He caught himself. "But I wasn't spying really. Just so you know."

One last question niggled in his mind; picking at the carpet he wondered how to phrase it. "Sir..." He stifled the quiver. "You keep sayin' son. Isn't – isn't there some way I – really could be?" The glance upwards is hopeful and wide eyed.

Atticus ruffles his hair with warm fingers and a rich laugh. "Keep up your engagement to my daughter and one day you will be."