Promises to Keep
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2. heroes are real
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The second time Jamie meets Jack, he clings to him like white on rice.
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"I met a guy today, mom!"
"Did you now?"
"Haha, yeah! Well, he kinda tripped me! He was just sitting on the ground with his legs out. My comics went everywhere!"
"Oh? But you're okay, right? Nothing hurts too much?"
"Pfft, no! Well, maybe my comics. They're all wrinkly now…but this guy was amazing! He was walking around without shoes on, and he had this staff-looking thing, and his hair was all white. He looked like snow!"
"I think I've seen him around…poor boy. Can't his mother get him some shoes?"
"Aw, mom! Who cares about shoes! This guy, he said—he said! He didn't! Believe! In heroes!"
"Well that's sad, isn't it?"
"Yeah…is it okay if I invite him over? I promise he won't hurt anything, he seems like a really good person!"
"Well…"
"Moooom!"
"Oh, alright. But you have to clean your room tonight, young man. No buts. You don't invite company over to a dirty room."
"Mooooooooom!"
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He is a lost child, trapped in questions no one will answer.
He is a moon boy caught in lunar shadow.
He is a wisp disappearing under warm breath on cold winter mornings.
He is homeless, and unwanted, and without anyone to miss him, though maybe, once upon a time—
"Do you always sit on the ground?" Jamie asks, toeing carefully around the boy's legs as they stretch across the sidewalk. He's covered in snow with only the tips of his pale toes piercing the fluff of snowdrift cocooning his still form.
"Only when I can't steal park benches from other hobos." The boy flicks his eyes open and stares at Jamie, eyeing the blue vest and fluffy cap on his head.
"Pfft, so are you a hobo, too?" Jamie questions. He backs up to the brick wall behind him and slides down so that his shoulders rest even with the other boy's.
"That's really rude. You don't just go around asking if someone's a hobo. Thought your mom taught you better," the boy says, smirking while his shoulder gently taps Jamie's. His touch is like a cold breath creeping softly past thick cotton to rest comfortably atop his skin, not painful but noticeable in its deceptive cool.
Jamie just laughs. He feels like he's known this boy for all his life, yet he knows they've only ever met the one time before now. It's the flicker of snow, the creeping of frost, the winter sky in a gaze that promises adventure if only you'll just stay—
"So what's eating you?"
Jamie breaks from his daze, leaning back and clipping his head on the rough brickwork behind him. If his mother knew he was leaning against a wall that anyone could have done anything on, she'd skin him and serve him for dinner.
He smiles at the other boy, pulling out a tiny figure from his pocket. It's an overly muscled man, about four inches tall, with painted blue eyes and flimsy swords clenched in plastic, jointed hands.
"This—" Jamie holds the figure up to the boy's face. "Is North King! He's the most famous superhero right now. He uses these two cool swords, and has a sleigh with flying reindeer, just like Santa Clause! And he makes all of these great inventions! And when he beats bad guys and saves people, he leaves them all gifts and wraps the bad guys in Christmas lights!"
"That is really cheesy," the boy says as he takes the action figure and examines it more closely. It's so cheaply made that he can see where the paint on the red coat has smeared onto the black gloves.
"But that's his deal! His signature move. All cool superheroes have signatures. And costumes! And names, of course."
"Of course," the boy agrees half-heartedly, busy making the tiny figure punch itself in the face.
"And there are others just like him. Like Tooth Fairy, and Mr. Sandman! Oh, oh and Silverfoot!"
"Yeah yeah, and when things get real tough and a super villain shows up, they get together and beat stuff up," the boy mumbles. The action figure in his hands is attempting a poor rendition of the cancan. "That's what superheroes do, I guess."
"Well duh," Jamie says. "They keep everyone safe. They make sure that no one gets hurt real bad and that we won't get enslaved by all the bad supers and stuff."
The other boy stays silent at that, pursing his lips. He picks at the errant red smear, stops when he realizes he's rubbed right through to the green plastic beneath, and sighs.
"Tell me, uh…"
"Jamie!"
"Jamie. Tell me, Jamie. Do you…do you think that all supers who don't become superheroes…do you think they're bad?"
Jamie tilts his head in confusion. "Why wouldn't they use their powers for good? That's why they get them, right? You wouldn't like, use heat vision to make just bacon, right?"
"Well yeah, but…you ever wonder if the bad guys had a reason they weren't good guys? Or if maybe some people just aren't cut out to be heroes?"
The boy says it with such insecurity, such fragile wonder, that Jamie honestly sits back and thinks about it for a minute, rolling the question around on his tongue. All he'd ever known were superheroes and super villains. Supers didn't generally wander around on the streets, living everyday lives. Or did they? He wasn't sure. Could someone have superpowers and not use them for anything? Were they bad if they didn't use them for the greater good?
Jamie sighs. "I guess…well. I guess people can just have cool powers. I mean, as long as they don't hurt people and donate to charity every now and then, they can't be evil. I guess? I never really thought about it."
"Huh," the boy says, voice faint as it's stolen by the wind, a sudden gust that coats the pair in a fresh smattering of snowflakes.
"But then…I also think, that everyone can be a hero, even bad guys!" Jamie says, pumping his fist.
"Huh?" the boy intones incredulously, turning to the excited child at his shoulder.
"I think," Jamie says very seriously, holding the other boy's gaze. "That deep inside, there's a hero in everyone. Even if it doesn't show really well, there's gotta be a time where there's a choice between being normal, and being super. And that person chooses to be good.
"Heroes are real, and I think even you can be one, too." Jamie smiles. "Even if you are a hobo."
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Hope this answers some of your questions, Nefarious Seraph 13! Would've answered in personal reply, but I figured this will suffice. XD Also thanks to SethBlackwolf and AntaresTheEighthPleiade for reviewing, and to everyone else who favorited or put this story on alert! Especially AntaresTheEighthPleiade for guessing the origin of the title correctly. ;) Maybe I can think of a prize for you. Maybe ask for a little scenario you want seen in this story? We'll see! Thanks for reading again, and hope it doesn't disappoint.
