Ihatekoledude: Grounded? Deets, please... Kidding. I hope she gets out soon. Just be nice to the bailiff. It worked for me so many times in the past, when they used to ground me... Thanks for lovin' my story!

Battlemo: Hmm... Next chapter. But she can't come to the dimension 'cause she lives on Earth.

StormiXbaby: Hee hee... Mostly Kole, though... Wait, no, Jericho.

I can't take credit for this chapter. Pepperfan1 gave me the many ideas that made this chapter. A salute to you, soldier!

Randomness: I just learned that Herald plays a lot of instruments. He played the guitar for Bumblebee is Titans Go issue 'Stupid Cupid'... Let's just have him stick to the trumpet in this story.

Jericho tossed and turned in his bed. Like everyone at times, he was restless.

With a yawn, he sat up and hopped off his bed.

Maybe he should watch TV? Yeah.

Jericho walked towards the living room.

The light snores reminded him that Kole was sleeping on the couch and he shouldn't disturb her.

He blew a raspberry and made a backtrack to his room.

On his way back, he heard a muffled scream from Herald's room.

Jericho stopped in front of his friend's door.

There was a thud. A covered wail came soon after.

Jericho was used to this. It happens almost every night.

It's sort of a routine. Herald would cry, Jericho would comfort. And on rare occasions, Jericho would be shaken up after a nightmare and Herald would talk to him... But Jericho gives him the reasons for his tears.

Jericho opened up the door and walked in, closing it behind him.

He walked over to Herald, who was curled up into a ball and sniffling.

"Jer?" He called, looking up.

Jericho outstretched an arm, helping Herald up.

"I'm a mess." Herald said, falling back on his bed.

Jericho sat on the bed and stared down at him.

Herald look up at him.

The strummer looked serious."Tell me everything."

Herald was used to every movement Jericho made in sign language, even in the dark.

"Um... Huh?" He asked, acting like he didn't understand the question.

But his friend saw through the facade.

His face looked a little irritated.

"I can understand if you don't trust me enough, but don't toy with me. I need to know if you won't or if you will. Give me a straight answer. I can handle it."

Jericho had know issues with telling Herald of his past, but Herald's remains unknown. Jericho has hinted that he wanted to know and assumed that his friend would tell over time, but it just never happened.

It's starting to get on his nerves. Watching his best friend suffer like that, but never knowing how to exactly comfort him.

Herald to a deep breath. "Everything?"

Jericho nodded.

"Everything."

"But my past doesn't even matter. It just... doesn't."

Jericho stared at him.

"Everything."

Herald sat up and pulled both feet onto the bed, sitting in lotus position.

"Well, my father was a protectors. Um.. you see those creatures beyond the border? Well my father and many other qualified fighters used to keep them away from our civilization. When I was three, he was killed by one. It grabbed him when he wasn't exactly on duty and electrocuted him with all the voltage it could produce."

Jericho patted his shoulder, hearing the pain in Herald's voice.

"So I grew up without a father figure. But don't believe the lies: I think I turned out pretty well... My mama raised me and paid the bills. I don't think the billing system is like that of Earth... I'll explain it some other time. So yeah, my mother ever only cared for me. I was the only thing in her life to worry about... for a while.

Let me take you back to the day I first met HIM. I was 9yrs old..."

The young trumpet player was sitting in the couch, watching TV, having finished homework long ago.

He was only waiting for his mother to return from work.

The door opened, and the pretty woman with mocha skin peeked her head in.

"My little Portal!" She squealed, walking in with a nursing bag in her hands.

The boy groaned at the nickname his mother had for him.

He looked behind the couch. "Ma, I'm not that young any more. And it's Malcolm!"

The woman chuckled. "You're gifted with the trumpet, right?"

Malcolm nodded. "That's what everyone tells me."

"Well then, your horn can open to magical lands." She beamed down at him.

He rolled his eyes. "Those are stories you told me when I was little. There's no such thing as magical places."

His mother walked over to the couch.

"Don't say that! There are places beyond the sky. Maybe even the galaxy. Think different dimensions!" She tapped his head before tickling his chin.

Malcolm laughed. "You always say these things, mama. I don't believe them, though."

"You will, Malcolm.' She pinched his cheek and bubbled, "My little Portal."

He swatted her away, giggling. "Stop patronizing me."

"Charlotte, where do you want me to put this?" A deep voice said behind the front door.

A gruff but handsome man walked in carrying a large box.

Charlotte walked over to him and pointed to the floor by the door.

He put the box down and looked around.

"Nice place." His eyes landed on Herald. "That's your boy?"

The pretty woman patten the mans shoulder.

"Malcolm, this is my friend Justin."

The young boy lifted his hand and waved without looking back.

"Malcolm, it's okay. Don't be shy." His mother pushed.

Malcolm timidly turned around.

Justin blinked. "Whoa! Strange eyes you got there."

Malcolm bit his lip and his mother felt a bit worried.

"Hey Malcolm," Justin grinned. "I have a birthmark that looks like a Jerrylop... We can be best friends!"

Malcolm grinned also. "Cool... Do you like music?"

The man threw his arm around Charlotte's shoulder.

"Do humans breath air?"

A genuine smile spread across the young trumpet players face.

"I have a trumpet, sir."

"Justin."

"I have a trumpet, Justin."

"He was perfect for my mom. I even set up some dates for them. My mother was so happy. I was just as happy. He was so nice. About 2 years later, they got engaged and he moved in...things are different here on Limbo. After he moved in, there was a few changes in his behavior. He was still nice, but less... perfect.

One time..."

Malcolm walked over to the man who was reading a newspaper on the porch.

"Justin! Um.. Can you take me to a rehearsal? Mama has to work today."

Justin flipped a page in the newspaper, not looking up.

"Ever heard of public transportation?"

The boy's jaw dropped.

"You mean the bus? Ma doesn't want me on that. She just can't dig the idea of me with a bunch of strangers."

The man sighed. "Sure, kid. I don't get why you can't go on the bus, but I'll still drop you of at this rehearsal. Who's playing?"

He puffed out his chest and stood straight, shoulders squared.

"Mr. Malcolm Duncan. Woo! I don't know how I landed it but that's good, right?"

Justin looked at him blankly.

"Very. But they don't mind your eyes?"

The boy looked down.

"My... eyes? Nothing's wrong with my eyes. Mama says they're perfect and I shouldn't care what nobody says."

"So you don't get bothered about them?"

Malcolm smirked.

"I do but people can't break the spirit of Malcolm... I live through my music, man."

Justin turned back to his paper.

"Your music my ass... Where's you music gonna take you? And to top it off, you have strange eyes. A musician who's a freak? Not gonna work."

Malcolm stared at him, surprised again by how his soon-to-be stepdad's behavior has been changing.

The man turned to him.

"What are you standing there for? Go get your trumpet quickly and maybe we'll have time to get a snack... Oh, and next time tell me in advance, kid."

"After they were married it got worse. There came the little shove, pokes, and hits. He was always the perfect gentleman to my mom and I knew he loved her, but he hated me. He made me feel absolutely worthless.

I should explain the time I came out to them."

A twelve year old Malcolm was picking at his meal.

"What's wrong, baby?" His mother asked.

The boy really didn't want to discuss it while his stepfather was present.

"Nothing." He said quietly.

Charlotte observed him.

"Honey, I know something is up. Tell."

The preteen looked over at his stepdad, who seemed harmless at the moment.

It was worth a try...

"Well umm, I've noticed that I'm not very, um... The girls in my school just don't seem cute."

Charlotte chuckled.

"So no one's cute enough for my handsome son? He's all growing, has a little mustache coming in, a deeper and smoother voice, and a little muscle build. Ohh, you must want a little woman."

Justin chuckled. "Eh, maybe the girls just don't notice him much."

The boy knew exactly what he was hinting at.

"They notice me, Justin. I'm considered one of the 'Attractives'... They're still scared of the eyes, though."

His mother gasped.

"Your eyes are beautiful! Remember what I told you? How your dad had a little gleam of silver in his eyes?"

Malcolm sighed and looked at Justin, who was a little upset.

"Um, ma, we're straying off the subject."

Charlotte pushed her empty plate aside and interlocked her fingers on the table.

"I'm so sorry." She said breathlessly. "Yeah, you don't find the girls cute. What did you want me to join you in a club so-"

"Mom!" He yelled lowly, earning an apology from his mother.

Malcolm began fiddling with his fingers.

"That's not the thing... I kinda find some of the guys, uh, cute."

His mother blinked.

"So?"

The preteen sighed. "Ma, I think I like some. I mean really like them."

She had to let that sink in for a while before her eyes widened and her jaw dropped.

"Gay? When did you find out?"

Malcolm shrugged.

"I mean, I know I'm attracted to males after a bit of soul searching in the park after school. This boy that I've been feeling funny about walked over and we started chilling... Then it hit me: I like him like that."

Charlotte sighed.

"So my baby's gay?"

"I guess. I mean I know I'm attracted to boys, but I'm not completely sure I don't like girls."

He looked at his mother.

"So... Are you okay with it?"

The woman smiled warmly.

"You're still my little Herald, whether you like males or female. Who am I to deprive you of love?.. but let's have this established: I still want grandchildren. Whether they're adopted or not, I still want them."

Malcolm chuckled. "Whatever, mama."

She yawned. "I'm tiiiiired."

Young Malcolm slide the plate over to him. "I'll wash your plate. Go sleep."

Charlotte smiled. "You are soooo sweet." She leaned over and kissed her husband. "'Night, honey."

"Goodnight, Cha-cha."

She smiled at him before standing and kissing her son on the forehead.

"Dream about the beyond, Mal."

Malcolm rolled his eyes at the same phrase she uses every night.

"Goodnight, ma."

She pointed up before walking away.

The boy shook his head before looking at his plate.

Then he felt the cold stare of his stepfather.

Malcolm looked up.

The man was staring at him meanly with his light brown eyes.

"So you're willing to have your a-"

"I can't repeat what he told me. It was just too sick. Lead to me running to the kitchen to hurriedly wash the dishes, so I can go to my room and cry. Well, my coming out lead to him calling me a bunch of gay slurs. Some days I had balls of steel, the others I was a damn wimp.

You know, he wasn't even that homophobic. He had a friend who was gay. Even used to have him over for cards. He was in the group of three.

The first time I met those friends..."

Three grown men walked in the house behind Justin.

"Here's my lovely abode, guys! But I think my lovely wife is at work."

"Who's that guy over there?" The thin black-haired man asked, pointing to the boy on the couch.

Malcolm groaned. Justin never tells him anything.

Justin rolled his eyes. "Oh that boy? That's my stepson, Malcolm."

The boy turned around and waved, expecting reactions on his eyes.

The man with different colored dreads was the first to comment.

"His eyes are so cool, man... He's human right?"

"Yeah." Malcolm answered, looking at the man strangely.

The man nodded, his dreads moving about.

"Awesome, man. Call me Blemish. Everyone makes mistakes."

Malcolm looked at the others, who were looking at Blemish oddly also.

The blond one shook his head and looked at Malcolm.

"He has major issues. My name is Calvin." *

The one with black hair and slanted eyes cleared his throat.

"And my name is Dave. Do you like blo-"

"Go straight down the steps in the kitchen to the basement." Justin directed.

They did as told.

Justin walked over to the couch where Malcolm occupied.

"The only normal one is Calvin, and he's gay."

The boy frowned at him.

"What do you want, Justin?"

Justin shook his head. "Nothing. What some chips? I bought them from the store earlier but that's a little too much. You can have it."

Malcolm looked at him impassively.

"Cut the crap. There must be a reason for you being nice to me."

The man shrugged.

"If you have a problem with my niceness, I could lock you in the attic and call it a night. Your mom is working overtime and will be with her brokenhearted friend after. I can and I will."

The boy stood.

"I can put up a fight."

Justin grinned and faced the boy who was a head shorter than him.

"Oh you can, huh?" He punched the boy in the stomach roughly.

"Oof!" Malcolm feel to his knees, the wind knock out of him.

"Go crawl to your room, you pathetic pansy."

The man turned around and began.

Young Malcolm stood up, wobbling a bit.

'Pansy? A pansy can't do this.'

He stood in fighting stance before giving Justin a chicken kick to the side.

"Shit!" The man growled.

Malcolm turned and tripped on the rug in front of the TV. He then took to crawling away.

He turned around and stormed towards the boy, his caramel skin red.

"You kicked me? Boy, this is a kick."

Justin stomped on Malcolm's back and kicked him in the side, flipping him over.

Then he stepped on the boy's stomach, crotch, and chest multiple times.

"Now go to your room! Remember my message to you: Tell anyone and I will kill you. Just make it look an accident."

The boy had a few tears spilling down his face as he dragged himself away.

"It felt so good to kick him... but he always had the upper hand.

You remember the scar on my back? He made it.

One day he came home aggravated because he was fired from his job... Well, he told us he was laid off.

I discovered the reason behind his unemployment some days after my birthday. I didn't mean to snoop. I-I really didn't."

The young teenager was cleaning out the closet in the hallway while his mother as at work, and his abuser was elsewhere.

"Thirteen? That's a damn good age! I'm finally a teen."

He shuffled some boxes before talking to himself again.

When being constantly threatened by a grown man, it gets hard to trust anyone.

"All those kids are swooning over me... Even Lisa. I don't like her but all the other guys do. They say she's the finest of fine. I can actually agree with that. She looks like a model. But she's an alpha-bitch... Who throws herself at me!"

School was the only time that he felt like somebody. They all respected him and left him alone when he told them to. Even though he was in the marching band, no one dared to tease him.

Maybe it was because he also took liqiko (fighting)? Eh, well all those 7 days a week that he goes to school, everyone stares at him like he's someone.

Yet, Malcolm doesn't enjoy hanging out with any of them. No matter how hard they try.

The teen continued shuffling boxes.

A paper fell from behind one.

Curiosity took over as he looked at the paper.

A gasp escaped his mouth.

"This man lied... He was fired." He read on. "For abuse of the medical products... He's on drugs? That explains ever-"

"What the fuck are you reading, boy?"

Malcolm's eyes widened as he turned and hid the paper behind his back.

"N-nothing." He lied as he looked at the man.

That paper needs to be shown to his mother. Maybe they could get Justin help?

The man grabbed the boy by his shirt and yanked him up.

"What's behind your back, fagot?"

Malcolm bit his lip and tried to slickly put the paper on a shelf.

Justin let go of him and shoved the boy. Then he grabbed his arm before the boy fell, twisting it a bit.

He snatched the paper out Malcolm's hand.

"Bastard. You found my paper?"

Malcolm rubbed his arm as he backed into a shelf.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. Please, I didn't mean to."

Justin raised his hand, but he remembered to never hit the teen's face.

He wanted to give him the worse pain that's possible. And he knew just what would do it...

Malcolm's fear caused him to fall to his knees and beg.

A foot landed right at his chest.

"Ow! W-why?"

Justin began laying hard hits all over the boy's body.

He grabbed Malcolm by his shirt and pulled him out the closet.

"Stupid as fairy boy snooped around shit, huh? Oh you think you're bad now? 'Cause you're 13? Fuck that shit, boy. You not grown. You get what I'm saying? I always overpower you. Always. You think I'll let you get away with this? Tell me! DO YOU!"

Malcolm shook his head as his hands were dragged across the wood.

"I don't! I didn't mean to!" He heard himself beg and decided to take a new attitude. "You know what? Do what you want! I don't give a FUCK!"

"Oh you don't, kid?" Justin slammed the boy's body against a wall.

He squatted to meet his gaze.

"Well, you're gonna feel pain today. Real pain."

"All you got, old man!" The boy yelled, deciding that life is just stupid. He topped it off with spitting in Justin's face.

The man's face turned to something of pure evil.

He punched the boy in the neck.

"Bastard."

Malcolm was out like a light.

About an hour later when he came to, he saw Justin standing over him with a knife.

"You wanna stay pretty for your first-"

The rest that was said went straight over Malcolm's head.

"Go ahead, you ass munch. Do whatever."

Justin grinned. "I didn't need your permission, fag."

He kicked the teen onto his stomach.

"This shouldn't bother you. You're already uglier than those catdogs. And dumber than any one of them. You and your stupid trumpet don't matter to anyone. A-"

"WHERE'S MY TRUMPET! DON'T TOUCH MY TRUMPET!"

The man chuckled. "Ah... Already did."

"YOUR DRUG ADDICTED ASS BETTER NOT TOUCH MY FUCKING TRUMPET!"

Justin snapped and slashed the boy on the back with the knife, cutting through his shirt and deep into his skin.

"You better not repeat that sentence ever again to me! I'm not addicted to no fucking drug."

Malcolm cringed.

"You can kill me, but not my spirit! I will always think above the beyond! I live through my trumpet man!"

Justin kicked him in the side before running out the room.

Malcolm sat up and removed the blood damp shirt.

He was feeling a little lightheaded. "My trumpet..."

With all the strength in him he tried to stay awake.

"This trumpet?" Justin said, holding a trumpet that was damaged beyond prepare.

The boy exploded into tears.

"That was my dad's! H-he gave it to me before I was even born!" He curled up. "I-I'm dead." He whispered.

The man threw the scrap metal at him.

"I'll just make it look like an accident."

He laughed and walked out.

Malcolm grabbed the remains of his trumpet and hugged it close to him. He was incomplete without it.

He needed it.

"I wanted to kill myself. There was no point in living without my trumpet... But I knew it would hurt my mother to find my dead body there.

So I..."

The teen gathered all his strength and stood up.

He grabbed his trumpet and the bloody shirt and walked to his room in a stealthy manner.
While in his room, he piled on some undershirts and put on a large blue t-shirt.

There was a paper and pen at his desk. He used those items to write a poem to his beloved mother.

After that, he reached into the desk and pulled out the knife he stole from the kitchen and uses to slice up things in his room.

Then he opened his large window and climbed out, still holding his damaged trumpet.

He looked around his mother's garden that was chock full of a variety of flowers.

His hand touched some, but did not pick them. He didn't wish to ruin the beauty of it.

Finally he reached the spot where he and his mother usually sit to converse. The spot that was only shared between the two. It was deep within the vines and tallest flowers of the garden. Free from the view of any eyes.

It held the strangest flower that Malcolm ever laid eyes on.

His mother called it a rose. She said that his father found a seed laying by the caves that the animals stay in.

How this seed got there, he didn't know. All he knew was that he had to share it with his wife and son; no other person should know.

Malcolm's fingers ran over the petals. This is the oldest flower in the garden. It's been around since he was 2, planted by the hands of his father.

So when he and his mom would sit by it, they would talk to Captain Gabriel Duncan.

"Hey dad. Um... I think I'm coming to join you today. Please be there to welcome me. I'll be so happy to meet you again."

He placed the paper by the rose and laid down by it.

He took the knife and held it up over his stomach.

"My trumpet's gone so I'm nothing but an empty shell."

A tear fell.

Just as he was about the plunge it in, something caught his eyes.

He placed the knife aside and sat up. He pushed a few hullabaloloo's aside to reveal the rest of the red tape on the purple soil.

"Why is their an X here?" The young teen questioned, removing on the tape.

He took the knife and used it the move chunks of soil from the area.

It didn't take long before he heard the sound of paper.

Malcolm reached his hand in the hole and pulled up an envelop.

"What's this?" He asked, opening the envelop.

There was a picture of a man who looked a bit like Malcolm in a uniform holding a trumpet. Next to him was an older man who was in a gray gown.

"Dad... but who's that?"

He turned the photo around.

Gabriel and Mr. K, smelter. Freshly made trumpet for Gabriel.

Malcolm's eyes widened as he saw the address at the back.

"I can go and get my trumpet fixed!" He cheered quietly.

He burst into tears of joy and kissed the scrap of metal.

"I do think that it was my dad who helped me out there... Well, as soon as I found that paper I took off. I had to take two buses and a cab, all the while in so much pain and bleeding so much.

By the time I walked those two miles to the smelter's..."

The teen coughed as he stood in front of the shop.

It was far off from the rest of civilization so no bus came here.

Blood was beginning to soak through all those layers of clothing.

Malcolm was feeling even more lightheaded at this point.

He knew he wouldn't make it.

A pained cough came through as he put the trumpet down in front of the door.

Before he could knock he took his last breath and fell onto the pavement.

Hours later the boy jolted awake.

He took a deep breath and tried to sit it. He found that his pain was numb.

Malcolm looked down and saw that he was shirtless

When he took a look around the brass smelling, low-lit room, he saw the huge furnace, a shelf full of tools, and an old man sitting at the small desk with the lamp on it.

"Just as I suspected." He said without looking behind him to the boy.

Malcolm raised an eyebrow.

"What do you mean?"

"You have been dead for 7 hours. As soon as I placed the melted brass of your horn in the mold, you jumped awake. You have the Horn of Gabriel in your possession. And not your father Gabriel."

The boy gasped. "How do you know my father's name is Gabriel? Wait, what?! I was dead?!"

The man spun the chair around, revealing his gray gown.

"My name is Mr.K. Gabriel is the only one who ever possessed the horn."

Malcolm nodded. "Yes, sir, but doesn't explain me being dead!"

"Your horn is apart of you. When it was mangled, you could have lived without it. That wound is what killed you. You bled to death. When I restored it, you were restored also."

The boy blinked. "Huh?"
Mr.K sighed. "You don't need the horn to live, but the horn needs you. Every time it is revived, so are you."

Malcolm had to let that sink in.

"So for someone to really kill me, the trumpet and I both have to be destroyed?"

The old man nodded. "Yes and if the connection is broken. But doubt that anyone but the person you choose can break the connection."

The boy shook his head and threw his hands up.

"This sounds like a lie. If it was true my father would still be alive."

"Your father broke the connection he had to it by giving it to you, child. He knew that you would have greater use of it than he."

Malcolm folded his arms.

"Explain."

" He played the horn well. Used it to get him to different points around Limbo... But I have heard of the talent you possess, Malcolm. You can use this horn to take you beyond the believable. You are the bridge to all dimensions. You are the Herald."

Malcolm rolled his eyes.

"You sound like my mother. She's into knowing what's on other galaxies and dimensions."

Mr.K almost smiled.

"Ah... Charlotte. She did not know of the secret but she had an interest in the beyond. Young messenger, please embrace your gift. The things you can accomplish. The lives you can protect. The places you shall travel. All you have to do is embrace it."

The boy looked uninterested.

"I still don't believe you."

Mr.K nodded.

"I know you do not. Just like you will not believe me when I tell you that I am 136 years old have been in possession of that horn for 128 years before I met your father 18 years ago... I can show you how to use it when you are healed if you like."

Malcolm nodded, still unconvinced.

"I have to see it to believe."

Then he raised his eyebrow.

"How come you didn't ask how I got my injury or why I came here with it?"

The old man turned back around to his desk.

"I already know, child. I know you will not be returning home. But that is beneficial to your training that will begin as soon as you heal. Do not argue with me, child. You are the Herald."

"With these eyes? Ha! Its only caused me pain."

"Your father had a glint. You have the whole color to an eye. Great power, child. Great power."

Malcolm let that sink in as he laid back.

"I have to see it to believe it." He said, unsure if it's true or not.

"Yep. I did die once... So after I healed he showed me a couple of books that he had collected from different dimensions and the planets in those dimensions. I learned math from many places and found that they're mostly the same. I didn't bother with languages though. Hey, did you know that English to you guys is Limbodian to us? I told you that already? Oh...

Yeah, so we traveled about in the day and I practiced different fighting skills in the night for the following year. Sleep came in breaks. He wanted to prepare me for the life of a protector as soon as possible.

At the end of my training, I..."

The fourteen year old boy looked at the elderly man.

"I can't go out as Malcolm. My mother will know I'm alive and everyone knows of my eyes and my name. She would be in danger!"

The old man nodded.

"I know. You are the Herald. You-"

"Herald!" Malcolm exclaimed. "I want to be called Herald."

"You are what you do." The old man said, a bit of humor in his voice.

Herald chuckled.

"Yeah and I need a mask. Those Earth heroes use them to conceal their identities. I also want a uniform."

Mr.K nodded. "Yes. I know of those.

"We need fabric that is strong, waterproof, and breathable. It has to be flexible, durable, and fitting." Malcolm described.

All the while the man had gotten up and walked to the closet by the shelves.

"Need help?" Malcolm asked, noticing what he was doing.

The old man took down a box with one pale, wrinkly hand.

"What did I tell you about treating me as if I am frail? I may be elderly but I am strong."

Malcolm nodded. "Sorry, sir. Just in good manners."

"Your mother raised you well." He complimented, putting the box on the desk.

"Thank you, sir. What's in the box?"

Mr.K took out plain white fabric.

"What you were speaking of... but I can not sow."

"My mother taught me a bit. I can do it."

Mr. K nodded. "Fine. I shall venture out to collect items for your suit."

Malcolm did not wish to trouble the man, but he needed something.

"Um... If you don't mind, I'll want color dye... Dark blue, black and gray... those are my favorite colors."

The old man nodded. "That is fine with me. You will add other items to your costume over time."

"So I spent about 4 months stitching my costume to perfection after I used to fight crime in the day in a gray mask. I was a little uncomfortable with stitching because HE used to call me something horrible every time I touched the sowing machine. But Mr. K had no problem with it. He even complimented my stitching.

Back to my past. After I finished sowing the suit I had to give it to a factory on Earth to make copies with the same fabric, still wearing the mask. Thank goodness Earthlings are strange because no one questioned it... No offense.

Afterwords, I fought those creature things until I was 16, when I first met you guys. You know the rest of it.

Now I'm gonna turn 18 in December and... and..."

Herald burst into tears.

Jericho held onto him.

"Gosh... Why hadn't I met you when I was younger? Life would have been so much easier."

Jericho felt the same way. Living with a crook as a dad would have been easier.

Yes, he had it rough but Herald had worse. At least his dad cared for him.

Herald's father died when he was young and the man that was supposed to be a father figure killed him.

Jericho tapped the crying teen's shoulder.

Herald looked at him.

"Why didn't you tell your mom? She would've believed you and could have had him arrested before he killed you."

Herald shook his head.

"No matter how much of an ass he was to me, he treated my mom with respect and truly loved her. I just didn't fit in to the picture. I should have known. I'm a forever outcast who never fits in with anything."

"You fit with Titans. We are a group of outcasts who said 'fuck society' and formed are own little clique. We all are dysfunctional, but we are dysfunctional together... Now I'll narrow it down. Think of the three of us. You, Kole, and I. We all work together to make something work. Even though you and Kole hate each other, you can't lie that you two make something work... Even if this whole vigilante thing doesn't work out, you'll always fit in with me."

Herald gave him a crooked grin.

"I really do love you, bro. It feels good to tell someone. Especially someone like you. You're one in a million, man."

Jericho smiled. "You too... You want professional help? Someone cam really help you get rid of those torturing nightmares."

Herald shook his head.

"Malcolm is depressed, shy, and strange. Herald is laid-back and cool. I don't dwell on the past, Joseph. You're all the therapy I need."

Jericho blushed. "That's so sweet."

Sniffles came out of Herald, remembering that his mother told him that constantly.

"But I really do miss my mommy. I'm a huge mama's boy... But if I go back, everything I worked for will be destroyed. I'll go back to that 13 year old boy who was abused day in, day out."

Jericho gave him another hug.

Herald wiped his eyes. "Ask me anything else. I swear I'll tell."

Jericho pulled away.

"I have no questions... actually, can I stay here tonight?"

"Sure. I would really appreciate it."

Herald sniffled again.

"Really."

Jericho hugged Herald and pulled him down. He was willing to have his friend cry on his shoulder.

What are best friends for?

Tell me what you think on this chapter. I cried at some parts.

Next chapter more lighthearted. Reveals the secret texter.

*Calvin is a little based off of Kevin Keller from the Archie series.

Wonder why Herald piled on all those clothes? He was trying to be a little neat. Enough that his ma would see the knife but the blood would sink downwards so, bblood would show from that angle.