A/N: I'm sorry this took so long. But you remember when I facetiously mentioned in 'Snippets and Drabbles' that the chapter was heading towards 40 pages? Yeah, you'll be pleased to know that didn't happen. This chapter's not 40 pages. It's 84 pages. And I have no idea how that happened. So, hope you enjoy.
A/N: For InSilva. For all the reasons.
Timeline
1. 'In the beginning' Parts 1 and 2 (Chapters 13 and 14) Rusty is seven, Danny is nine.
2. 'Neverending Conversation' Parts 1 and 2 (Chapters 15 and 16) Rusty is seven, Danny is nine.
3. 'Matilda and the Werewolf' (Chapter 23) Rusty is nine, Danny is eleven.
4. 'Something more than it should be' (Chapter 10) Rusty is ten, Danny is twelve
5. 'The humiliation of Norris Carrol' (Chapter 20) Rusty is ten, Danny is thirteen
6. 'Four Day Interlude' (Chapter 5) Rusty is ten, Danny is thirteen
7. 'Remember the first time' (Chapter 4) Rusty is ten, Danny is thirteen
8. 'Sunshine, smiles and sweet, sweet words' (Chapter 17) Rusty is ten, Danny is thirteen.
9. 'Lie, Cheat, Steal, Play' (Chapter 24) Rusty is ten, Danny is thirteen
10. 'View from the outside' (Chapter 12) Rusty is eleven, Danny is fourteen
11. 'When we were young' Part 1, 2, 3 and 4 (Chapter 25-28) Rusty is eleven, Danny is fourteen
12. 'Walk before you can crawl' (Chapter 2) Rusty is twelve, Danny is fifteen
13. 'Other Nightmares Parts 1 and 2 (Chapters 8 and 9) Rusty is twelve, Danny is fifteen
14. 'The more things change' (Chapter 1) Rusty is thirteen, Danny is fifteen
15. 'Words and Silence' (Chapter 22) Rusty is thirteen, Danny is sixteen
16. 'Six months of roses' (Chapter 18) Rusty is thirteen/fourteen, Danny is sixteen
17. 'Two stories with some understanding' (Chapter 21) Rusty is thirteen, Danny is sixteen. Falls within time of 'Six months of roses'
18. 'Life Lessons' (Chapter 7) Rusty is fourteen, Danny is sixteen - falls within time of 'Six months of roses'
19. 'The lies we live' (Chapter 3) Rusty is fourteen, Danny is sixteen
20. 'If the fates allow' (Chapter 19) Rusty is fourteen, Danny is seventeen
21. 'This is our decision (to live fast and die young)' (Chapter 6) Rusty is fourteen, Danny is seventeen
22. 'Such a perfect day' (Chapter 11) Rusty is fourteen, Danny is seventeen
And sequels after they move away!
'Adjusting' - two months after they leave town, Rusty is 15, Danny is 17
'Learning Curve' - eighteen months after they leave town, Rusty is 16, Danny is 19
'All in the family' - shortly after 'Learning Curve'
'Outward Ripples' - Rusty is 18, Danny is 20
'Chasing Echoes' - set after O11.
Rusty was ten and it was cold and he hurt. He was drifting in a hazy world of pain and exhaustion, not quite awake and not quite asleep. There was daylight streaming in the window and he clumsily pulled the blanket up over his head. He hadn't moved since Dad had left him in the living room and he'd managed to crawl into his bedroom and drag the blanket down off the bed.
He wanted Danny. Missed him already and it had only been a few hours. But he wanted to be with Danny. Wanted the way that Danny made him feel better, made him feel safe. Danny'd be at the airport by now. Maybe even on a plane. Maybe even all the way in Italy.
He wondered what it was like. He'd asked Danny and Danny had done his best to describe what he remembered, and then Danny's Father had been passing and he'd laughed and said that Danny should send him a postcard. They'd smiled politely and agreed that was a good idea. Danny would never even dream of doing anything of the sort.
And then Danny's Mom had pointed out that Danny had an early start in the morning and she'd offered to drive him home and it had taken a lot of fast talking to make sure that didn't happen and that he was perfectly fine catching the bus. She'd smiled triumphantly as they stood in the hallway awkwardly, Danny looking like there was a hundred things he wanted to say and, with his Mom's hand gripping his shoulder, unable to say any of them.
Danny remembered that clearly. He hadn't fully understood everything he felt back then, all he'd really known was that a week was a long time to go without Rusty, a long time to go without even knowing whether Rusty was alright. Which he hadn't been.
It was getting late, or maybe getting early. Either way, they didn't have much longer till morning came and the secretaries let them out. And the good thing was that they'd be let out of here. The bad thing was that they'd be caught and in the sort of trouble there was no coming back from.
The anger was a distant memory, buried in the knowledge that telling this story was hurting Rusty, was hurting them. Rusty was looking straight ahead of him, his voice steady and his eyes just a little too shiny. Danny leaned against the wall beside him, close enough to touch, silent promises.
Turned out it was just as well that Danny's Mom hadn't taken him home. He literally wasn't through the front door before Dad started screaming at him and as he fell on the concrete landing, pain blossoming through the taste of blood, he'd looked up to see Mrs Garcia coming up the stairs, her eyes firmly averted.
"Get inside," Dad hissed disgustedly, as her front door opened and shut quickly, and Rusty nodded and obeyed quickly.
It was something about the last of the bread being finished and Rusty knew it had been him – he just hadn't thought that Dad would notice or care as much as he did. And he was the one who'd bought the bread anyway, and when he'd stupidly tried to point that out, Dad had accused him of stealing money from him. And that was something he'd never do; he simply wasn't that dumb. But he'd had almost three dollars in change in his pocket and Dad had found it and that was that. There was money and Dad wanted it, no matter whose it was.
Dad was furious, screaming about gratitude and theft and food not being cheap, and his anger went on for such a long time, long after Rusty was reduced to being curled tight in a ball, his arms covering his face, hoping it would be over soon. He'd been doing so well; he hadn't made Dad this angry in months.
And, in the end, after Dad had gone out, he'd crawled away to his room, not even having the strength or energy to try and block off the door. Still at least he figured that the question of how he was going to occupy himself for a Dannyless week was answered. Was going to be all about lying very still and waiting till the pain went away.
That was before the next morning when Dad flung his door open and, with a disgusted sigh, hauled him to his feet. "Get up you lazy little fuck!"
He felt his knees start to buckle under him and he grabbed frantically at the wall for support. He was not going to fall. "What..." he tried to say and his voice was a hoarse whisper.
Dad glared at him. "I got stuff to do for the next week. Important stuff. I can't have you hanging around the place. Go stay with that friend of yours till Friday morning. I should be done by then."
He couldn't. He blinked, trying to make sense of Dad's orders. Danny wasn't here. "I can't..." he managed.
Dad punched him in the stomach and he doubled over immediately, his body screaming. "You're fucking going to." He grabbed Rusty's hair and pulled him upright, stared down at him. "Listen to me, you ungrateful little shit. I put a roof over your head, food on the table. I expect you to at least fucking obey me. Clear out for the next week."
And he couldn't. He had nowhere to go. "Please, sir," he said desperately, pathetically, pleadingly. "Whatever you're doing I'll keep out of your way. I'll just stay in my room. I won't make a sound. You'll never know I'm here, please, Dad, sir, I swear it."
His head hit against the wall hard as Dad shoved him backwards, and for a moment he saw stars. "I said you're going and you are. Keep whining like this and maybe I won't let you come back."
He swallowed hard and stood up straight. "Maybe I'll go tell the cops that you threw me out the house."
Next thing he knew he was on the ground and his ribs were hurting worse than ever. "It'll be the last thing you ever do," Dad snarled and Rusty had to figure he probably had a point. "And they wouldn't care anyway. You think anyone's going to care about filth like you?" He put on a high falsetto. "Oh, pity me. My Daddy's mean to me." He laughed in his normal voice. "Pathetic. They'd soon tell you that you don't get anything you don't deserve. Or are you going to tell me different? Tell me boy," he said softly. "You ever get a beating from me you didn't earn?"
There was a long silence. Possibilities swam through Rusty's mind. But in the end there was only one answer.
Mutely, he shook his head.
Rusty looked at him fiercely. "I know okay. Before you start, I know already. But I had to."
Danny sighed softly. "Think I'd want you to say anything that got you hurt worse?"
He held Rusty's gaze until Rusty blinked and looked away. "I should've...it was cowardly," he said at last.
Not in Danny's mind. And he knew damn well that Rusty hadn't believed him back then, didn't even entirely believe him now, despite his protests otherwise. "I like you alive," he said lightly.
"I always back down with him," Rusty said, quiet and remote, and Danny shivered at the thought of a day when Rusty wouldn't.
"You're not a coward, Rus'," he said finally. You're the bravest person I'll ever know. He didn't say it out loud, but that didn't matter.
Rusty smiled briefly at him. "Anyway, that's how I ended up on the streets that time. He shoved me out the door and that was that."
"How badly were you hurt?" Danny asked quietly.
Rusty shrugged. "I've been worse," he said, and that was no kind of answer at all.
He stumbled away from the building, gritting his teeth at every movement. More than...almost more than anything he wanted to just sit down on the stoop. Get his breath back. Stop shaking. Try and figure out just what he was going to do next. But if Dad saw him hanging around, well, that would be bad. Better to clear out as far as possible.
He kept walking, letting his feet take him wherever. Morning and the streets were full and he was drawing a lot of attention. He must look a mess. Feeling vulnerable he kept his head down and tried to look small and unimportant.
Okay. So right now he was alone and hurt and he had no money and no place to go. He had to figure out what to do about that. First thing seemed to be to get off the streets. Find someplace to lie down, preferably, he thought, as his vision blurred over and the world tilted sideways for a moment, before he fell down. Briefly – very, very briefly – he considered going to one of their other friends. But they all had parents who would have questions and the state of him right now - he could imagine the horror and the fear, the demands for explanations, and the fussing and the concern and the touching. He shuddered and wrapped his arms tightly round his chest until his breathing eased. Only Danny. Nothing else was safe.
And that was where he was automatically heading, he suddenly realised with dark amusement. Even though he knew Danny wasn't going to be there, he was still walking towards the only place he ever felt safe. So stupid.
Except...except it wasn't. Not quite. Because yes, Danny wouldn't be there, and he couldn't go to Danny's place, but sometimes they weren't going to Danny's. The abandoned house. Their little playground. Familiar. Off the streets. And in the past three years it seemed as if no one ever went there apart from them. Safe, or as near as he could reasonably expect. He could lie down there for a few hours, or days, or a week, and no one would ever know. Perfect.
Which only left getting there. And that felt impossible. He had no money for the bus, of course, and in better times he might have tried sneaking on or offering the driver some sob story. Right now, walking was the only option and that was no kind of option at all.
Every step hurt. Every step left him gasping for breath and dizzy and desperate to just lie down on the pavement and give up. Put up or shut up, he told himself fiercely. Not like he hadn't managed this walk when he was far worse off, than he was right now. Really, he was just being soft. Soft and a sissy.
Unbidden, Danny's voice whispered in his head. Saying that 'soft' was a sort of ice-cream and 'sissies' were probably people who couldn't stand up after a beating, and if Rusty insisted on using his Dad's words for himself, then Danny had a few words for Rusty's Dad that he'd like him to consider.
He blinked and shook his head groggily and tried to stop smiling. Oh, that was...that was...he didn't even know what that was.
Slight bewilderment and amused acknowledgement flashed between them. Yeah. Danny had filled in Rusty's half of the conversation before. Had listened to Rusty's voice when Rusty was nowhere around. Often telling him when he was about to do something stupid.
"It's - " he began.
" - easier," Rusty nodded. "Better - "
" - more options," Danny considered. "Seeing - "
" - what you see," Rusty said.
"What you see," Danny echoed.
There was a pause and they laughed.
"And I got plenty of words," Danny added, soft and dark, drawing himself closer to Rusty and waiting for the rest of the story.
Must've been close to noon by the time he got to the abandoned house. By then he was long past the point of caring what the time was or even where he was. All that was left was the pain and the exhaustion and he stumbled through the door and staggered into a corner, automatically finding somewhere he wouldn't immediately be seen if someone came through the door.
Soon as his head was on the ground, he slept.
Time went by. A lot of time. Wasn't an easy sleep. Too much pain. Too much fear. He couldn't stop shaking and the floor was hard and he was lonely. Bad dreams woke him up from time to time, and the details drifted away, leaving him trembling and not remembering why. He thought he dreamt memories and he thought he dreamt of Danny and he thought he remembered running and running and Danny not being able to find him, and so much pain.
Pain, thirst and weakness. Somewhere along the line it got darker and colder and he curled up tighter. Night. And he just wanted to fall asleep and not wake up till he felt better. A good night's sleep. Because tomorrow he was going to have to do something.
Okay. He closed his eyes tightly and wrapped the daydream around himself like a security blanket. A silent house. Danny's room. Couple of Hershey bars and a bottle of soda lying at the foot of the bed, there for whenever he wanted them. Danny lying beside him, stroking his hair and gently talking him through the pain, smoothing it over like it had never been. Danny, here with him, smiling at him, and Rusty wanted to apologise for the worry he'd put in Danny's eyes, but he was so sleepy and the room drifted away to darkness.
The next time he woke, the daylight was bright and glaring in his eyes. His head was pounding, his throat was dry and cracked and raging and he felt like every single inch of his body was battered and bruised. But still, he was feeling better.
Better enough to roll over, and when that didn't immediately kill him, to sit up and lean against the wall.
Okay. Really, this wasn't too bad. He wasn't sure exactly what time it was, but judging by the light, it must be late morning. Which meant he'd been here for almost twenty four hours and nothing disastrous had happened. He was safe, pretty much. Probably safer than he would be at home.
And if he could just stay here that would be fantastic. Unfortunately, that wasn't an option. Even if he could last a week without food – and he did think that maybe, probably, that was possible – he needed water. Needed to deal with his thirst, needed to get himself cleaned up.
He hated being on his own like this. Oh, that felt like such weakness, but he didn't want to be on his own, and he didn't want to move, didn't want to force himself to stand and walk and think.
This wasn't the way he liked his bad days to go.
Bad bad days meant hiding in his room, shivering in his bed, trying not to make a noise, hoping that Dad wouldn't think of him again, ignoring the pain and waiting till it went away.
Good bad days meant lying in Danny's bed. Meant painkillers and antiseptic, juice being fetched for him, food when he was feeling better. Meant lying next to Danny, snuggled close, Danny's arms around him, pretending to be asleep while Danny pretended to believe him.
There'd been worse days, of course, but he didn't think of them.
This wasn't what he wanted. But it was what he had so he had to tough it out.
He pulled himself to his feet using the wall and his fingernails, bit his tongue to stifle the moan, stubbornly gritted his teeth against the weakness and the dizziness.
Finally, he walked out of the house and headed for the street. One foot in front of the other and he'd guess it would take about an hour and a half to walk back to town. Then, get himself cleaned up, drink his fill and head back here. Maybe he could find some sort of container. Take some water back.
He was lost in the effort of staying on his feet, oblivious to everything but pain and strain, when he felt a hand on his shoulder, wrenching him round, and it hurt, and his legs were tangled together and he fell to the ground in a heap at Juliet Darcey's feet.
Staring stupidly up at her, he scrambled backwards, fighting frantically to regain his footing.
She was gazing down at him and he could see the contempt and disgust in her eyes, and he wasn't going to be able to run if she tried to hurt him, and still he managed to get his feet under him, managed to stand.
"Don't you go thinking you can ignore me," she hissed at him. "And don't you dare pretend you didn't hear me calling you."
He hadn't. Of course he hadn't. Hadn't had the first idea. But that wasn't at all the right answer. "No, ma'am. I'm sorry, ma'am," he said instead, looking down at the ground respectfully
A hand digging into his chin and he cried out as his head was wrenched upwards and he could feel the blood tricking down his neck again. "At least have the manners to look at your betters when they're talking to you, you filthy little beast."
He just about managed to focus on her. "Sorry," he said, soft and apologetic.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded. "I know for a fact that the Ocean boy is away right now. With his parents, God help them. So you have no business in a respectable neighbourhood. Why don't you go back where you belong?"
The Ocean boy. And Rusty had to bite back the words of hate and fury and defensive defiance that sprang to his lips. Danny was amazing and she shouldn't be allowed to even mention him. "I'm just walking," he said quietly.
She snorted. "A likely story. Look at you. Who have you been fighting with? You're a vicious little thug and if I get to hear that you've been bullying any of the children round here I'll be calling the police. They'll know exactly what to do with the likes of you."
Yeah. He shivered. So Dad kept telling him.
She stared at him some more, her eyes narrowed. "Oh, you don't like that, do you? You've been in trouble with the police before, I'll bet. Maybe I should call them right now."
"No!" he shouted before he could help himself. Even if Danny was right and Dad was wrong or lying about the police, the first thing they'd do would be to take him back home. And couldn't he just imagine what Dad would do when that happened. He swallowed hard, helpless at the look of triumph on her face. "Please, Mrs Darcey. Ma'am. I haven't done anything. I'll leave right now, I promise."
She smiled sweetly. "Good. And please believe if I catch you hanging round here again I won't hesitate to call the police."
Oh, Rusty believed her alright.
Danny's jaw was clenched tight. "Juliet Darcey is a vicious, vindictive, self-righteous, snobbish bitch," he ground out.
Rusty grinned at him. "Don't hold back; say what you really feel."
"I don't understand why," he admitted quietly. "Why couldn't she just leave you alone?" Why couldn't she just always leave them alone? They weren't anything to her.
"Guess she thinks that everyone has their place," Rusty said after a pause. "Think she thinks that just the sight of me is enough to drive down house prices and ruin the neighbourhood."
He was angry beyond reason and he already knew he could do nothing about it. Juliet Darcey was...they were just never gonna win. "She should try living in the real world. Worry about the things that matter."
Rusty shrugged. "Guess I'm always something to gossip about too."
A way of getting back at Danny's Mom. That was what Rusty didn't say. But they'd both heard the things she said.
"Besides," Rusty added. "I don't think she ever sees anything she doesn't want to."
Right. Just like Danny's parents.
He sighed and looked at Rusty. "You didn't go back there."
An awkward shrug. "Couldn't risk it."
Yeah. Rusty had found somewhere safe and Juliet Darcey had ruined it. How Danny hated her.
Nothing had really changed. He was still heading back into town. Just that he didn't know where he was going after that.
It still hurt and he was still so tired. He amused himself, for a while, contemplating how much easier it would've been if he'd got Juliet Darcey to give him the bus fare. Could've worked. If he'd told her that he'd be far away that much quicker. He thought that maybe she hated him enough to go for that.
He sighed; another risk he couldn't take. He'd be back here, after all, as soon as Danny was home. Juliet Darcey carrying tales to Danny's Mother was inevitable. But he could at least try not to add to them.
After a while, it was sorta like sleepwalking. Wasn't sure exactly what was keeping him on his feet, and all he could see was the sidewalk stretching out in front of him. It was a minor miracle that he didn't walk into anything.
He didn't know where he was going. Without thinking about it too much, he took a couple of odd turns. Idea was to make sure that he didn't bump into anyone else who knew him.
His feet were aching. His head was burning. His throat was clogged and dry. He hurt.
When he couldn't walk any more – when he really, truly couldn't walk anymore, he stumbled down next to a barbershop window and sat on the sidewalk, curled up in on himself as tight as he could, trying to be unnoticeable. Invisible.
He just had to rest for a few minutes. Just for a few minutes, and then he'd find somewhere inconspicuous. Somewhere out of the way without people constantly walking past. He could feel them staring down at him, wondering. Thankfully, none of them stopped. Okay. Just a few more minutes...
He woke up with a start when the coins clattered down on the sidewalk beside him. His head shot up painfully, looking round wildly.
There was a young girl – about his age, probably - being dragged away from him by her mother. He couldn't hear the scolding, but he could hear the girl's defence.
"But Mom, he looked sad and hungry..." She caught him looking and he saw her waving, just before he lost sight of her in the crowd.
Oh. He swallowed hard and his pride was burning. She'd thought he was a beggar. God.
Almost unwillingly, he looked down at the money. Two quarters and a dollar bill. Enough that he could buy something to eat. Some painkillers even. Enough to matter.
What, he was a charity case now?
Okay. He licked his lips. He couldn't see the girl now. And he could try to run after her, but he seriously doubted he'd manage to catch up even if he could stand without passing out. And it wasn't like he'd asked her for the money. He'd never ask her for money, not her and not anyone else.
But he hurt. He hurt and he was exhausted and there was no way he was going to be up to picking pockets, not for a couple of days at least, and that meant no food and no medicine, but there was money right here that was all his, if he could bear it.
He dropped his head in his hands; he was going to use the money. He was going to use the money and he hated it.
Once he managed to drag himself to his feet he found a public restroom and greedily slurped water from the tap. That should help a bit.
Then he scowled at his reflection in the mirror. Huh. No wonder Juliet Darcey had wanted him out the neighbourhood. He was a mess. With a sigh, he set to work removing the worst of the blood and the dirt from his face, hair and hands. Even when he was done though, his face was still swollen and purple. And his t-shirt was torn and filthy. Oh, he wasn't looking at all inconspicuous here. No way he was going to have a chance of blending in anywhere.
Right. It was early evening now. The shops were shutting; no chance that he'd be able to buy clothes even if he had the money. But turned out his luck was in. There was a small church in the neighbourhood, an advertisement requesting clothes donations. And someone, at least, had listened, because there was a plastic bag hanging from the door, full of kids clothes that he guessed someone had outgrew.
Looked like they might be a little big on him. But that didn't matter.
When he was sure that no-one was looking, he rooted through the bag eagerly. Red t-shirt, slightly smaller than the rest. That should do. And there was a grey jacket that was kinda thin and worn at the elbows, but it would help if it got cold at night, and not to mention it would hide the bruises on his arms. And even better, there was a baseball cap, and if he pulled that over his face and kept his head down...maybe no-one would notice anything odd at all. Perfect.
And now he was stealing from the church. Oh, he was pretty sure that was one of those things that always made Zorro mad. If he heard hoofbeats, he was running.
Slightly more confident in his ability to pass unnoticed, he wandered through the streets until he found a shop that was still open. There were two older boys in the doorway, maybe a couple of years older than Danny. They regarded him with curious hostility as he tried to squeeze past them, and one of them said something he didn't quite catch and the other laughed.
Shrugging it off, he headed into the shop and quickly picked up the cheapest painkillers he could find and a candy bar. All he really thought he was up to eating. And he still had the dollar left in his pocket for tomorrow.
Now, he thought, as he pushed his way past the two boys again, and headed back onto the streets, absently dry-swallowing a couple of pills, now all he needed to do was find somewhere safeish to spend the night.
He found the alleyway as the sun was setting. Isolated and piled high with debris, abandoned trash cans and discarded cardboard boxes. He rubbed his hand across his mouth; guess this was home for the night.
Funny. He remembered the last time he'd done this. He'd been so frightened. So convinced that he was doing something terrible, that this made him something terrible. Now, three years older, he was just tired and looking to survive.
The painkillers had taken the edge off. Felt good. He managed to choke down most of the candy and curled up in a sheltered spot beside the wall, pulling the jacket tight around him, his head resting comfortably on his arm and a pile of old newspapers.
He hoped there were no rats. He didn't think he could bear it if there were rats.
He wondered where Danny was right now.
In a luxury hotel room, Danny remembered, unreasoning guilt choking him. Sleeping in a comfortable bed, eating his fill of the finest foods, safe and –
" – miserable," Rusty pointed out quietly.
Yeah. Listening to his parents fight, wondering if Rusty was okay. Lonely. Angry. Miserable. But safe. Safe, when Rusty hadn't been.
"You know that's ridiculous, right?" Rusty asked, a soft, indulgent smile playing around his lips. "It's not better for both of us to be in trouble, you know."
"Right," Danny nodded seriously. "So that's why, tomorrow, when they find us here, you'll be happy to hide and let me take all the heat."
Rusty blinked. "Oh, you are impossible. It's not the same thing at all." But he didn't sound quite convinced.
Danny reached out and gripped his hand. "We're better together," he said, and he wondered again how Rusty could have forgotten that? How Rusty could have chosen to stay alone rather than say he needed Danny's help?
Uneasily, Rusty glanced away and carried on talking.
There was someone walking towards him and he was awake in an instant. The sound of footsteps. Laughter. A bottle being kicked and broken.
For a second he was bewildered, unsure of where he was, expecting Dad and expecting pain. Then the truth came rushing back. Dad had thrown him out. He was on his own, in an alley and he had no idea who was there.
He stayed absolutely still. Good chance that they didn't know he was here. Good chance that they didn't care. Good chance that if he just kept his head down they'd go right on by. Good chance. If he was lucky.
He wasn't.
Hands reached in and pulled him out of his hiding place, pulled him to his feet. "Found you," the boy said gleefully.
There were two of them. The two boys from the shop. He blinked and kicked out at them and tried to run, but he hadn't got five feet before the taller of them swore and ran after him, grabbing him and wrenching his arms behind his back. "Got him, Joe," the boy grunted.
Joe – the little, skinny one with the knife scar across his cheek - laughed. "Trying to run away, little chicken? Fuck, we own you now. Isn't that right, Mack?"
The boy holding his arms nodded. "Whatever you say."
He kept his face indifferent as Joe slapped him across the face. Not like he wasn't used to it. "What do you want?" he asked, and he really didn't know.
Joe grinned. "These are our streets, little chicky. You want to sleep here, you gotta pay the price."
He reached into Rusty's pocket and pulled out the dollar bill.
This was stupid. This was so stupid. They were actually robbing him. He had nothing and they were actually...
"Protection money," Mack told him, twisting his arm painfully. "The Hellhounds own these streets."
"These are your streets?" he repeated softly and he made a show of looking round. "Huh. Ambitious. Bet you grew up thinking one day all this will be mine. The garbage, the rats, the shit...all of it."
Joe's face darkened. "Shut your fucking mouth, chicky," he said and for the first time he seemed to be looking at Rusty, for the first time he seemed to be taking Rusty seriously. Probably that wasn't such a good thing. Probably he should back down.
"Oh, yeah," he said mockingly. "You're a big time gangster, aren't you? Making a whole dollar. Few more nights like this one, you might actually have enough money to buy a hamburger, isn't that right?"
Joe punched him hard, in the face, in the ribs, and he twisted out of Mack's grasp, falling to the ground. He rolled with it, grabbing a handful of mud from the gutter, and then he was on his feet, grinding it into Joe's face.
"Gotta go," he told them, and he was already running.
They were chasing him. Of course they were chasing them. He could hear them yelling, could hear them swearing at him, could hear every single promise of what they were going to do to them.
They caught him, they were going to hurt him. Hurt him and beat him and maybe, just maybe, kill him.
And he was already hurt, and his ribs were aching, and it was getting so hard to breathe, and he wasn't going to be able to keep this up for long. They were gaining on him. Getting closer. He was fast, but they were so much bigger than he was and over a distance he couldn't hope to win. He could practically feel them breathing down his neck, could already imagine them grabbing him, pulling him back.
They might kill him. They might not even mean to and they might still kill him. And if he died in this stupid, stupid way, if he died over a dollar, who was going to tell Danny?
He turned sharply and there was the fence he'd passed before and he was already ducking, on his hands and knees, forcing himself through the tiny hole.
They couldn't follow. They couldn't fit through the hole and they couldn't climb the fence, and they couldn't follow him, and still he needed to keep going. He needed to be far away by the time they did find a way through.
They were still shouting somewhere behind him.
He kept going. Limping and stumbling through the streets, not daring to slow down till he saw the sun rise.
Rusty leaned back against the wall and lit a cigarette. "Wasn't as bad as all that, Danny."
He was in the grip of a cold, harsh fury. "Uh huh. Just a couple of guys twice your size – "
" – they weren't – " Rusty interrupted.
Danny ignored him. " – trying to beat you up for pocket change."
Rusty shrugged and focused on his cigarette for a few moment. "It's not like... people with nothing are...they were desperate. And assholes."
"Don't you try and tell me that it didn't bother you," Danny said with soft anger. "Don't you try and tell me you weren't scared."
There was a second when he thought that Rusty was going to try and deny it. For a second Rusty's jaw was set and his eyes were determined. Then he looked up at Danny and sighed. "Yeah. Yeah, I was scared."
"You should have told me," he said, and it hurt that Rusty hadn't. Not like he thought that Rusty had been safe after that. They could have done something.
"That's what it's like, Danny," Rusty said quietly. "That's what it would be like. If we get caught tomorrow. If we run. That's what it's going to be."
He could imagine it. "Let's not get caught," he suggested.
Rusty smiled. "Yeah."
Okay. He took a deep, shuddering breath and, absently swallowed another couple of painkillers. Could only hope they'd take the edge off soon; his chest was burning. But he had to figure he was probably safe now. There was no way – surely no way – they could still be looking for him.
So, yeah, he'd made them mad but from their point of view he was just a little kid who'd only had a dollar in his pocket. There were an almost infinite number of better targets than him. No way they kept looking for him all night, and that made his wild and desperate flight slightly stupid. In the cold light of day.
At some point he'd found his way back to familiar streets. Mabel's place was just a couple of blocks down from here. And she'd be opening soon. Putting on pancakes and scrambled eggs and bacon and waffles dripping with syrup.
God, he was hungry.
Licking his lips, he tried to look on the bright side. Least if he was hungry it probably meant he was healing up nicely. Probably him being hungry was a good sign. At least it would be if there was any prospect of food anytime soon.
Okay. Really, he needed to grab a few hours sleep while the streets were still empty. Then he needed to find a place he could hide out till dark.
And then, when there was no one to see and no one to judge him, then maybe he'd see about finding some food.
He found a little nook behind the bank that seemed mostly safe enough. Little too close to the back door and in full view of the parking lot, but the bank was still closed and there was no one around. Not to mention that it looked like there was plenty room to run, if he had to. Should be fine for a couple of hours.
He curled up, pulled the jacket tight around him and slept.
He was woken by the sound of cars a couple of hours later. Parking lot was filling up, and as he raised his head and glanced round him with sleepy urgency, he saw a few people looking his way. Even at a distance he could see, or imagine he could see, the frowns of concern and disapproval. Right. Time to move.
Jamming the hat back down over his face, he hurried off.
Thirsty again, he found his way to the public toilets opposite the library, absently and automatically, ducking his head and avoiding the cops on their daily run to the doughnut shop, and greedily scooped up handfuls of water. There. Hopefully that would fill his stomach up a bit. He was still so hungry.
Looking in the mirror, he grimaced. Bruises were fading a bit but they were still noticeable.
Sometimes he couldn't help but think that Dad was so stupid. He didn't want anyone to know that he hit Rusty. Right from when Rusty was a little kid he'd made sure that Rusty knew to lie, but then he went and hit Rusty where everyone could see. How difficult would it be to keep his fists away from Rusty's face?
"He's a stupid bastard," he muttered to himself, taking savage glee in the pronouncement and almost managing to resist the fearful urge to look around and make sure that the stupid bastard was nowhere in earshot.
Somewhere in the back of his mind Danny suggested with quiet agony that there were more reasons than that for Rusty's father to be a bastard. More reasons why Rusty's father should keep his fists away. Rusty ignored him.
There was a smear of dirt down the right hand side of his neck. Must've come from the alley. With a scowl he wiped it away and scrubbed the rest of his skin for good measure.
He hated feeling dirty. Hated being dirty. And he was pretty definite it was only going to get worse. Four more days till he could go back home. There at least he'd be able to take a shower and get a clean change of clothes. And then another day and Danny would be home and everything would be normal (safe) again.
He leaned heavily on the sink, met his eyes in the mirror, ignored his stomach growling. Five days. That wasn't so long to wait. He'd be fine. He was fine.
Now all he had to do was find a place to hide up for the rest of the day.
He walked out of the restroom and paused, looking at the library across the way. Looked like it was just opening. He'd never actually been in, but it was big. Free. Open to kids. And that girl Matilda in the book Danny had read to him last year had spent all her time in there when she was trying to get away from her parents. And no one had ever bothered her.
"Not sure that a kids' story is a good thing to base your decisions on," Danny said dryly. If he was honest, he didn't like thinking about that book. Didn't like remembering Rusty in so much pain and him left feeling like his very best might not be good enough.
Rusty shrugged. "Guess it's possible I have a soft spot for public libraries."
Danny grinned. "Suppose I should be glad it wasn't 'Charlie and the Chocolate Factory'."
"No chance," Rusty said immediately, shuddering. "Oompa Loompas scare me. I don't care how many rivers of chocolate there are, I'm not braving those little orange things."
Trying not to smile, Danny remembered sitting through the movie, not so long after they'd first met. Rusty, all of seven, and not enjoying himself one bit. "You'd do it for Gene Wilder," he pointed out.
"Yeah," Rusty said, after a second, determination in his voice. "Guess I would at that." If you were there, he added silently.
Danny smiled and squeezed his hand tightly, the way he had in a movie theatre a very long time ago, when the Oompa Loompas were telling them exactly what would happen to boys who ate sweets. "Think I'd let you face Oompa Loompas by yourself?"
No one paid him any attention as he walked into the library, his head down and his hat pulled firmly over his face.
Trick was to never look lost, never hesitate, never meet anyone's eye. And try to stick to places where you could blend in.
That in mind, he walked through the archway into the children's section.
Okay. There were already people here. Mostly younger kids, rummaging through the picture books. Couple of girls his age sitting at a table, each holding a book with a picture of a pony on it. He didn't know them. Thankfully.
Seemed okay. Seemed like he should be able to stay here for the rest of the day no problems.
He turned his attention to the book shelves, looking for something to do and something to hide behind, and by a strange coincidence he found himself staring at the Roald Dahl section.
One book in particular caught his attention. Oh. Well. He'd never argue with that.
With a smile he couldn't stop, he curled up on a beanbag chair in the corner and started to read 'Danny, Champion of the World.'
Danny cleared his throat, suddenly finding it difficult to speak. "I've...never read it."
Rusty had no trouble meeting his eyes. "It's good. It's about a boy who sees more than everyone else. And he figures out a way to steal all the bad guy's pheasants. Something that had never been done before. Never even been tried. Someone no one else ever even dreamed of."
Danny thought he could spend the rest of his life trying to live up to the look in Rusty's eyes.
He stayed in the library until it closed, as people came and went around him. And sometimes he was reading his book and sometimes he was dozing lightly. Either way it all felt safe enough to him. And no one bothered him, right up until the moment when the librarian cleared her throat, her hand hovering above the light switch. "We're closing now, dear, if you want to put your book away."
He looked up at her and smiled and nodded, carefully – stiffly – getting to his feet and replacing the book on the shelf. He still had a couple of chapters to go.
"Have you been here all day, dear?" she asked curiously, while she fiddled absent-mindedly with her wooden beads, and he nodded again, quietly going to slip past her. He was pretty sure that there weren't any rules about how long you could stay in the library. And certainly she made no move to stop him as he headed out the front door, just calling out a cheery good night.
Somehow, he doubted it would be. His legs felt weak and shaky. Still hurt a little to breathe and his feet were aching. He bit his lip; he'd been hoping that a day spent in the comfort and the safety...but he wouldn't trust himself to make any lifts right now. His hands would shake and he'd get caught and running wasn't an inviting option. Same went for shoplifting, and besides, if he went in a shop with the hat over his face they'd be watching him like hawks, and if he left the hat off...it'd be vultures.
But he needed to eat. He really, truly, honest-to-God painfully needed to eat.
For a moment he thought of the little girl and her pocket money and he pictured himself sitting down in a street corner, the hat at his feet, begging for change.
He looked pathetic enough. Probably he'd be able to scrape together enough to get something to eat pretty quickly. Maybe even something hot. He gritted his teeth; couldn't do it. And wasn't that just ridiculous? He'd happily steal money out of people's pockets but he wouldn't take a handout.
He sighed and scrubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes. Well, that only left one alternative. And he felt kinda sick just thinking about it.
There were still too many people hanging around though. If he was going to go picking through garbage he didn't want to risk anyone seeing him.
Best to find where he was going to spend the night first. He headed away from the library and the middle of town, going towards where the streets were quieter. He wasn't going to risk going back to the alley from last night and the nook by the bank felt too exposed.
An alley behind a movie theatre. Dark and there was water dripping down the wall. He gazed around it unhappily; not exactly welcoming. There were a few large garbage cans, a few battered crates, a van on bricks. Cover. Places to hide. And the ground was pretty clear of garbage and there was a bricked up doorway that looked like it should hide him from casual glances pretty well. It would do.
It was getting late. Still light though; summer evenings lasted a while. He sat in the doorway and tried not to think about food.
He must have dozed off because he woke up with a start, hearing something moving towards him.
He froze, picking out the best way to run. If he dodged right, round behind the van, doubled back maybe...
The noise wasn't human. Soft running footsteps, a growling noise, and he was thinking of a story Danny had once told him about werewolves, and he stood up at the exact same moment that the cat launched itself off the roof of the van and landed neatly on his chest.
He stared at it for a moment. Grey, huge, and still somehow scrawny. "You are not a wolf," he told it severely.
It purred at him.
The cat butted her head against his chest and he petted her absently.
"You like this, don't you?" he commented. "You remind me of Danny."
Not that Danny was a cat, he added hastily and mentally. Or really anything like. Huh. He surely must be a little lightheaded to have thought that.
Just that Danny liked touching. Hugging. And Rusty figured that some of that was about the way Danny's parents treated him. Oh, they might not be violent like his parents, but affection was thin on the ground. Not what he thought a family should be and it would always make him angry to think about. And of course, more of it was about him and his issues. They'd never really discussed it, as such, but Danny had always known he didn't like to be touched. And even though Danny had never been included with the rest of the world, just the fact of it still hurt Danny. Danny wanted him comfortable and happy and Danny thought he needed this.
And so Danny liked touching him. Casual, everyday, practical, soothing, reassuring, comforting and wonderful. And yeah, he liked it too. Danny made him happy.
Trouble was, he couldn't bring himself to offer the same effortless affection back. A hug, touching Danny's hand, leaning against Danny's shoulder – those were completely beyond him.
Oh, he wanted to sometimes. And it wasn't like he thought Danny would mind. Quite the opposite in fact; Danny would be overjoyed if Rusty actually reached out to him. And there had been times when Danny had been the one hurting and upset, and Rusty had still been incapable of being the best friend Danny deserved. And the only bright side there was that Danny understood, Danny always understood, and in those times Danny had been more than capable of grabbing him in a hug that Rusty was equally capable of returning. And he knew that had helped. Just that he wished he could be the first to offer.
Thing was, every time he tried, every time he so much as thought about it, he could hear Dad and Mom's voices in the back of his head.
"You're nothing but a disgusting little wild animal."
"Get away from me you evil beast!"
"Look at you. No one could ever want you."
"You're so stupid!"
"You're worthless."
"You're less than nothing and you always will be."
"No one's ever going to love you."
He tried not to listen, but they were so loud and so constant.
He didn't want to believe them and he tried to listen when Danny told him that they were wrong, that they'd always been wrong, and that Rusty never deserved to get hit.
But it was difficult. And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't touch Danny.
He hugged the cat tightly and listened to it purr. This he could do.
Nearly two years later, Rusty turned round and hugged Danny tightly.
"Why?" Danny managed to ask.
"Doesn't need to be a reason," Rusty answered with a far-off smile.
He and Wolfy stayed sitting in the doorway until it got dark, apparently both content with each other's company. Least Rusty was. It was nice to have someone there, being warm and affectionate towards him. Even if that someone was just a cat. Something comforting about it. And it took his mind off the ache of the hunger.
And then, sunset and darkness and the time when he could rely upon being hidden.
"Gonna go find some food, Wolfy" Rusty told the cat quietly. "What do you think, movie theatre, right?" He didn't wait for an answer. He might be talking to the cat, but he wasn't expecting it to answer. That would be crazy.
"You called the cat Wolfy?" Danny asked, eyebrows raised.
Rusty shrugged and stared awkwardly at his hands. "She wasn't a wolf."
Danny frowned, and the easy joke about Rusty's skill at naming things died on his lips. For once, he didn't quite know what to say, and Rusty kept talking without looking at him.
Movie theatre. People always ate a lot in movie theatres. And oftentimes they didn't actually finish it. The litter bin just outside, there was bound to be stuff that the people who'd just come out that evening had dumped. Stuff that would still be fresh. Popcorn if nothing else.
He was right; the bin at the exit to the theatre was piled high with debris. There was even a few abandoned cartons of popcorn stacked up around the bottom of the bin, and a couple of them at least had some popcorn clinging to the bottom.
He was so, so hungry. And this still seemed disgusting to him. Practical, he reminded himself. This was no time to be squeamish. He was starving, he was hurting, and if he didn't eat something soon he'd be in real trouble. Jeannie Fairley had skipped breakfast and lunch every day for a week because she'd wanted to lose weight for her wedding, and she'd wound up fainting in the shop on the corner. That happened to him, he'd be vulnerable. Anything could happen. And even if the only thing that did happen was what happened to Jeannie, and someone called an ambulance, if they took a good look at his face even, let alone if they removed his shirt, there'd be questions, and they'd look at him and he could already feel the shame burning through him at the thought.
No. It was time to be practical. Time to survive.
Besides. People threw things away and...Mrs Miller had said in school about all the waste in the world. Perfectly good food thrown away and there are children starving in Africa. This was just him doing something about that. It was a good thing.
Trying not to think about what he was doing, he took all the cartons of popcorn he could see near the top of the bin and poured the contents into one of the ones that had been on the ground. Wound up being almost a quarter full, and swimming with greasy butter. And he also found a bag of potato chips that had a few crushed bits at the bottom, and a little bit of stale hotdog bun. It would do.
He took it back to the alley and sat in the doorway, Wolfy next to him, and carefully munched his way through cold, soggy popcorn, his face and mind blank. Every second handful he held out to Wolfy, and even if she wouldn't actually eat it, she gratefully licked the butter off. Was always good to share.
The bun and the potato chips he ate himself, though he opened the packet up so that Wolfy could lick up the salt.
When she was done, she leapt up onto his lap, pointedly stretching and curling up tightly.
"Time to sleep you reckon then?" he asked amused. Unsurprisingly, the cat didn't say anything. He yawned. "Yeah. Yeah, reckon you're right. G'night, Wolfy. You'll keep the rats away, won't you."
Careful to disturb the cat as little as possible, he leaned over sideways and dropped his head down onto his arm and slept.
When he woke up the sun was shining in his eyes. He must've slept for a long time. Not that he didn't think he'd needed it. And he was certainly feeling better this morning. The pain had retreated to a sort of dull ache; infinitely bearable and manageable. He was hungry again, and that wasn't completely surprising. What he'd eaten last night hadn't exactly filled him up. Still. He felt good enough that he'd be prepared to risk lifting someone's wallet.
Gently, he dislodged Wolfy from his lap. The cat mewed a somewhat sleepy protest, but otherwise didn't seem to react in any way. "You a cat or a cushion?" he muttered.
Stretching and pulling the cap down over his face, he wandered out the alley ready to start the day. Not that he'd really thought ahead, but he figured he'd go back to the library again. Seemed a good place to hide out in the daytime.
It was when he was on his way there that he saw the restaurant. Barely a block from the alley with a large outdoor seating area and only one customer in sight. And even as he watched, the one customer moodily pushed aside his paper, dropped a few coins on the table and left, leaving behind a practically-untouched glass of orange juice and half a cream-cheese-and-smoked-salmon bagel.
Huh. Opportunity. Moving quickly, he vaulted the little wall and was at the man's table, gulping down the juice in two quick swallows, stuffing the bagel in his pocket, and running before anyone had even seen him. The money he left where it was. Food was one thing; that'd be thrown out. The money was someone's hard earned tip and he wasn't stealing that.
He hurried back to the alley with the bagel and peeled the salmon out of the bagel. Wolfy looked up with interest and accepted the morsel with alacrity.
"How exactly did you get on without me?" he asked the cat, his mouth full of the rest of the bagel. He looked down, and actually, he could see most of Wolfy's ribs. He sighed. "Guess you didn't." He didn't think that Wolfy had spent her life on the streets. She didn't seem to have any idea how to survive, and she was obviously starved for affection. "Your family chucked you out, didn't they?" He rubbed Wolfy behind the ears and listened to her purr. "They shouldn't have done that. Bastards. Bet they have no idea what they were missing."
Wolfy rubbed her head against his hand affectionately.
He sighed again. "I need to go." He stole a glance sideways and there were people walking by the top of the alley. "If I stay here, someone'll notice me. It's okay for you, no one looks twice at cats. Sometimes people stare at me." He shivered and then, with an effort, grinned. "Besides, the way I'm going, if I stay here for the day I'm gonna wind up thinking that Timmy's fallen down the well or something."
He left Wolfy alone in the alley and wandered back round to the library, avoiding the restaurant, just in case.
More confident than he had been yesterday, he made to walk straight through the entrance to the children's section and found himself almost walking into a tweed skirt and an ugly floral blouse.
He looked up slowly at the woman in front of him. She didn't look happy to see him. "Where do you think you're going, young man?" she demanded.
Suddenly, he was reminded of Juliet Darcey, and he couldn't even figure out what he'd done wrong. It was a public library. She couldn't just throw him out for being...for being whatever she saw he was. "I'm just going to read a book," he explained quietly. And absolutely not apologetically.
She snorted. "Not like that, you're not." She bent down quickly, grabbing his hands.
He tensed. Not winced, not flinched. Just tensed, hoping she didn't notice and hoping she didn't hurt him.
"Look at these!" she announced triumphantly. "Your hands are filthy." Her voice was loud and he could feel people staring at him.
He could feel his cheeks going red. The tips of his ears burning. Absolute humiliation. "I'm sorry," he said steadily. "I'll go and wash them."
She tutted loudly. "There's a restroom through in the back. See that you do." But she hadn't let go of him and she wasn't just talking to him, she was making sure that everyone nearby could hear this little conversation. "We can't let you handle the books like that, now, can we? It's not fair to the other readers if they have to read books that have your dirty fingerprints all over them, is it?"
She was smiling at him condescendingly. Waiting for the answer. He kept his face blank and his eyes vacant. "No," he agreed, and he supposed it really wasn't. He should've washed up before he went anywhere near regular people. Just that it hurt to be reminded of that.
(First days at school and frowns and disgusted sniffs and letters home and Mom screaming and the back of Dad's hand, and later and everyday for months, he'd stood in the shower under a stream of cold water and scrubbed until he thought his skin would bleed. He didn't want to be dirty.)
With the ease of long practice he buried the memories and continued to listen, polite and attentive.
"I don't know, children today..." she looked at him sharply before releasing his hands and he resisted the urge to just run with an effort. "Mind that you give your face a good scrub too. I don't know. If I was your mother I'd be ashamed to let you out looking like that."
He couldn't resist. He honestly couldn't. He knew the way adults who didn't know him reacted. "I don't have a mother," he told her, after the slightest pause, the faintest of quivers in his voice. His head was bowed, so he had to imagine the look on her face.
He didn't have to imagine the flustered, guilty tone she suddenly adopted. "Oh. Well. Oh. Go and wash up, can't you?"
Obediently, smiling slightly inside, he went and washed up as best he could, not quite meeting his eyes in the mirror.
When he walked back through the entranceway, the tweed librarian was busying herself, seemingly doing anything that didn't involve looking at him. And that suited him just fine.
He went through to the children's section, found the same beanbag chair and 'Danny, Champion of the World' and he settled in for the day.
By about lunchtime he'd finished the book and the librarian with the beads appeared at his shoulder, just as he was replacing it on the shelf.
"You finished that one?" she asked cheerfully.
Startled, he eyed her cautiously and nodded. "Yeah."
"Roald Dahl, huh?" She smiled and it was genuine enough that he relaxed, certain that she was no immediate threat. "He's one of my favourites. My son's too. He's about your age. Did you enjoy the book?"
"Yes," he said with a little more enthusiasm. "It reminded me of a friend of mine."
"The boy in the book?" She raised an eyebrow. "Your friend must be quite a character."
He smiled, an image of Danny shining in his mind. "You have no idea."
Her smile was warm. "Have you read this one?" She pulled out a book and held it up to him. 'Fantastic Mr Fox' "I think you'd like it."
"Thank you," he said politely, taking it out of her hands. "I'll give it a try."
She clapped him on the shoulder and walked away. With a slight frown he gazed after her, then he shrugged and settled down to read the new book. It was pretty good.
There were still people in the street when the library closed. And that was good. Because he felt empty inside, and food meant money. Though maybe there were a few too many people. Too much chance that he'd be seen.
He picked his mark. A heavyset man carrying a briefcase and the Wall Street Journal. He fell in step a dozen feet or so behind and followed him away from the more crowded streets.
Funny. The first time he'd ever done this had been the last time he'd been on the streets. He'd gotten a lot better since then.
The man was wearing a long coat. Bulge in the pocket. Probably a wallet. And the man looked well off. Meant he wouldn't miss it, and that always helped. Not to mention he'd have something worth taking.
He sped up, jogging like a kid heading home, and he passed the man on the corner, brushing against him, muttering an apology, running on past, ducking into a side street.
He slowed down, pulling the wallet out of his jacket, flicking it open, pulling the cash out.
Wait. That couldn't be right.
He found himself staring down at three, crisp fifty dollar bills.
That couldn't be right. That was too much. That was...
That was when he saw Joe and Mack in the street in front of him, staring at the money in his hand.
In an instant, without even thinking about it, he turned on his heel and ran, dropping the wallet and stuffing the money into his jacket.
They caught him. Of course they caught him. They were so much older, so much taller, and this time he didn't have any where to run to, anywhere to hide.
Mack slammed him hard against the wall and he gasped as Joe swung him round, leaning in close to his face, his arm pressed against Rusty's throat. "Well, well, little chicky. We've found you at last."
"Didn't know you'd been looking," Rusty managed to gasp. "You should've left a message with my secretary."
"You owe us money, chicky," Joe said almost gently. "Two days worth. We couldn't find you last night."
"I was washing my hair," Rusty explained.
"Uh huh," Joe was laughing. "We just saw you stealing. You're a thief and what you steal is ours. That's how this works."
Mack reached into Rusty's jacket and pulled out the money. "Fuck, Joe, look at this."
Joe looked over and whistled sharply. "Fuck's sake." He grabbed Rusty by the chin and pulled his head round. "Little chicky's got talented fingers." Rusty sunk his teeth into Joe's hand. "And a vicious mouth," Joe added, backhanding Rusty savagely.
He would have fallen if Mack wasn't holding him up and he tasted blood. Joe didn't hit as hard as Dad, not nearly, but maybe as hard as Mom did, when she did. His head was ringing. The money had disappeared now and Joe and Mack were laughing.
They hit him a few more times. Fists against his stomach and his ribs and he bit into his lip and didn't cry out.
Joe grabbed his hair again, pulling him up against the wall. "We'll see you tomorrow, okay, chicky? And we'll want our money."
And they were gone.
Rusty leaned against the wall for a long moment, his arms wrapped around his body.
Then, when he was absolutely sure they were gone, he stood up straight and limped back to the alley behind the cinema.
The cat was lying on top of the van again. She purred happily when she saw him. Leapt down into his arms.
It hurt a little when he pulled her against his chest. Only a little.
"Hey, Wolfy," he said softly. "No food, tonight, I'm afraid."
Painfully he sat down on the doorstep, pulling the cat close to him.
He hoped she wouldn't leave.
He didn't want to be alone.
"I wish Danny was here," he whispered guiltily, just before he fell asleep. If the cat was the only one who heard it, it didn't count.
He slept uneasily and dreamt of Danny.
In his mind, Danny was hurt and alone and far away, and Rusty couldn't get to him, and somehow he could see Danny wandering through unfamiliar streets, starving and frightened, running from something – someone – he couldn't see. And Danny was screaming his name, pleading for him, begging for him, and no matter how much Rusty shouted, he couldn't make himself heard, and he had to watch as they grabbed Danny from behind, as they beat him and hurt him, and he couldn't even see who was doing it, and sometimes it looked like Joe and Mack and sometimes it looked like his Dad and sometimes it looked like Danny's parents, and all he could see was the terror and hopeless defeat in Danny's eyes, and he wanted this to stop, he wanted to make this stop, Danny, Danny...
"Danny!"
He woke up with a start, aching and afraid and alone.
Danny wasn't here. Danny was far away but Danny was safe. He had to believe that.
Wolfy had run off, probably when he had yelled. She was watching him cautiously from the top of the van.
He smiled at her effortfully, his arms wrapped unconsciously around his chest. He felt like crying. God, he hated that. There was nothing to cry about because nothing could be helped.
He sniffed loudly and rubbed his hand against his mouth. Okay. So what was he going to do today? Joe and Mack had found him, but he still couldn't really believe that they'd been looking. Not seriously. There was no point to it. And that probably meant that as long as he didn't move around too much he'd be safe.
Of course, they hadn't been looking for him before they'd stolen a hundred and fifty dollars off him. A hundred and fifty dollars could probably make a lot of things worth it.
"What am I gonna do?" he asked, looking up at Wolfy. She ignored him, licking her paws. He sighed. Back to the library. If he just stayed either in the library or the alley then Joe and Mack might never see him again. Might.
He stretched uncomfortably, absently noticing the way his ribs protested. They'd only just healed up too. Need to be careful the next few days. Didn't want to make it any worse. And moving too much – breathing too much – would hurt.
It was barely getting light. He'd woken up too early, really. He settled down in the doorway, pulling the jacket round him. Seemed a little colder. Unless it was just him; he was hurting and hungry, after all. Might just be him. With an effort, he pushed it all to the back of his mind and concentrated on imagining how it would be when Danny was home. Sitting in the diner, Mabel bringing them hot chocolate, asking them about their plans for the day, Danny looking across the table at him, his eyes and smile full of affection.
He closed his eyes and played through conversations in his head. After a while, Wolfy joined him. He rubbed her ears and whispered old stories to her.
Anger, incoherence and misery. Danny could hardly stand the absolute loneliness in Rusty's voice. The memory of pain and fear and isolation, all so close to the surface.
In Rusty's mind and memory stories lived.
Danny wanted to make everything better.
He'd learnt his lesson; he made sure to go wash up as thoroughly as possible before he even thought of heading into the library. There was dried blood around his mouth where his lip had bled. He'd barely even noticed.
He wished he could go a month without seeing his own blood. Just a month. That wasn't so much to ask, was it?
Oh, he was getting perilously close to self-pity here. And that was never acceptable.
This time, he got into the library without anyone stopping him, and the morning passed quickly. That might've been because he wasn't so much reading as dozing with a book in front of him.
Of course, he was fully awake when he realised he was being watched. He glanced round the room as casually as possible and saw a group of boys his age, eying him.
He knew a couple of them slightly. Larry and Clyde. They went to his school. Far as he knew, he hadn't done anything to upset them, and in fact as he watched the group he realised that wasn't what this was about at all. They weren't threatening, they were curious.
He forced himself to smile politely as Larry came over. "Hi, Rusty. Where's Danny?"
The question didn't surprise him. "He's on holiday," he explained simply. "He gets back in a coupla days."
"Oh." Larry was looking frighteningly sympathetic. "Listen, a bunch of us were going down to the park. There's a summer gala thing on today. Kid's stuff, mostly, but it should be fun. There's going to be a bouncy castle and a yo-yo display and face painting. Things like that."
"No thank you," he said politely, and he didn't even have to think about it. For one thing, he was too tired and too sore to want to do much moving about. For another...kids his age were such children. And sometimes they made him feel old and tired.
"Okay," Larry said with a shrug. "If you change your mind, we'll maybe see you there."
"Thanks," he said with a smile and a nod and he ignored the vague, nagging feeling that the offer had only been made out of pity. Wasn't that, or at least wasn't just that. He might not spend too much time outside of school with the kids in his class, but all the ones he liked liked him just fine. They all knew he hung around with the older kids – not just Danny – and that and, well, other things, apparently gave him something of an air of mystery. Which was pretty funny.
He watched them leave and turned his attention back to his book. Which meant that when the librarian cleared her throat beside him, he jumped.
Oh, he hadn't heard her coming. How did that happen? He'd let himself feel safe here; shouldn't be that careless.
It was the one with the wooden beads, she was playing with them as she looked down at him anxiously. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."
He shrugged and smiled politely. "'s fine."
"You didn't want to go with the other boys?" she asked quietly.
"No ma'am," he agreed, shaking his head.
She looked at him sympathetically. "It's difficult not fitting in, isn't it?"
Huh. That had never really been his problem. In many ways he didn't fit in and never would, but it didn't really bother him and whenever he chose to make the effort he could fit in just about anywhere.
But it was always safer to agree. Always safer to play into peoples preperceptions. "Yeah," he said, soft and hesitant, looking up at her shyly.
"You've been here for a couple of days now," she commented.
"I like to read," he explained, when it became apparent that she was waiting for an answer.
"Me too," she agreed, smiling. "Though in the summer it always seems such a shame to be cooped up inside all day."
Oh. He thought he knew what she was getting at. "I get plenty of fresh air and exercise," he assured her truthfully. "Dad makes sure of that."
She smiled slightly. "Into sports, is he? My husband drags our son out to Little League every Saturday, whether he wants to go or not."
"Dad likes running," Rusty said calmly. "And he's into boxing too, but he doesn't let me."
"He probably thinks you're too young," she suggested. "Maybe when you're a few years older."
Yeah. Maybe when he was a few years older.
"I'm setting up the display for our local history month," she told him after a second. "Would you like to help?"
He considered for a second. Really, he had to admit, what he'd like was to just sit still and sleep. But there was something in her eyes, in her voice. He was frightened she suspected him of something. He didn't even know what but he didn't want to get in trouble. Far better to smile and keep her happy. Besides, he kinda liked her. She had good taste in stories.
"Okay," he agreed at last.
She smiled.
It was all easy enough. Just lifting some small tables to the front entrance, helping her arrange a tablecloth over them, picking out some books that seemed relevant.
She chatted to him all the while, asking questions that sounded innocent and were anything but. About school, about what he liked, who his friends were. About home and Dad and what they did and what they said. She didn't ask about Mom. Pretty clear she'd been talking to the other librarian from before, the one in the tweed. He was so stupid. One little truth and now he was fielding questions from someone who...what?
Someone who thought he needed help? Thought he was a runaway? Thought he was so awful even his family couldn't stand him? He wasn't sure. He just knew that he didn't want to answer her questions. He never wanted to answer questions. His secrets were his to keep.
And so he danced around specifics and span hard lies and easy truths and she still looked at him like he was a little lost kitten.
He helped her carry the shop window dummy out of a store room that was a veritable Aladdin's cave of junk; helped her unhook the basement from a spinning wheel; helped her find the dress that had been thrown haphazardly over an old tallboy. All the time he was smiling. Yes, he and Dad got on just fine. Yes, they ate together most nights – Dad wasn't a great cook but he was getting better. Yes, they were going on holiday this year – down to see Uncle Alf in Orlando, and Dad said if he was very good they might just go to Disney Land. Yes, Dad had been proud of his last report card – he'd hugged him and everything, it had been so embarrassing.
He painted a picture of a family life he'd never known. Would never know.
Eventually, they were done with the display and with the questions.
"Thank you so much, Henry," she said, smiling cheerfully at him and he almost ruined the whole afternoon's lies when he ducked out of the reach of the hand that went to ruffle his hair. Just as well anyway. She shouldn't. She'd get her hand greasy.
Smoothly though, he bent down and pretended he was straightening the edge of the table cloth. "There!" he announced brightly. "Now it's perfect."
"Good," she agreed, and she reached back onto the counter and grabbed a bag of toffees. "Here," she said, holding them out. "Someone brought these in this morning. Take one."
He took one and he had to force himself to unwrap it and put it in his mouth at something approaching a reasonable speed. That half bagel from yesterday morning had been...well, it had been a half bagel yesterday morning. And once again, he felt starved.
Greedy, he told himself, as he sucked furiously at sweetness and sugar and tried to make it last as long as possible.
"Julie, we're closing up," one of the other librarians called over.
"Oh, right," she called back, distractedly.
"I'd better go," Rusty said obligingly as she turned back to him. "It's almost dinnertime." He sank his teeth into the toffee as he finished speaking.
"Okay then," she smiled at him. "I'll see you tomorrow?"
"See you tomorrow," he agreed.
She wouldn't.
"See, if I'd thought ahead, I would've made some excuse to linger and got a look at the alarm code," Rusty commented brightly.
Willing to play into the shift in mood, Danny opened his mouth to make some easy quip about hindsight. Then he froze.
Alarm.
Them, breaking into the library and setting off an alarm. The memory sparked in his head.
The secretaries arriving in the morning...the breakglass fire panel in the inner office...
He stared at Rusty abruptly. "If a fire alarm is set off, can they tell where it started immediately?"
Rusty shook his head. "No, it's just an alarm through the whole building."
Danny persisted. "And even if it's early, and there's no students in, they're still supposed to evacuate, right? It's the same kind of drill?"
"Yeah," Rusty agreed. "Burning to death is discouraged at any age. The panel in the office?"
Danny nodded quickly. "If we were hiding in there tomorrow morning – "
" – time it just right – " Rusty cut in and the plan unfolded like it always did.
" – as soon as the first person is in – "
" – has put down her keys – "
" – the alarm – "
" – she leaves – "
" – she leaves and we – "
" – we'd need to be quick – "
" – and careful," Danny agreed. "But we can get out, Rus'." He saw Rusty swallow thickly, emotions and fear and agitation and relief overwhelming. "We can get out and no one needs to know we were even here."
"I want out of here, Danny," Rusty said quietly, staring at the door again.
"We're getting out of here," Danny promised. He glanced at the window. "In just a few more hours."
"They see the broken panel, they'll know someone was in here," Rusty pointed out.
Couldn't be helped. "They won't know it was us," he said firmly.
Rusty was frowning thoughtfully. "Maybe..." He fell silent.
"What?" Danny asked, and his eagerness was partly for the potential plan and partly because he wanted Rusty to think about anything other than being trapped.
"I need to check," Rusty told him, standing up abruptly and heading for the inner office.
Danny followed and found Rusty glancing between the fire panel and the old wardrobe. "What?" he asked again.
"Suppose when they come back into the office, after the fire alarm they see the broken glass and something lying on the floor?" Rusty asked. "Something like that," he added, pointing at the stuffed otter on top of the wardrobe.
"A freak accident," Danny nodded in dawning understanding. And maybe they'd think it was unlikely but –
" – more likely than someone being trapped in here," Rusty said, glancing at him anxiously. "Right?"
Right. He smiled. "We can do this," he said, like it was going to be the easiest thing in the universe. "We can do this."
"'course we can," Rusty said airily, like it was nothing. "We can do anything." He sighed and padded away from the inner office, slumping back down in front of the window. Danny watched him anxiously; he was tired. They both were. Tired and more-than-tired and he wanted this night to be over.
"So what happened next?" he asked softly as he sat back down beside Rusty.
It wasn't just him, he realised as he left the library. It really was colder now. There was an unseasonable chill in the air and it felt like it might rain. Great. Just...great.
He stayed in the doorway for a second, looking round, needing to be sure that Mack and Joe weren't waiting. No sign of them, but he didn't want to risk hanging around any longer than he had to.
Ducking his head, he scurried through the streets, sticking close to people, frightened of being seen, of being caught, anxious to get home...to get back to his alley. Not home. This was all just temporary. Home was with Dad and he'd be allowed back tomorrow.
In the meantime...he stepped into his alley and smiled as Wolfy ran up and jumped into his arms.
The smile was genuine and helpless and heartfelt. "Hey, Wolfy," he whispered, cuddling her close. "Did you miss me?"
She purred contentedly, snuggling into his chest like he was her very best friend.
He slumped bonelessly onto the doorstep. "Oh, Wolfy, I'm so tired," he admitted quietly.
The cat burrowed in closer and he pressed his face against her. "Thank you," he said, and the gratitude was genuine. This helped. Made him feel better.
It had been such a long time. Or at least it felt like such a long time. And he felt like crying, and he missed Danny so much, wanted Danny so badly, and when he was with Wolfy it felt almost, nearly, just-about a fraction as good.
Eventually the urge to cry faded. He smiled down at Wolfy. "Thank you," he murmured again.
The cat mewed at him piteously.
"You hungry?" he asked her softly. Guiltily, he realised he hadn't managed to feed her since yesterday morning. "You must be hungry. I'm sorry. It hurts, doesn't it?" It hurt inside, a gnawing, an emptiness. He didn't want that for Wolfy. She was so thin and helpless.
He was all she had, and when he left... "I'm going home tomorrow," he told her confidingly. "Maybe...maybe you could come with me." It could work. He could make it work. "If you stayed in my room. Dad doesn't go there very often. You'd probably be as safe there as you are here. I promise I'd protect you. I wouldn't let Dad hurt you. And there'd be food. I'm good at getting food." He sighed. "Normally I'm good at getting food."
He stroked a hand down Wolfy's side and he could feel every rib. "I should get you something to eat." He was responsible for her, after all.
It would only take a moment. If he just ran up to the trash outside the movie theatre, he could just grab what was there. And he could eat something as well, and he didn't even try to pretend that wasn't tempting. No one would see him, if he was quick.
It would only take a moment.
Determinedly, he stood up and pulled his jacket tight and his hat down, and headed out of the alley.
There was obviously a movie just getting out, and he stood against the wall as all the people walked past, talking and laughing, and he watched as they dumped half empty boxes of popcorn, empty packets, tubs of icecream...none of them gave him a second glance and he waited until they'd all gone past.
The street was empty, but it was still daylight and he couldn't count on that for any length of time. He moved quickly, grabbing an icecream tub – it had hardly anything in it, but cats liked cream, he knew that – and the fullest box of popcorn. This'd do. Was just for tonight, after all.
He headed back to the alley quickly.
"Been to the movies, chicky?"
Joe's voice. He made to run, but Mack had him by the collar in an instant, hauling him up, his feet kicking uselessly as the popcorn and the icecream fell to the ground. "Let me go!"
Joe laughed. "Not a chance. When are you going to get it? You owe us. We own you."
"I got nothing," he spat, twisting round to look Joe in the face. "You're wasting your time. I got no money. I got nothing."
"You've got plenty," Joe corrected with a wide and savage grin. "Just because you were too lazy to get our money, doesn't mean you don't have anything." He reached forwards and snatched the hat from Rusty's head. "This hat, your jacket, the fun of beating you up..."
Mack dropped him and wrenched his jacket away. "My kid sister used to have a jacket like this," he said.
"Hear that?" Joe asked, sounding amused. "You're such a little girl, chicky." He hit Rusty, hard and unexpected, and Rusty found himself falling forwards, his face hitting hard against the pavement, and the pain made him cry out. Joe laughed again and kicked him hard, in the stomach, in the ribs, time and again.
There were people walking past, on the other side of the street, but none of them were looking, none of them were even thinking of interfering. Kids being kids.
He turned his head to this side, dazed and trying to get back to his feet. His eyes widened; Wolfy was there. Wolfy was trotting over to him, and she shouldn't...she mustn't... "Run!" he hissed, without even thinking about it, and she ignored him.
"Hey, what's this?" Mack asked, as the cat reached them and started to wind round their legs, mewing anxiously. "Stupid cat! Get out of it!" He aimed a kick at her, and Rusty saw her run.
She ran straight out into the road.
The car didn't even slow down.
"No!" he screamed, and he was on his feet, running. "Wolfy!"
She was dead. He knew immediately she was dead, nothing could look that mangled and possibly live.
"Wolfy," he whispered, dropping to his knees and reaching out a trembling hand towards red blood and matted fur. "Wolfy..."
Joe and Mack were laughing.
He was on his feet again, charging at them, hitting out as hard as he could. "Bastards! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!"
People were stopping now, people were looking, but none of them said anything, none of them spoke up.
"Shut him up!" Joe snapped, and Mack obligingly clamped a hand over his mouth and twisted his arm behind his back, and Rusty struggled and kicked and bit, but he couldn't get free. "Aw, poor little chicky," Joe crooned, leaning in close to his face. "Is your kitty roadkill?"
He managed to tear his head away from Mack's hand and he spat right in Joe's eye.
Joe's face darkened as he wiped it away. He pulled a switchknife out of his back pocket. Rusty couldn't keep his eyes off the blade, as it came so close to his face. He didn't move. Didn't breathe.
"That was a mistake, chicky," Joe told him quietly. "Now, we got some business with you. You're going to come with us and do exactly as we say, okay? And if you don't..." He smiled and the knife was glinting against Rusty's face and he already had plenty experience imagining what that felt like. "If you don't you're going to get cut."
Wolfy was dead. Danny was miles away. No one was going to help him.
He nodded obediently.
There were tears on Danny's face and he made no effort to wipe them away.
Rusty had drawn his knees up to his chest and his face was buried in his arms. "It was just a stupid cat, Danny," he said, his voice muffled. "It didn't matter. None of it mattered."
Yeah. Just a cat that Rusty had loved and cared for and lost. Just a knife that should never have been drawn. Just two teenagers abducting a distraught ten year old while adults stood and watched. Just cruelty and callousness and squalor and suffering.
He wrapped his arms tight around Rusty, murmuring words that were soothing and meaningless, and for the second time tonight he thought Rusty was crying.
It did matter. It mattered a great deal.
Rusty turned his head and let himself cry against Danny's shoulder.
It was a long time before he managed to continue the story.
They led him to an abandoned warehouse, down by the river. Wasn't that far, really. Not that he'd have known if it was; all his attention was on the need not to cry in front of the bastards.
He wasn't going to cry. He really, really wasn't. It hurt, but he couldn't think about it now, and with superhuman effort he managed to force the memory of Wolfy lying dead in the road into the back of his mind. He had to find a way of getting away from Joe and Mack. He had to. Somehow. He didn't even know what they wanted from him and he was so scared. All he wanted was to run, get away from this nightmare, but they were holding him too tight and no matter how much he struggled, he couldn't get away.
The door had previously been kicked in and they dragged him inside. The inside of the warehouse was dark and dingy, the only light coming from a small fire in a metal trash can in the middle of the floor. There were a couple of boys huddled round it, drinking beer and laughing about something. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he saw other groups of kids scattered around the place. They were all a lot older than he was. A lot older than Danny, even.
The knife was still in Joe's hand and, as he hesitated in the doorway, the blade was pressed against the back of his neck. Just the touch of it was enough to make him shake and it was like he couldn't think of anything else. Joe dug it in a little harder, enough that he could feel blood trickling down the back of his neck, and he flinched and stumbled forwards, unable to stop himself from crying out, a soft, childish noise of fear and distress, and he knew that Joe was enjoying this. Just like Dad would. He felt himself reddening as Joe laughed. Like with Dad, he told himself firmly. Keep quiet and don't let them see that it hurts.
He heard a muffled shriek and turned instinctively. There was a girl there. The only one in the warehouse. And she was on her knees in front of one of the boys, and there were three others gathered around cheering, and her mouth was open and her eye was bruised and swollen, and Rusty looked away as quickly as possible. He didn't want to see that. Just like he'd never wanted to see...he screwed his eyes shut and shook his head from side to side quickly. No.
"What do we have here?" The voice was annoyed and Rusty's eyes shot open to see a tall boy with a buzz cut looking down at him. He stumbled backwards, crashing into Mack who grabbed him by the shoulder. "This look like a kindergarten?"
"This little chicky is a pickpocket, Al." Joe explained, smirking.
Al looked disgusted and unimpressed at the same time, and Rusty felt himself shrinking back. He'd seen that look before and he knew it meant nothing good. "A pickpocket. Fuck. This what you're bringing in to make up for losing DeeDee to Sharkey's boys?"
Behind him, Rusty was aware of Joe and Mack exchanging a look. "He made a hundred and fifty dollars yesterday," Mack offered.
"Yeah, right." Al snorted. "Whatever."
The money. The money was what it was all about. And he couldn't do that again, even if he wanted to. That kind of money just didn't come along everyday. Not for him, anyway.
"Hey fuck you," Joe snapped. "Bossman's going to be impressed."
Al laughed. "Keep dreaming, Joe. Look, I might have a delivery for you tomorrow. You going to be selling outside the shop?"
"Sure thing," Joe said with a shrug. "What time?"
"Early," Al said but Rusty wasn't really listening.
They weren't paying attention to him. He looked round the warehouse cautiously, keeping his head ducked, his shoulders hunched, edging away from them. There had to be a way out of here...his attention was caught by some shadows in the far corner. There was something moving...leaves, or something, blowing in the wind. And the shadows behind them were hiding some kind of hole, and he'd never be able to sneak out the front door but may, just maybe...
He edged a little further away, hoping against hope.
"Hey!" Mack's voice was loud and echoing, and Rusty was seized, spun round, and he barely had time to get his arms up, to try to shield himself, before the fist crashed into his face.
He lay on the floor spitting blood, too dazed to get up. His head had hit the floor, he thought. Hurt. Hurt a lot.
They ignored him. Carried on talking like he didn't even matter. God, why were they keeping him here?
"Say, what's with Candy?" Joe asked, somewhere above him.
Al made a disgusted sound. "She went with a john and tried to steal the Bossman's cut."
"Stupid bitch," Joe sniggered.
"Yeah." Al didn't sound the least bit interested. "Bossman says she's to entertain us tonight to make up for it."
There was a ringing in his ears and he was barely able to focus on Al's voice as he staggered to his feet.
Joe noticed him and grabbed him by the hair, pulling him close. "Heh. Maybe we could get her to make little chicky here a man."
He stared up into Joe's face, his heart in his mouth, and he couldn't say anything, couldn't even breathe.
Joe grinned. "Would you like that?"
No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no.
He knew that his fear must have shown in his face from the way Joe grinned even more. "Hey, Candy!" he yelled across the warehouse. "We got a virgin here for you!"
She turned her head and swore at him. "Fuck off, Joe."
"Bitch," Joe muttered, letting go of Rusty and starting angrily towards her.
"Woah, enough," Al said firmly. "Look, you'd better go take your little pickpocket over to the Bossman. See if he's impressed."
"He will be." But Joe didn't sound completely convinced.
Al rolled his eyes. "Whatever."
Mack seized his arm and dragged Rusty towards the back of the warehouse, Joe a step behind, and Rusty could feel him behind him, and he was thinking of the knife and he wished he could see what Joe was doing. It was worse, not knowing. Imagining.
He could barely keep up, barely keep his feet on the ground, as he was hauled along, and he could see the boy – man? – at the back of the warehouse now, sitting on a packing crate, older and better dressed than the others, drinking from a bottle of beer and listening to another couple of boys talk in low voices.
For some reason he was put in mind of old movies he'd seen. A king on his throne, holding court. And he could feel the anxiety pouring off Mack and Joe, and as they stood in front of the Bossman, he was almost surprised they didn't bow.
Joe cleared his throat nervously. "Hey, Bossman."
Bossman looked up, the bottle of beer dangling casually in his hand, and he looked over Joe and Mack for a second before focusing his stare on Rusty.
It wasn't a nice stare. And Rusty was used to people looking at him like he was nothing or less than nothing, an annoyance, an inconvenience, an embarrassment, or whatever. He was used to it and it didn't bother him that much anymore. This stare still made him want to turn and run.
He gritted his teeth and forced himself not to look away. Forced himself to meet Bossman's eyes and hide all the fear he could.
"What the fuck's this?" Bossman asked, after a second.
"We found him on the streets," Joe began. "Guess he's a runaway. He's a pickpocket. A good one – "
" – so what's he doing here?" Bossman asked, turning his attention back to his beer, Rusty not being half as interesting. "Charge him protection and that's an end to it."
There was an awkward pause. "He can make money," Joe said eventually. "Lots of money. We took a hundred and fifty dollars off him yesterday. And I – we – thought – "
" – you don't think," Bossman interrupted disgustedly. "What are we going to do with a pickpocket? That's not where the money is."
Mack dared to disagree. "A hundred and fifty dollars is pretty good money."
Rusty thought so. He also thought that if he could make that every day then his life would be a lot easier than it was. "Yeah, sure," he said disdainfully. "If all you want out of life is pocket change, then a hundred and fifty dollars is a good start."
Bossman laughed appreciatively and looked at him a little harder. He stood up slowly, walking over towards them. Mack grabbed both of Rusty's arms, holding him tightly, and Rusty swore and kicked and achieved absolutely nothing. For a long moment, Bossman gazed down at him and Rusty struggled to breathe. Then he reached out a hand and grabbed Rusty's face, tilting his head this way and that, and it made him dizzy and it made him feel sick.
"Yeah. Actually, maybe he can make money," he said thoughtfully, running his thumb down Rusty's cheek. "Maybe we can use him." He didn't take his eyes off Rusty's. Not for a second.
Rusty met the gaze fiercely. He wasn't going to look away and he wasn't going to let them see how frightened he was. "I'm not gonna steal for you!"
There was a chorus of amused laughter. Bossman grinned. "Whatever you say."
With a sudden gesture, he released Rusty and walked back to the crate and his beer. "You want to keep your little pet, let me know," he called over his shoulder to Joe and Mack. "I'll make some arrangements. Make a few calls."
"I'm not gonna steal for you," Rusty said again, and he meant it. He wouldn't. Not ever. But no one was listening and no one seemed to care.
Apparently their audience with the king was over, because Mack grabbed his arm again and he was dragged back across the floor and thrown against a wall as Mack and Joe found themselves a couple of beers and started talking to some of the other boys.
He leaned back, his arms wrapped tightly around himself, trying to stop himself from shaking, trying to stop the world from spinning, trying to stop himself from passing out. Tonight was too much for him. Like a nightmare he couldn't wake up from.
Rusty was sitting right next to him, leaning against him, safe and whole, and still Danny struggled to convince himself that Rusty had come through this okay, that Rusty had escaped, survived.
He wanted to hold Rusty close to him, maybe never let him out of his sight again.
And he knew that Rusty would never have stolen for the gang. Not in a million years. Rusty was stubborn and Danny had never known him to do anything that he thought was wrong. No matter what they did to him, Rusty wouldn't have stolen for them.
Danny was frightened for three years ago.
There was blood in his eye, he realised presently, and he reached up and wiped it away and curiously traced his fingers over the lump on his forehead. Ow. Oh. When he'd hit the ground earlier, he guessed. And the headache wasn't fading and that wasn't a good sign.
His vision was a little blurry as he looked round the warehouse and he blinked frantically, needing to bring the world into focus. He couldn't lose it now. He needed to escape. The hole in the wall still seemed the best option, but there were so many people between here and there.
What he needed was a distraction. Just a little distraction. Please.
Sometimes, wishes are answered.
There was a siren outside, close at hand, far too close at hand. The cops, and he saw the panic spread, the boys rushing to the front to see, and that was stupid, because the car didn't seem like it was slowing at all. Just a drive-by.
"If we get busted again, my Mom's going to kill me," Joe was saying to Mack as they rushed past. And they had rushed past. They hadn't paid even the slightest bit of attention to him.
Chance. And he never let those slip by if he could help it.
He was as quiet and as careful and as unobtrusive as he could be, darting along the wall, and still he was as quick as possible. There was no time to be anything else. And he was at the back of the warehouse before he knew it, looking at the hole, confident that he could wriggle through it.
But he looked back. He had to. And he looked at Candy, slumped against the wall, watching her cigarette burn out with blank eyes. Add ten years onto her and she'd be his mother. And he wished he hadn't thought that. But he couldn't let it be.
"Hey," he called softly.
She looked round and he didn't dare say anything else, but he flicked his eyes pointedly between her and the boys and the hole in the wall.
For a long moment she stared at him, and he couldn't imagine what she was thinking. Then she laughed shrilly. "Hey, Joe, your little chicky's running out on you!"
He didn't hesitate anymore; he ran and didn't look back.
"I don't know why she did that," Rusty said softly, his voice full of pain. "Her life didn't have to be like that."
They weren't talking about Candy anymore and Danny rubbed Rusty's shoulder and said nothing.
They didn't follow him. He wasn't even sure why; maybe they just couldn't find him. He nearly got run down by the police cruiser at the intersection and just for a moment he considered flagging it down. Telling them about Joe and Mack and Wolfy and the knife. Pointing them back to the warehouse. But they'd have to many questions for him, too many questions he couldn't answer.
He ducked his head, hid his face and stumbled on through the streets.
Wolfy. It hurt, deep inside. It was his fault. She'd been safe in that alley, living her life, and he'd come along and made her trust him and she'd got killed because of him.
But Joe and Mack had kicked her and watched her die and laughed, and he wasn't going to let that go. He couldn't.
His head was pounding. God. It was all he could do to keep on his feet and the world was swimming alarmingly and he kept thinking he was going to throw up. He recognised the signs; what came of getting hit on the head too hard. Really, he had to get better at ducking. And his ribs were hurting again where they'd kicked him, and the back of his neck was stinging...basically, he was a mess.
It started to rain. He started to laugh. "Get worse!" he shouted jubilantly, at the sky, at his life. "Go on, I dare you!"
It was so cold now. He wished he'd managed to keep his jacket.
He stuck by the river, trudging on until he found a bridge.
He sat beneath it and shivered till morning. He didn't sleep and he didn't dream.
Morning came and his plans were cold and hard and real. It could work. If he was quick enough. If he could outrun them over four blocks.
He bit his lip; he was five years younger than them, five years shorter than them, and he was exhausted, starved, hurting and frozen. Really, he should be amazed if he managed to run half a block.
Wolfy, he reminded himself. It was worth it. To hell with the practical and the realistic, he wasn't going to let them get away with this.
Every morning at exactly ten past nine, just after they went on shift, four cops crossed from the police station into the bakery across the street and bought a supply of coffee and doughnuts. It was right in front of the fountain where he and Danny often met; he must have seen them a dozen times.
That was the finish line. The shop where he'd first encountered Mack and Joe, that was the start. They'd said last night they'd be selling outside there, and he didn't think for a second they'd be selling candy.
All he had to do was make them follow him.
He grinned. Oh, that was the easy part.
"Hi there," he began brightly, strolling up to them, his hands stuffed deep in his pocket. "Anyone ever tell you that you're about as ugly as a shaved dog in flares? 'Bout as smart too."
They stared at him for a long moment, like he was the most unlikely thing they'd ever seen.
"You are fucking dead," Joe said finally, shaking his head in wonderment. "You are seriously fucking dead. We are going to cut you open, little chicky."
Well, this was him committed, he thought as he ran. In fact, bridges had been well and truly burned.
There were people shouting and jumping out of the way. He didn't dare slow down and he didn't dare look behind him and his head was hurting worse than ever and his chest was burning, and he had to do this, he just had to.
They were gaining on him. Screaming at him. Promising exactly what they were going to do when they caught him.
God, it was going to be close.
He risked a glance up at the clock over the jewellers as he ran past. Nine minutes past. Well, that was a relief. If he'd had to lead them round the block a couple of times it could've got messy.
He slowed down just a little, only partly because of the very real fear that his lungs were going to explode, and when he turned the corner, his arms flung wide, he was perfectly positioned to bring two cops down in a confusing tangle, and that left them all ready for Mack and Joe to fall over a half second later.
There was a lot of yelling. A lot of confusion. And, somehow, the empty wallet he'd stolen the other day and retrieved that morning, wound up in Mack's pocket.
He scrambled to his feet first and stared up at the cop gripping his arm. "They said they were gonna cut me!" he said, breathless and wide-eyed and sounding as child-like as he knew how. "I saw them stealing and they said they were gonna cut me! They have knives! I saw them!"
Mack and Joe tried to run, but a second later they were on the ground and being searched. The wallet, knives and little bags of grass, and suddenly they were being read their rights.
Rusty resisted the urge to grin. And now for the finish. To make sure that they didn't get any ideas about coming after him later. Seemed like they were scared of two things; cops and parents. Understandable, rational fears, but sometimes things were necessary.
He glanced at the furthest away cop. The one that none of them could've got a good look at. "Daddy!" he exclaimed, loud enough that everyone could hear, and he threw himself towards the startled man, his arms extended as if for a hug. He stopped at the last possible moment. "Sorry, sir," he said, much quieter, as Mack and Joe were being led away towards the police station. "I thought you were my father."
"He a badge?" the cop asked, and he was smiling indulgently.
"Uh huh!" Rusty nodded enthusiastically. "He's the best!" Enough to confuse the issue. Enough to suggest that maybe he wasn't someone to mess with, that maybe he was protected.
The cop was frowning. "They do this to you?" he asked sharply, and he was reaching out towards Rusty, his eyes fixed on the bruises, his hand too close to Rusty's face.
Rusty flinched backwards, unable to stop himself, his arm coming up to protect could see the suspicion dawning in the cop's eyes, and he was gone in an instant, pushing through the gathered crowd, losing himself in streets and people.
Danny looked at Rusty, a thousand questions dawning.
Rusty smiled. "I never saw them again," he said reassuringly. "The drugs, the wallet...they'd have gotten in trouble. And they never came looking."
"How about the others?" Danny asked after a second.
"They were never really interested in me in the first place," Rusty said with a shrug. "I wasn't anything to them. It all ended fine."
"That ended fine," Danny pointed out. There was more and the more was pain.
"Yeah," Rusty sighed.
The adrenaline had worn off by the time he trudged up the stairs to the apartment. Dizzy and weak, he ached all over and all he wanted to do was curl up in a small ball and sleep forever.
There was no answer when he knocked at the door the first time. And that wasn't too unusual. Sometimes Dad was asleep or too drunk to stand, or just didn't want to let Rusty back in. But there was no answer the second time. Or the third time. Or ten minutes after that. Or half an hour after that.
He sat shivering on the concrete landing, his back pressed against the door, his arms wrapped around his knees, and he wondered what to do next.
Probably Dad had just gone down to the shops or something. Maybe he was out of smokes or vodka. Food, even. He might've gone himself since Rusty hadn't been there to send. Chances were good that he'd be right back, and he'd let Rusty into the apartment and he'd be able to have a shower and get fresh clothes, warm up and sleep in his own bed, and when he met Danny tomorrow the past week would be nothing but a nightmare.
All he had to do was wait and everything would be alright again.
Must've been an hour or so later when the landlord showed up. Getting close to lunchtime anyway, he thought. Not that there was any real way for him to tell.
He stood up respectfully when he saw Mr Biggens coming up the stairs. Least he tried to, scrambling to his feet, but he did it just a little too fast and with his head pounding and his stomach rolling, he wound up leaning against the door, hoping that he wouldn't throw up on the man's shoes.
"Oh, it's you," Mr Biggens said sourly.
Rusty managed to nod. "Yes, sir," he agreed.
"Does this mean your father's in today?" Mr Biggens demanded.
Rusty frowned and there was something that was worrying about that question. Like Dad hadn't been here for a while. "He's not in right now," he offered, and that was all he knew.
The scowl deepened. "Right. Just like the past three days. You see him, you tell him I want my money. He's skipped out there's gonna be trouble."
"I will," Rusty nodded.
"What are you going there anyway?" Mr Biggens asked. "He leave you behind?"
"No," Rusty said immediately. "Of course not." Practically running, he slipped past Mr Biggens and headed for the stairs. "I have to go. When I see Dad, I'll let him know you're looking for him."
For the second time in a week he found himself blindly stumbling out of the front door, not daring to slow down, even for a moment.
He walked through the rain and tried to make sense of the world.
Three days. Dad hadn't been home in three days. And there was cold dread and icy terror but no surprise.
Thing was, Mom had left a year ago. Mom had left and Dad had stayed. And he'd always made it clear that Rusty was a burden and an unwanted responsibility, but he'd stayed because that was what a man did, or something.
And, whatever Danny said, Rusty had to be at least a little bit grateful for that. He'd had a roof over his head, a bed to sleep in, warmth, water, clothes and food, even, though he mostly bought that for himself these days. Point was, Dad didn't have to do all that. He really could just have easily abandoned Rusty a long time ago.
It had always been a possibility. Right from when he was a little kid, he'd understood that they could up and leave him any time they liked in a way that he just couldn't. He was dependent on them, and he'd always done his best to be as independent as possible. He wasn't like other kids, with their families who cared about them and protected them. That just wasn't something that he got; he'd always known that.
And now they had left him. He had to admit, in all probability, Dad just wasn't going to come back. Dad had got tired of looking after him, just like Mom had, and now they'd thrown him away.
He choked down the sob with an effort; this was no time to be childish.
He supposed it could be considered a kindness. After all, Dad hadn't actually thrown him out into the streets, he'd told him to go to Danny's for the week. Probably he'd figured possession was nine tenths of the law. Probably he'd figured that Danny's parents would have to take him in.
(That was never going to happen.)
He bit his lip; he was cold and he was exhausted and his bruises were aching and his head was still spinning. He really wasn't in any place to make any kind of decision.
What he needed...what he needed was a hot drink. Yes. If he just sat someplace safe and warm for a while, with a hot drink in his hand, then he'd stop shivering and everything would be clearer. Better.
He found himself staring at a nickel on the pavement. Huh. Well, that was a start.
For the first time Danny thought he understood Rusty's conviction that they weren't forever. Everyone left, and maybe in Rusty's mind he wasn't any different.
And he'd heard the shame in Rusty's voice, and even if Rusty hadn't actually said the words "It was my fault" Danny still knew the way Rusty's mind worked. An awful possibility began to dawn.
Rusty hadn't told him he was living on the streets. Was that because he'd thought Danny would look down on him? Fuck, had Rusty been afraid that Danny would leave too?
He didn't think he could bear it if that was true. Didn't think he knew how to live with that.
He held Rusty's hand tightly and he never wanted to let go.
(He didn't feel quite brave enough to ask.)
Took a lot of searching but eventually he'd gathered enough pennies off the street to get himself a hot chocolate at Mabel's. And maybe that was a stupid priority but the thing was he was soaked to the skin and he couldn't stop shivering and he didn't think that was all to do with hunger and exhaustion. Felt like he'd never be warm again.
An hour – half an hour, even – in a warm, dry building with a hot drink would solve at least one of his problems. Would go some way towards filling his stomach too. Not that he felt that hungry. In fact, the thought of food made him feel sick. Huh. Probably the head injury. Well, that and the pain and dizziness would vanish in a day or so at most, experience told him. Until then as long as he didn't make any sudden movements he should be fine. No more headlong chases through the streets...he bit his lip as the grief raised its head. He wouldn't have to do that again. No more revenge.
He should've gone somewhere other than Mabel's, he knew that right from the moment he walked through the door. Just that, if he was being absolutely honest with himself, the need to see someone smile at him had factored a little more into his decision than it should have.
But Mabel wasn't smiling when he walked through the door. Mabel looked shocked and just a little bit horrified.
Thankfully the diner was nearly empty as she darted across the floor towards him and he took a couple of steps backwards, his eyes fixed on her face and he was afraid...
Mabel wouldn't hurt him, he told himself fiercely (doubtfully) And there was a sign that he was a little overwrought; it had been at least a year since he'd struggled to remember that.
"Oh, honey, what happened?" Mabel asked, coming to a halt a few steps in front of him
He blinked up at her and just for a moment wild words were hovering on his tongue.
("Dad threw me out and now he's left me for good and Wolfy died and there were boys and they hurt me and I was scared and I thought I was never going to escape and now I don't have anywhere to go and I don't have any money and I hate sleeping on the streets and I'm cold and it hurts and Wolfy's dead and I want Danny.")
He shrugged uneasily instead. That was a little speech that he wouldn't share with anyone. Not even Danny. Not that Danny would need to hear it to know something...
"Your face," Mabel went on, her eyes fixed on him. "And your head..."
He reached up a hand to his forehead. Oh, yeah. Right. "Fell off Brady's bike," he explained, making sure he sounded properly embarrassed. "We were seeing how many people could ride it at once."
She didn't seem to be listening to him, she was staring at the bruises on his arm where he'd raised it. Oh, he really wished he still had the jacket. Thankfully they'd faded enough that they didn't look like fingermarks anymore.
"And you're soaking," she muttered and, guiltily, he looked down to see that he was dripping dirty water all over her floor.
"I'm sorry," he apologised at once, grimacing and surreptitiously trying to mop it up with the bottom of his jeans.
"Come on inside," Mabel said firmly and she led him to the usual table in the corner and got him sitting down.
She disappeared for a moment and came back with a towel. "Dry yourself up, huh? We don't want you catching cold."
He smiled at her gratefully and set to work drying his face, hair and hands vigorously.
By the time he was done the towel was looking decidedly grimy. Luckily, Mabel didn't seem to notice. "Okay, honey. Now, what can I get you?"
"Hot chocolate, please," he said, holding out the handful of coins. All he had and exactly enough.
She frowned, eying him unhappily "Just hot chocolate? You sure?"
He nodded tightly. "Yeah. Thank you."
"Okay, sweetheart," Mabel said placatingly, and when she walked away she was looking back at him anxiously.
With a deep sigh, he leant back in his chair and closed his eyes. No matter how Mabel was looking at him he felt better for being here. Just a tiny little piece of his normal life. He sat back and let himself relax.
He looked up, smiling, as Mabel came back but his smile quickly faded. She was carrying a tray and there wasn't just hot chocolate on it. He stared as she laid the bowl of soup, the grilled chicken sandwich and the jelly doughnut on the table.
"I know you didn't order it," she said before he could say anything. "But it's here now and you might as well eat it."
He licked his lips, struggling to focus on her, his eyes still kind of blurry. "Mabel, I can't..." he stuttered. "I mean, I don't want it," he tried, with a certain amount of desperation.
She sighed and sat down in the seat opposite him and looked at him seriously. "Rusty, sweetheart, you've lost weight since I saw you last week. And you didn't have a whole lot going spare to start with. You look skinny right now. Too skinny. It's not healthy for a child your age."
Oh. He bit his lip and offered the easy lie. "I've been ill. I didn't feel like eating...I still don't feel like eating."
Mabel didn't look like that was hard to believe and he guessed he must look worse than he'd thought. "You still need to eat, sweetheart. You need to keep your strength up. When was the last time you ate a proper meal?"
By Mabel's definition, that would be the night before Danny had left. Danny's Mom had made a pot roast. But that had been a week ago and he didn't think that was the answer Mabel was looking for. "I skipped breakfast," he admitted, hoping that would be enough.
Judging by the look in her eyes she felt there was more to it than that. But all she said was. "Try eating something. Please."
He bit his lip. "I can't afford it, Mabel," he whispered at last, a wild and wavering note audible in his voice.
She looked across the table at him compassionately. "I know that, sweetheart," she said. "But you need to eat and I got this food here that'll just go to waste otherwise. So how does this sound? You eat it up now and sometime when you're feeling better, you can work a couple of hours in the diner to pay me back. How does that sound?"
"I can do the work now," Rusty protested immediately, standing up and, as a wave of dizziness passed over him, gripping the edge of the table surreptitiously.
Mabel didn't seem to notice. "I don't need the help, now," she said reasonably. "Come in some Saturday – not this Saturday," she added quickly. "Won't be busy this week. Maybe in a couple of weeks, that's when you'll really be helping me."
That sounded sensible to him. He nodded slowly, suppressing a yawn. "Okay," he agreed.
"Good." She smiled warmly at him. "Now sit down and eat your soup before it gets cold."
"Yes, ma'am," he said automatically, sitting back down, and struggling to focus on her.
"Mabel," she corrected him gently, getting to her feet. "I'll be back in a minute."
While she was gone he managed a few spoonfuls of soup and a couple of bites of the sandwich. It tasted good but he still felt sick and dizzy and he was struggling with the next spoonful when Mabel reappeared. He recognised the first aid kit in her hands.
"It's not that bad," he protested.
"It is, sweetheart," she disagreed softly. "Please let me take a look."
He wanted to say no, wanted to run away, even, but he could imagine the look in Danny's eyes, the pleas for Rusty to get at least a little help. He couldn't say no to Danny. Not like that. He nodded unsteadily and sat – tense and awkward and inexplicably frightened – as Mabel cleaned the cut on his forehead.
"I don't think you'll need stitches," she told him, and he blinked at the idea that had ever been a possibility. "But your Dad might want to take you to the doctors." And that had never been a possibility. But he smiled and nodded like it could be, as Mabel pressed a bandaid to his forehead, cleaned up the other cut on the back of his neck, and rubbed arnica cream over all the bruises she could see, and he tried to avoid flinching with every gentle touch.
Mabel wouldn't hurt him, he chanted in his head again. Mabel had never hurt him before, so she wasn't going to hurt him this time.
"There we go," she said presently. "Now, are you hurt anyplace else?"
"No," he said, and that was always the right answer to that question.
She looked at him for a long moment but he met the gaze with innocence and sincerity and in the end she was satisfied. "Okay, then," she said and she glanced down at the half eaten bowl of soup and the barely-touched sandwiches. "Is that all you're gonna eat?"
He nodded, shamefaced, and he started to apologise for wasting her food.
She cut him off immediately. "You did very well, sweetheart. Do you feel better for having eaten?"
He nodded again. Yeah, he did, actually. And he wasn't cold anymore. "Thank you, Mabel," he said, suppressing another yawn.
"You're more than welcome, honey."
A couple of moments and she was bringing him over another mug of hot chocolate. "Here," she said quietly. "Enjoy."
He did. Sipping it slowly and luxuriating in warmth and sweetness, and right now, right at this moment, he was almost happy and he found his eyes closing, found his head nodding towards the table.
He slept and he dreamt and his dreams were safety and escape and Danny.
He woke and there was a hand in his hair and someone was near him, someone was touching him, and it wasn't Danny, and they were too close and he bit the inside of his mouth hard to keep from screaming. Touching and notDanny and that meant danger and pain and he jumped back, jerking his head out of the way, his arm swinging up to shield himself from the follow-up punch, and his arm crashed into something and the next thing there was cold water everywhere and the sound of breaking glass.
At that he couldn't help but cry out.
He wasn't the only one.
The cry of shock and fear was the first time he managed to wake up enough to focus on Mabel's face.
Her eyes were wide and she looked surprised and frightened.
His eyes flickered down to the pool of water across the table and across him and the broken pitcher on the floor.
"I'm so sorry, Mabel," he said immediately, guiltily. "Let me clear that up – " He reached down towards the glass shards, getting down onto her hands and knees.
It was like a spell had been broken. "No!" she said sharply, putting out a hand as if to push him away, and he shrank back quickly.
"Sorry," he muttered wretchedly. He couldn't do anything right.
"I just don't want you to cut yourself," she explained. "Let me get a brush and shovel. Oh, and let me get a towel for you," she added muttering. "You're soaked again, sweetheart."
She vanished and was back almost instantly, holding out a fresh towel to him and sweeping up the broken glass.
"I didn't mean to scare you, honey," she said regretfully, gazing up at him as he rubbed the towel futilely over his t-shirt.
"I know," he said quietly. "It was my fault." It was. He worked so hard to hide all those stupid, childish instincts that disturbed everyone else.
"I just wanted to tell you that I'm closing up now," she went on.
Oh. He looked round the diner and realised for the first time that the diner was closed up and empty. "I slept all afternoon?" he asked wonderingly.
"Yeah," Mabel told him. "You looked like you needed it."
He probably had. And he had to admit he did feel better for it. "I'm sorry," he said anyway. "I must've been in your way..."
She sighed. "Oh, honey, not at all." She crouched down in front of him and placed a hand on his knee, removing it immediately as he couldn't help but tense up. "Listen, Rusty, it's getting dark outside. I think I should walk you home. Make sure you get back safe."
Not gonna happen. Couldn't happen. "I'll be fine," he told her. "I've been on my own in the dark lots of times and nothing bad has ever happened." Nothing that he hadn't survived, anyway. Nothing that he hadn't survived...
He didn't think that Mabel missed the flicker of lie and grief that he couldn't keep from his face.
"I want to have a few words with your Dad anyway, Rusty," she went on quietly.
He stood up sharply, fear racing through him, staring at her. "What kind of words?" he asked, wondering what she wanted to tell Dad, wondering what he'd done.
She held up a hand. "You're not in trouble," she assured him. "Just that there's a few things I want to discuss with him."
He bit his lip. Thing was, Mabel didn't know where he lived. Mabel didn't even know his surname. And there was a look in her eyes right now, a regret and a determination, and he didn't know what she was thinking or planning, he just knew that he couldn't let her...he couldn't let her.
He didn't say another word.
He just up and ran.
And even though he heard her calling his name, pleading with him, even though he heard her running after him, he didn't slow down and he didn't look round.
He wouldn't be going back to Mabel's. Not for a very long time.
They hadn't, Danny remembered. Not until the next year and that was six months and more. He remembered when they'd walked back through the door, the look on Mabel's face...she'd hugged them both tightly, brought them more food than they could possibly eat, wouldn't listen to their apologies.
"She doesn't ask that sort of question anymore," Rusty said, and his voice was haunted and regretful.
"She would've taken care of you if she'd known," Danny said quietly. "She would've made sure you were someplace safe."
"Yeah," Rusty looked at him. "And you would've been okay with that?"
Would he have been okay with Rusty safe and looked after, instead of on his own, on the streets, sleeping who knew where, facing who knew what? "Of course," he answered indignantly.
Rusty was still looking at him. "You were away, remember? You would've come back and I wouldn't have been where we'd agreed to meet, and you wouldn't have known where I was. And you would've been okay with that?"
No. The answer was there immediately and instinctively. But that was selfishness and that wasn't truth was it? (Was it? ) "If I'd known you were alright..." he said reluctantly.
"You wouldn't," Rusty said instantly. "And maybe you'd never have known."
He could imagine. Imagine inexplicable disappearance and terror and desperation. "Then no," Danny admitted heavily. "I wouldn't be okay with that."
"Yeah," Rusty said softly. "You see? It's better this way. All worked out in the end."
It was still raining but not as heavily and he stuck as close to the walls as possible, keeping as sheltered as possible as he searched for a place to spend the night.
The alley was out. No way he'd be able to bear that again. And the bridge from last night was too exposed and too close to the warehouse. He didn't know for sure that no one was looking for him, all he had were his best hopes and guesses.
Really, anywhere hidden would do and in the end he found a sheltered doorway in a deserted sidestreet. He hoped it would do.
He curled up as tightly as possible, looking to conserve heat. Least tonight he was well fed. It made a difference.
Tomorrow there would be Danny.
He fell asleep with a smile on his face.
He woke up in the middle of the night as he heard loud voices coming towards him. Anger and the sound of a struggle, drunken laughter. He was up and running in an instant, consumed by panic. Visions of Dad coming for him, angry and ready to hit and hurt mixed with visions of Mack and Joe, free and there to drag him back to the warehouse, keep him there forever, make him do what they wanted.
He didn't stop running until he was sure they weren't following.
The rain had stopped at least. It was still cold for the time of year, but he'd dried out and as he wandered along the street, he figured keeping moving was probably best. Not least because the alley he ducked into when he heard someone shouting was crawling with rats.
Everywhere was frightening. Everywhere was filled with potential threats and just because he had escaped – apparently – from Mack and Joe and their friends didn't meant that there was no one else out there who would hurt him if they found him, who would try to rob him of money he didn't have.
The streets were dark and he could hear footsteps coming towards him and he didn't want to be here anymore, he just wanted (Danny) to go home.
He found himself running up the stairs to Dad's apartment, banging on the door desperately, chanting soft, frantic pleas. "Let me in, let me in, let me in, let me in." Right now he thought he'd promise Dad anything he wanted if he'd just come back for him.
There was no answer.
Normally Rusty's Dad being someplace far away was what Danny wanted. Now, he hated the idea of Rusty having no place to go.
Couldn't happen now, of course. Not like that, anyway. Rusty might not ever have a key to his own front door, but he could pick the lock with one hand tied behind his back.
Actually, it must've been a couple of weeks after this, when Rusty had sat in his room and said that they should learn how to pick locks. He remembered. Rusty's voice had been serious and his eyes had been desperate and Danny had understood that this wasn't an intellectual exercise, wasn't about fun and games.
He'd assumed then that Rusty was thinking about escaping from places. Not wanting to be locked up ever again.
(He glanced at the office door and the irony didn't escape him.)
Now, he figured that maybe Rusty had just wanted to have a better chance of sleeping in his own bed.
Just as well Dad wasn't there, he thought dully, leaning his forehead against the door. If he'd woke Dad up at this time in the morning he'd probably wind up dreaming he was back in the nice, safe warehouse with the boys who wanted to use him.
He stared at the door. Dad wasn't going to come back. He was just about certain of that. But just in case, he wanted to know. Searching around the hallway he found a scrap of paper and he folded it and carefully pushed it into the crack of the door, just above the jamb. There. Now he'd be able to see if anyone had opened the door.
Very briefly he considered just staying in the hallway, outside the door. But there were too many people who would know him, too many people who would look at him with disapproving eyes, who would feel that he was somehow their business.
He headed back onto the streets. Still didn't feel safe to sleep. He ducked down behind a wall next to the park and waited till morning, lightly dozing and waking up at every noise, absolute terror coursing through him.
He was up at the crack of dawn. If he was going to see Danny he wanted to be as clean and neat as possible and he headed to the nearest public restroom and cleaned himself up as well as he could. With a grimace he tried to fix his hair in the mirror with his fingers.
It hurt, but he remembered back when he was seven, about three weeks after he'd first met Mabel, the first time he'd walked into the diner without Danny. Mabel had been gentle and tactful, but she'd combed his hair for him, explaining how to style it, how to keep it neat. No one had ever done that for him before. And his hair had been a mess then. Mom had cut it for him when he was a kid, but since the previous summer, since the knife, he hadn't wanted to let her near him with anything sharp. That night he tried cutting it himself but he hadn't been able to get it right at the back. Danny had noticed the next time they'd met, of course, and he'd offered to do it. And that next Saturday, at the diner, Mabel had smiled at him and said how smart he looked and Rusty had been so happy.
He opened his eyes and carefully rearranged his hair one more time. There. Not looking too bad. His mouth was still a little swollen, his face was maybe a little gaunt, and he was still slightly bruised, and there was the bandaid on his forehead, but he wasn't looking too bad. Maybe Danny wouldn't notice anything was wrong.
Yeah. Who was he kidding?
They'd agreed to meet at the abandoned house the day Danny got back. They had no real way of knowing what kind of mood Danny's parents would be in when they got home and they hadn't wanted to risk Rusty knocking on the door and being turned away. Had happened before, after all.
Was easier for Danny to sneak out than for Rusty to sneak in.
He stopped by the apartment on his way in. Just call him an incurable optimist. The piece of paper hadn't been disturbed and there was no answer when he knocked. Fantastic. He wasn't surprised.
Took him an hour or more to get to the house. He had to keep stopping for a break. God, he was tired. Oh, the physical pain was hardly worth mentioning, aside from a vague, persistent throbbing in his ribs, all his injuries were healing nicely, but he still felt drained and shaky. Besides. He had to be absolutely certain that no one was following him.
Naturally, he didn't stop once he was in Danny's neighbourhood. Last thing he wanted was to risk Juliet Darcey seeing him. Instead he practically ran towards the house.
Danny wasn't there, which also wasn't particularly surprising. They hadn't mentioned a particular time, but even so he was pretty sure he was early.
Sinking into a corner, his knees pulled up to his chest, his eyes closed, he waited.
He truly didn't know what happened next. Yeah, he'd been on the streets for the past week, but there'd always been a definite end point. He was just killing time. Now it looked like he was there for good and it was kinda terrifying. He didn't know how long he could live like this. And what happened when school started? What happened when winter came and it got cold? And surely, sooner or later, someone was going to notice. And then they'd take him away. (They'd take him away and lock him up and he'd never see sunlight again. They'd feed him on old kitchen scraps, when they happened to remember, and every time he fucked up – and he would - they'd beat him senseless.) He shivered. It wouldn't be like that, he told himself. Dad did lie, sometimes. It wouldn't be like that.
But if he really wanted to stay on his own, to not have to worry about what anyone wanted from him, he'd need to leave town. Head somewhere bigger, somewhere they didn't know him, somewhere he could hide.
He didn't want to have to think about what that would mean.
Not yet, he decided. He'd give it a few more days. See what happened. Maybe Dad would come back for him. Maybe.
He dozed briefly and it wasn't long before he heard footsteps in the doorway. Danny's footsteps.
He looked up, smiling for what seemed like the first time in a week. Danny. But his smiled faded as he found himself looking at frozen worry and anger and sorrow.
Danny had seen him and Danny didn't like what he saw.
Danny remembered that moment. He'd missed Rusty so much while he'd been away, more than he would have imagined was possible. Rusty wasn't the only one who'd ran to the abandoned house, though the reasons had been very different.
His mind had been full – as indeed it had been all week – of all the thoughts and stories and experiences he needed to share.
And he remembered the moment that he'd seen Rusty slumped over there, and the bruises, God help him, would never come as a surprise. It had been more than that. More, even, than the way Rusty had been noticeably thinner than he had been last week, more than the visible exhaustion and the dark circles under Rusty's eyes. It had been something else. Something that had made him think of those days after Rusty's Mom had left. Like he was looking at the memory of terror and the certainty of defeat. Like Rusty had been pushed right to the edge and a little further.
It had frightened him.
The look vanished almost immediately. Danny smiled at him, bright and gently. "Rough week?" he asked, crossing the floor and reaching out a hand to help him up.
He laughed, and it sounded rough and cracked to his ears. "Had better," he agreed, and he hesitated for a second before taking Danny's hand. Just for a second. But Danny noticed, and when he was on his feet, Danny folded Rusty's hand between both of his and held on tight.
His eyes were on the bruises on Rusty's face. "Oh, Rus'..." he murmured.
One good thing about having a harsher-than-average upbringing was that all of life's little problems could be attributed to it. He knew that Danny never even considered that these bruises might come from anywhere other than Dad. And somehow that hurt. He chewed on his lip. "So how was Italy?"
"Good," Danny nodded slowly. "It was good. Hot." He hesitated, his eyes fixed on Rusty, like he was struggling to say something else, but in the end he obviously let it go. "Mom had to go in to work and Dad said he had to go into work, so we've got the house to ourselves for the day. You want to go and grab some food and watch TV?"
Food. TV. With Danny. Safe and normal and with Danny. It had been such a long week and he'd been so alone and now there was Danny. For a second he couldn't speak. For a second he felt like the tears were welling up inside, and he didn't even know why. Entirely stupid thing to cry over.
"Hey," Danny said softly, his eyes filled with worry. "Hey, it's okay."
He nodded rapidly, swallowing hard, fighting to regain his self control, and Danny sighed and stepped forwards quickly, sweeping him up into a hug, the obvious and overt gesture of affection unusual and wonderful.
"If you're that bothered about it, I'll let you choose what we watch," Danny murmured in his ear.
He laughed, and maybe it was a little too sharp and a little too shrill, but Danny seemed to understand.
Was a blissful coupe of moments before he felt the need to step back out of Danny's arms. And he noticed that Danny's nose was twitching.
He grimaced. "Sorry. Not been able to get a shower for a few days." It was the truth, after all. Just not the whole truth.
Danny nodded slowly and that had happened before and he could see Danny running through numerous possible reasons, everything from the water being turned off again to Rusty being too afraid to leave his room.
"Okay," Danny said after a second, smiling briefly. "Let's go home."
He smiled happily at Danny and they walked out of the house, the socially-acceptable distance between them.
They reached Danny's house in silence and he hung back awkwardly in the doorway until Danny glanced back and pulled him inside, his brow creased with worry. But all he said was "You want to take a bath?"
He could feel his face light up. Just the thought..."Yes. Please."
Danny didn't seem happy with his desperation. "Okay then. Come on."
He sat on Danny's bed while Danny ran him a bath and this was just so far from where he'd been yesterday and he still felt like he might start crying at any moment.
"Here you go," Danny said, pressing a fluffy towel into his hands. "You want me to – "
" – stay," Rusty interrupted. "Please."
There was acceptance and understanding on Danny's face and he rejoiced in the things he never had to explain.
He stripped off his clothes and behind him he heard Danny swear softly. He guessed there were still some bruises on his back and ribs. "'s healing," he told Danny, and he didn't know if that would really make any difference.
He sank into the bath. Hot water and bubbles up to his neck and he gave a soft moan of appreciation. Oh, this felt so good. He felt like all the pain and worry was just melting away.
A few moments of sheer bliss and he opened his eyes and looked at Danny. "Tell me about Italy?" he requested.
Danny smiled and Rusty lay back and listened as Danny talked about the coffee flavoured gelato in the park and the bellhop who'd spent all his time waxing his moustache in the elevator, and the man selling candy on the street who had chased down the road after a pigeon, wielding a rolled-up-newspaper like it was the sharpest of swords.
At some point he must have fallen asleep.
Danny couldn't take it anymore. "Why couldn't you just tell me?" he demanded, breathless and anguished and, yes, angry. "You just sat there and let me assume...why, Rusty?"
Rusty wouldn't look at him and didn't say anything.
"Was it..." He hardly dared ask. "Did you think I'd be ashamed of you? Did you think I'd walk away?"
At that, Rusty looked up sharply. "No!" he said vehemently. Then he sighed. "Maybe...I don't...everything was so confused, Danny. And then you were there and everything was – "
" – everything was not normal," Danny interrupted with low fury. "You were quiet and serious and going along with everything I said and – "
" – I was not broken," Rusty snapped.
He paused. "No," he agreed at last. "But things weren't normal, Rusty. I would have listened. I would have wanted to know."
"I know," Rusty said quietly. "I know that, Danny. I was just frightened."
"Of what?" he pressed.
There was a haunted look in Rusty's eyes. "Everything."
"Wake up," Danny said softly.
He opened his eyes blearily and realised that he was still in the bath. Oh. Good thing that Danny was here. Else he might have drowned. He blinked sleepily up at Danny, standing over him, holding a towel.
"Water's going to get cold soon," Danny went on. "Come on."
Silently he stood up and took the towel, drying himself off. He felt warm and clean and happy and he smiled drowsily at Danny. "Where are my clothes?" he asked, looking round the bathroom. They weren't where he'd left them.
"Put them in the washing machine," Danny explained. "Don't worry – they'll be dry by the time my parents get in. And I've got a t-shirt and a pair of slacks you can wear till then. Should be fine. Long as we don't leave the house."
He nodded, slowly, and clean clothes did sound very nice. Just that, well, shortly after he and Danny had first met, Danny's Mom had started going through Danny's wardrobe on a regular basis, removing everything that was even slightly too small for Danny. And they both knew why. Danny's Mom thought he was out for all he could get and she didn't want him to get anything, even if it was just Danny's old clothes.
"She won't know," Danny said again, persuasively, holding out the clothes.
He dressed quickly. Better than being naked, and he smiled at Danny and more than anything he wanted to say thank you.
"I'll go and get us some food," Danny volunteered, heading downstairs.
Rusty sat down on the edge of the bed. He only meant to sit down on the edge of the bed. But he was still warm and sleepy and relaxed and he just lay down for a moment.
He woke up, very briefly, when Danny pulled the blanket over him. He fell asleep again as Danny lay down beside him, staying close and watching over him.
He never wanted this feeling to end and he already knew it would.
He was back in the warehouse, sprawled on the floor at Bossman's feet, and Wolfy's dead body was lying inches from his face, and no matter how hard he tried he just couldn't stop crying and he couldn't hide it from them.
"Aw, poor little chicky," Joe crooned from behind him, stamping on his legs hard. "Is your kitty roadkill?"
Bossman leaned down and pulled Rusty up by the hair, gently cradling his chin, turning his face this way and that. "Maybe you could make us some money after all."
"No," he whispered.
Bossman smiled. "Maybe Danny can."
He turned his head, almost unwillingly, and Danny was standing there silently, being held by Mack, and Danny's face was bruised and his eyes were wild and Rusty hadn't meant to get Danny mixed up in all of this, he'd never meant to get Danny mixed up in all of this, and he tried to apologise but he didn't think Danny could hear him.
"Rusty!"
He was awake in an instant. Listening to Danny.
"It's just a bad dream," Danny told him soothingly. "You're safe. We both are."
Danny's hand was on his cheek and he leaned in to the touch and right there and then it felt like nothing could ever hurt him.
"Go back to sleep," Danny told him and he did.
It was getting dark when he woke up and there was a heavy weight on his chest. He already knew who it was just by the way that he wasn't panicking. When he opened his eyes he saw Danny, sleeping beside him, his arm flung protectively across Rusty's chest. He smiled and carefully wriggled out of Danny's arms.
Danny blinked. "Morning," he muttered.
Rusty glanced at the window. "Doubt it," he told Danny with a grin.
"You're feeling better?" Danny asked, studying him carefully.
"Yeah," he said, thinking about it. Everything felt a little less overwhelming, a little less close to the surface. "What time is it?"
"About nine," Danny told him. "Mom and Dad aren't back yet." He didn't sound surprised. "There's not much in the house to eat – no bread or anything fresh like that – but there's ice cream in the freezer and I found a packet of cookies and a bag of chips."
"Real food," Rusty said with a grin.
"Exactly," Danny nodded. "You want to go watch some TV?"
"Do I still get to pick what we watch?" he asked.
"No, I'm sorry." Danny shook his head gravely. "That was a one time only offer."
Wasn't like it really mattered. The very first channel they tried was showing a movie and after fifteen seconds a tree exploded and they were hooked, slumped happily on the sofa, drinking coca cola and demolishing a carton of double choc chip.
For a long time there wasn't much conversation and he thought both of them were just happy in each other's presence.
But it was getting even darker outside and he didn't have anyplace to go and the words were too heavy for his tongue.
"Danny?" he said, soft and hesitant, turning his head.
"Yeah?" Danny said, looking round.
He hesitated for a couple of seconds. Just that it felt like much longer. "Tell me more about Italy," he said at last, quickly.
Danny looked at him for a long moment and of course he knew that Danny knew that that hadn't been what he wanted to say. But he met Danny's gaze and silently pleaded for Danny not to ask and in the end Danny sighed. "Well, the weather was good. And Mom and Dad dragged me through a whole lot of museums and galleries, when they weren't arguing, but honestly, you'd be amazed at some of the things there. Paintings and sculptures..." He shook his head wonderingly. "You just look at them and it's almost unbelievable that a human being can create stuff like that. And the countryside was really pretty." He smiled suddenly. "Oh, there was this other kid in the hotel. From Philadelphia. He was about my age. Anyway, he was over visiting family and he kept insisting that his uncle was in the Mafia."
Rusty considered that for a moment. "Maybe his uncle was in the Mafia. He could've been."
Danny grinned. "His uncle was a dentist."
Oh. Well, he still wasn't going to let it go. "He could have been a dentist and in the Mafia. A Mafia dentist."
"Why would the Mafia need dentists?" Danny wondered.
He shrugged. "Maybe they eat a lot of candy bars?"
Danny laughed. "Yeah. Because that's what I think of when I see The Godfather. Lots of candy bars."
He grinned and conceded the point. "So what did you say?"
There was a shrug and a grin that was just on the right side of malevolent. "Told him I was a CIA operative and I was going to have to take a note of his uncle's name."
"A CIA operative?" Rusty repeated incredulously.
Danny waved a hand airily. "In training."
Of course. Still grinning, they turned their attention back to the movie.
"Oh, like that's physically possible," Danny said, rolling his eyes as the guy on the screen tumbled backwards off the sofa and sprang straight to his feet.
"No, I think it might be," Rusty commented, squinting at the TV.
As one, they turned their heads and looked thoughtfully at the back of the sofa.
"Me first," he declared eagerly, standing up. He bounced up onto the back of the sofa, while Danny stood back to watch, glancing behind himself thoughtfully. Okay. With a jubilant yell, he launched himself backwards, trying to twist in midair and get his legs under him, ready to spring back to his feet.
A second later and he was sprawled on the floor, looking up at Danny. "That didn't go well," he commented, concentrating on not wincing. That hadn't been especially good for his ribs.
Danny smiled ruefully. "Told you it wasn't possible."
And yet Danny was going to try it anyway. He got to his feet, his arm pressed against his chest discreetly and he stood to the side of the room and watched with interest as Danny jumped up onto the sofa.
"You sure you don't want a helmet?" he asked brightly.
"Quiet," Danny said with dignity. "I must focus."
"Uh huh." He watched as Danny jumped wildly over the back of the sofa and he almost had to close his eyes as Danny tried to somersault, failed, and crashed, legs flailing, into the end table, sending a large glass bowl of petunias flying.
"You okay?" He asked at once, as Danny sat up groggily.
"Yeah...it's not possible." He glanced down at the smashed bowl and the forlorn petunias and grimaced. "Oops." He scrambled to his feet. "I'll go get something to clean that up."
He shook his head, looking down at the mess. Yeah. They shouldn't have tried that. He glanced back at the TV and now on the movie, the hero was dangling over an elevator shaft on an almost invisible wire. Mmm. Just as well they hadn't watched far enough to try that.
He heard a noise in the doorway and turned to smile at Danny.
He found himself looking at Danny's Mom.
The smile faded immediately.
She was staring at him and staring at the mess on the floor. "Is that my bowl?" she demanded angrily.
"Yes, ma'am," he said softly, fighting not to take a couple of steps backwards.
Her eyes were focused on him now, glaring, hating. "Did you do this, Robert?"
"Yes," he said immediately. It had to be him. Not Danny. Never Danny. "I'm sorry," he added, already knowing that it wouldn't do any good. "It was an accident, I didn't mean to."
She strode towards him, fury on her face, and he couldn't help but flinch away this time, and just because she'd never hit him before didn't mean that she wouldn't now, she was angry enough, and thank God Danny was in the other room.
He waited and she stopped just short of him, her fists clenched, close to his face, and he stared, watching her hands, bracing himself. "How dare you come into my house and break things like that? Acting like a wild animal – you have no place in decent people's lives, Robert. Why you're not ashamed of yourself I'll never know. I've been too soft of you so far. You should be – "
" – Mom!" Danny was standing in the kitchen doorway now, staring at her, the dustpan and brush forgotten in his hand.
She stood up straight, smoothing her skirt down, stepping away from Rusty. "Your little friend is just leaving, Daniel. It seems as though he can't be trusted in civilised people's homes."
"What?" Danny's voice was hurt and incredulous.
"He broke my bowl," Danny's Mom said.
Danny frowned. "I broke it. It was an accident and I'm sorry, but it was me."
She rolled her eyes. "It's no use trying to cover-up for him this time, Daniel. He's already admitted it."
The hurt look was turned on him and they both knew he'd lied. But it had to be him. He silently pleaded with Danny to understand; parents couldn't be trusted. They could turn on you, they could hurt you, throw you out into the cold and the dark and the danger, and he didn't want that for Danny, he wanted Danny to be safe.
Danny didn't look like he understood at all.
"'s okay, Danny. I'll just go," he said softly.
"You do that," Danny's Mom snapped. "And I don't want to see you hanging around here again."
She'd forget that in a few weeks, he knew that. But he didn't know where he'd be in a few weeks.
"I'll see you tomorrow at Mabel's," Danny whispered, as they headed out into the hall, Danny's Mom following them, and he noticed that there was absolutely no offer to give him a run home this time.
"I can't go back to Mabel's," he whispered back quickly. "The fountain."
Danny nodded quickly, and he was still looking hurt and just a little bit angry, and Rusty knew they were going to be talking about this tomorrow.
One more thing he didn't want to talk to Danny about.
Danny was still angry. Even though he was trying not to be. "You just walked out and went to sleep in some doorway somewhere? You didn't even try to tell me?"
"Your Mom would never have let me," Rusty argued, and that wasn't the point.
"I would have argued," he said, and he'd managed to get his own way before, and he would have tried. "Or we could have smuggled you upstairs. I would have done something."
"Right." Rusty was glaring. "And the next day? And the day after that? I thought it was going to be forever, Danny. I thought Dad wasn't coming back. I thought he'd left me." Rusty's voice broke on the last two words, but he caught himself before Danny could say anything. "We couldn't have gone on like that, Danny. Not forever. And you would have wanted to do something, and maybe I'd have ended up going to the police and into care, and I know it's not that bad now but I didn't know anything back then and I was scared."
"I would have wanted to know," Danny said softly, and everything came back to that. "I would've done something."
Rusty smiled sadly. "And if you couldn't have done anything?"
He was about to give the immediate answer, the answer that he knew in his heart, but he stopped himself in time.
Rusty had heard it anyway. "It was bad, Danny. Living on the streets is...I don't want that for you."
"You have to let me make my own decisions," Danny said quietly, but he could understand where Rusty was coming from.
Dad still wasn't back. He sighed and walked away from the door and wondered what he was going to do now. The sleep he'd got at Danny's had left him rested and he didn't particularly want to go to sleep, but it was Saturday night and the streets were full of drunks, shouting and singing.
He headed out at random, ducking through streets, and a group of men carrying bottles caught sight of him, reaching out and trying to grab him.
"Hey, kid, come here!"
"Right, have a drink!"
"It'll put hairs on your chest!"
Heart pounding, he managed to wriggle free and run, and they were laughing behind him, and he bumped into another group of people who were yelling and angry at him, and he ran and ran until finally he was hiding in a doorway, somewhere downtown, near the station, breathing fast and ragged.
(He wanted to go home)
He didn't sleep much that night. In fact, he spent his time scuttling from doorway to doorway, mired in seemingly inescapable fear.
Nothing felt safe. Nowhere felt safe. Every time he sat down, every time he shut his eyes, even for a moment, he found himself tensed to run, terrified that when he opened his eyes there was going to be someone right there, waiting for him.
It was irrational, he knew that. Just that knowing didn't stop the fear.
He drifted down near the station, not even knowing where he was going and he saw Candy on the other side of the street, on the corner of the block, her skirt hiked up and her face still bruised. He stared and she looked up suddenly, looking across the road. Their eyes met and he saw the recognition dawn.
She laughed and reached back into the shadows and grabbed Al's arm, pointing at Rusty, and Rusty saw Al's eyes widen, and he didn't know what was going to happen, didn't know if Al was going to come after him, hurt him.
He didn't wait around to find out.
He was already running back the way he came, imagining them chasing him, and he ducked down a side street, scrambled over a wall and hid on the edge of a playground, not daring to breathe, not daring to make a sound.
No matter how he tried, he couldn't hear anything. He shivered. Maybe there was nothing to hear. Or, maybe they were sneaking up on him.
For the longest moment he stayed absolutely still. Waited. But there was nothing. He sighed. His feet hurt. Actually, everything kind of hurt. But he thought he was safe for the moment.
He hadn't told Danny. Not any of the things that Danny would want to know. That Danny maybe deserved to know. And that meant that he couldn't tell Danny tomorrow because the question would be why he hadn't told Danny before, and that meant he couldn't ever tell Danny.
And tomorrow he'd have to meet Danny and act like everything was fine which was pretty much impossible. Wasn't like that had worked out so well today. Danny had known there was something wrong just by looking at him. Something more than usual, that was.
He didn't know how long he could keep this secret from Danny.
But he couldn't tell him.
And he couldn't think of anything he could say to Danny that wouldn't immediately hurt both of them.
He didn't know what to do.
When dawn came he was huddled under the climbing frame. He'd managed to doze for a few hours and was feeling...not refreshed exactly but certainly capable of surviving the day.
Survival. That was about all he felt capable of right now. He got himself cleaned up to the best of his ability, found himself a shop that was open early and stole himself some breakfast.
Good thing about shoplifting, he thought as he loitered in the candy aisle and chocolate bars vanished up his sleeve, was that it didn't involve any contact with actual people. Right now that was something he just felt like avoiding.
He made a point of gazing disappointedly at a random gap in the shelves – apparently the shop was out of the fish food he was after – and he nodded to the clerk and ducked out the door.
Chocolate for breakfast. Who said that crime didn't pay?
Dad wasn't back. He wondered how long it would be before the landlord formally evicted them and threw all their stuff out into the street. Actually, maybe Dad would have taken their stuff with them. Though if Dad had taken his own stuff, he still would have left Rusty's, surely. Huh. Maybe if they did get evicted he might be able to pick up some of his things. Just being practical, a couple of changes of clothing and his schoolbag to carry them in would be pretty attractive right now. Something to look out for anyway.
After that he headed round to the fountain to wait for Danny, careful to sit on the side away from the police station, just in case.
He needed to start thinking long term. Needed to start thinking about where he was going to go and how he was going to live. Really, he couldn't stay here forever. But he'd never been anywhere. There was nothing to base that decision on.
He sat and waited and worried about what he was going to say to Danny. How could he possibly keep this secret?
It was late morning by the time Danny finally appeared, looking furious. For a moment, Rusty was alarmed, but Danny got closer and it wasn't about his lie to Danny's Mom last night. Wasn't aimed at him at all, in fact.
He smiled, just because Danny was Danny and here, and his eyes were already asking the question, showing the worry before Danny got in earshot.
"Mom caught me sneaking out," Danny said shortly. "Guessed where I was going. Had a few things to say about it." His fists were clenched and his mouth was twisted with anger and disgust.
Rusty blinked anxiously, wondering how Danny had managed to get here.
Danny shrugged. "Just walked out. She couldn't stop me." He must have seen something in Rusty's eyes because he added incredulously. "You honestly expecting me to just stand there and let her insult you?"
Yes. Yes, Danny should, because what if Danny went home and his parents weren't there anymore? Some battles they couldn't win. (Most battles they couldn't win?)
Frowning, Danny asked. "Since when did you admit defeat?"
He wasn't quite sure.
Danny sighed, running his hand through his hair, and he sat down heavily on the fountain beside Rusty, their shoulders accidentally brushing together. "It's okay, Rusty, really. Grandma's coming over this afternoon, so by the time I get back Mom'll be too mad at Grandma to remember she's supposed to be mad at me."
He breathed a sigh of relief, happy that Danny knew what he was doing.
"I would have done it anyway," Danny told him in an undertone. Then he smiled brightly. "You hungry?" He waved a hand before Rusty could answer. "Yeah, yeah, stupid question. I want some lunch and I'm broke. Or, at least, all my money is lira. Dad said he'd change it back for me but," he shrugged. "Guess it might take a while. You got cash?"
He grimaced. Hadn't exactly been a good week as far as money was concerned.
"Yeah," Danny nodded. "I guess we'd best get some first."
He glanced around and it was Sunday and the streets were fairly empty.
"Park?" Danny suggested. "Everyone goes to the park on Sunday. Think it's a rule or something."
Sounded good to him. Smiling, he sprang to his feet and prepared to lead the way.
"By the way," Danny added casually. "You know you're not talking, right?"
He turned back and stared and he opened his mouth to object. Then he sighed and shrugged. Yeah.
"'s okay," Danny told him. "Just wanted to make sure you'd noticed."
He nodded and he knew from experience that Danny would let it go today. Wouldn't be till tomorrow that he started getting insistent.
It would make it a lot easier not to tell Danny anyway.
He pretended he hadn't thought that.
Danny hated it when Rusty stopped talking. Not that it had happened for a long time now...actually that had been the last time, back nearly two years ago, and he hadn't known the reasons but he'd been frightened nonetheless.
It had been commonplace in the months after Rusty's Mom had left. Quiet Days when Rusty would only talk to Danny and Silent Days when Rusty wouldn't talk at all. And every time Danny had been careful to keep fear buried, to treat it all like it was nothing out of the ordinary, giving Rusty the feeling of control he needed.
But that time it had been hiding something else. He should have insisted. Should have made Rusty tell him.
"Hey," Rusty's voice was fierce. "Don't you dare blame yourself for this."
He laughed slightly and leaned his head against the wall. Above them, the dawn light was creeping in the window. At last.
"You didn't want to tell me anything," he said quietly, and when Rusty opened his mouth to explain, to apologise, he held up his hand. "No! It's just – why did you tell me now?"
"I told you over a year ago," Rusty said softly and Danny remembered darkness and bruises and being on the streets when they should have been safe.
He nodded. "Not all of it though."
"I don't like to remember," Rusty said. He sighed. "I don't want to remember."
Danny squeezed Rusty's fingers tightly and there was nothing he could say.
"It was when you told me..." Rusty closed his eyes. "I want you to trust me for the right reasons. I want to deserve your trust."
Danny found himself smiling. "You always do. Idiot."
It was a lovely, sunny day and the park was crowded and bustling. Perfect. Just perfect. The day became a game.
The loud woman with the implausible sunglasses who swore at the kids playing soccer, and they were cowboys, lurking in the bushes, barely brushing past her and her purse fell open in Danny's hands.
The older man walking along with his copy of 'Barely Legal' clearly visible inside his paper, and they'd found an abandoned baseball and they threw it from one to the other, running along the path and a long throw, a missed catch, and he stumbled into the man and the man's wallet was in his pocket.
The well-dressed man shouting at the ice cream vendor because the prices were too high, and they dropped a stolen quarter on the path a little way behind him, and the wallet in his back pocket was unmissable when he bent over.
It wasn't all about survival.
"You know," Danny said, as they walked away from the hotdog stand and Rusty tried to find a way of eating the hotdog that wouldn't get ketchup everywhere. "There was this sign in the airport. Right in the middle of the baggage collection bit. Said 'Caution, thieves are operating in this area.' You know what everyone did the moment they saw the sign?"
Checked for their valuables. Showing any would-be-pickpockets in the area exactly where they were. He grinned.
"Right." Danny grinned back. "Wish the police round here would be that obliging."
He frowned thoughtfully; maybe they didn't need to wait for the police.
"Make our own sign, you mean?" Danny pondered between mouthfuls. "Huh. Could work. We'd need to save it for special occasions though."
Right. Try that too often and someone would catch on.
(They were making plans for the future and he didn't know if he was going to have a future.)
Suddenly, he really kinda wanted to change the subject. He glanced sideways at Danny, wondering if he'd taken advantage of the sign in the airport.
Danny sighed. "Yeah. Shouldn't have, but yeah. Dad had spent the whole flight smiling at the stewardess, and Mom wouldn't stop complaining, so I was off by myself for a bit. And there was this woman dragging her daughter along. The kid must have been about your age but much younger. And she was going on at her. All the usual stuff, you know 'Why are you so selfish, why do you have to embarrass me all the time, why can't you just be normal'...all of that."
So Danny had taken her wallet and that was understandable. Stupid, but understandable. Wouldn't make any of the difference that mattered; giving the mother something else to be angry about wasn't going to help the kid any. Quite the opposite, actually.
"I know that," Danny said quietly. "Gave the wallet back. Dropped it in the trolley when they weren't looking. I just wish I could have done something."
Of course he did. Rusty smiled; that was one of the things that made Danny everything he was.
"You want to go see a movie?" Danny suggested after a moment, when the hotdogs were finished. "That new one, 'Logan's Run' is out. Trailers look good. And maybe afterwards we could try sneaking into 'The Omen' again."
Mmm. Without getting caught this time.
"Exactly," Danny agreed.
They walked to the movie theatre. Rusty hadn't expected it to be difficult; it took him by surprise. But there was the trashcan and there was the alley, and there, that spot on the road there...
He stood frozen, not able to keep walking, not able to do anything. In his mind he could still see Wolfy lying there, twisted and dead.
"Rus'!" Danny's hand was on his arm and Danny was looking at him anxiously.
He nodded, jerkily, promising he was okay, and they walked on up to the theatre.
The movies were good. Both of them. Movies and popcorn and Danny and it was a good day.
By the time they got out it was dark. Danny looked at him awkwardly. "I need to – "
Yeah. Pretty soon, Danny's Mom would miss him. And the last thing Rusty wanted was to give her any more reason to be mad at Danny.
"Rus'," Danny said, soft and anxious. "Your Dad..." He trailed off.
Right. Danny knew things were bad right now and there was one obvious conclusion to draw.
He shrugged, conveying absolutely nothing and Danny sighed exasperatedly.
Rusty glanced towards the road and the bus that would take Danny practically to his door that was just coming along the street.
"Come home with me," Danny said suddenly. "Please."
He shook his head quickly. Too risky. Danny's Mom would object, and leaving alone what that might mean for Danny – the worst of consequences – at best she might just decide to drive Rusty home and have another little chat with his father. And that would just unravel everything.
Danny stared at him for a long moment, and they'd had this conversation before, often before, and sometimes Danny could win and sometimes – like now – Danny would lose.
"Be safe," Danny whispered as the bus pulled up.
Rusty offered a grin of absolute confidence and no conceivable doubt and Danny didn't look like he believed it for a second.
"Goodnight, Danny," he said when Danny was on the step. "I'll see you tomorrow." And Danny turned back and smiled.
He watched the bus until it was out of sight and sometimes he hated the way he missed Danny. Wasn't like it was possible for them to spend their entire lives in each other's company. He should listen to Dad; he needed to toughen up.
Okay. He sighed. Had to figure out what he was going to do next. He glanced back at the alley. Almost tempting – it had felt safe and comfortable. But he didn't think he'd be able to bear it without Wolfy. Unwillingly, he looked back at the spot on the road and he bit his lip hard. He could still see...
With an effort, he turned away.
Besides. If he wanted a more practical reason, a reason that didn't make him feel like a sissy, Joe and Mack had found him here. He couldn't be certain that they weren't around and he couldn't be certain that any of their friends might not be hanging around here.
He wanted some food and, automatically, he started walking towards Mabel's. Almost immediately he stopped, cursing himself. Not an option. There was another diner though, not that far away. They'd been there once or twice when they were cutting school for one reason or another, or when he'd felt like his bruises were just too obvious for Mabel to believe any excuses. He headed there.
Least he had money, now. They'd split the money from the park fifty fifty, like they always did, in spite of Danny trying to argue that Rusty needed it more. Still. He should probably try to save his money as much as possible. It was always possible he wouldn't be able to get more; things happened. On the other hand, just because maybe Mack and Joe weren't around any more didn't mean that no one else would turn up, ready to take what they could.
See, that was logic. And had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that the smell of fries was driving him crazy.
He didn't need that much food. He'd already eaten today and he needed to start thinking long term and best means of survival, not about salt and grease and ketchup. If he was going to leave town, he'd need money. Few more days like this one and he could start thinking about the bus station downtown. So, he didn't know anywhere, but he figured that Greyhounds went everywhere. One big town was as good as another. He'd see where the buses go and take his pick. Somewhere he could hide, somewhere no one knew him...And that was all very well, but he was hungry now.
He compromised. Bought a child sized portion and ate it slowly in the furthest corner of the diner, lingering until the diner was closing and the bored-looking owner chased him outside.
It was darker now. Late. Sunday night and the streets were quieter at least. Time to find someplace safe to hide and rest up. Yeah. Like there was anyplace safe.
Still, he was pretty used to it by now and he skirted round the most deserted streets until he found a little underpass, way off the main roads, down below the parking lot, leading towards a bunch of tower blocks. There was graffiti on the walls and broken glass on the ground, but none of it looked especially recent. Mmm. Should do for tonight. Probably it wasn't such a good idea to stay in the same place for longer than that anyway.
He lay down against the wall, his arms over his head and waited for sleep. God, he hoped Danny had got home safe. Hoped Danny had been right and that his Mom had forgotten all about everything. Wouldn't be the first time. And he knew, or was almost certain he knew, that Danny's parents were unlikely to abandon him. But it wasn't impossible. And the thought of Danny forced to live like this...it was unbearable. Danny didn't deserve this. Neither did he, but it was much easier not to think like that.
What was more likely than Danny being thrown out, however was Danny finding out his secret and choosing to run away to be with him. Especially if he decided to skip town. Danny would want to come too, and Rusty couldn't let that happen. It wouldn't be an adventure and it wouldn't be fun and it wouldn't be safe. And it would ruin Danny's life. Danny had a bright future ahead of him, anyone could see that. Everyone could see that, in fact, except Danny's parents. Rusty wasn't going to let him throw it away.
But he didn't know how to leave Danny behind.
Unless...unless he just left. Unless he didn't say goodbye.
Wide-eyed, he actually considered it for a moment. No. No, he couldn't. That was just cruel. That would break Danny's heart and Danny would never understand.
And that meant he had to tell Danny the truth. And he still didn't know how. Didn't know how Danny would react, except that he thought that maybe Danny would insist he needed help. Even more than when it was just Dad smacking him around a little. He imagined sitting in some room somewhere, telling strangers all his secrets, watching them stare at him, watching them judge him, and he shivered. He didn't know how he'd get through that.
He just wanted to be alone. Was that too much to ask?
(It was a lie, anyway.)
He played through the conversation in his head until he fell asleep.
Danny's arm was over Rusty's shoulder, his head was turned and his face was pressed against Rusty's hair.
It helped, oddly, to think that Rusty had been going to tell him. Even more to know that Rusty had never considered just leaving him behind.
Mostly, it just helped that Rusty was here with him now.
It had been over a year ago that he'd sat beside Rusty in that room, somewhere, listening to Rusty share his secrets with blank-faced professionals. Nine months after Rusty had been on the streets, so afraid of telling and being judged, and not so much had changed in that nine months. Rusty had still been terrified. Uncomfortable. And his voice had been as steady as could be, and Danny had been so proud of him.
Some days, when he saw Rusty beaten down and he remembered Rusty telling him about trees and food and kindness, he wished that Rusty had stayed.
Some days, when the world was shining, and life was fun and games and laughter, he could never regret that Rusty had left.
Some days he knew that he'd never have survived without Rusty anyway.
He must have been tired.
Too tired.
Far too tired, in fact, because he didn't wake up in time, not nearly in time, not until there were rough hands on his body and an overpowering smell of alcohol and rotting food.
Instantly awake, instantly panicking, his eyes snapped open and he was struggling, kicking, fighting before he even knew what was going on, and the next thing there was a heavy hand on his chest, pinning him down to the concrete.
There was a man staring down at him, hair matted, eyes wild, a boil on the side of his nose that looked like it was melting...he was like something out of a horror movie and the hand on his chest was hurting and the other hand was patting him down and Rusty fought the urge to scream.
"Where is it?" the man demanded hoarsely and his breath was hot on Rusty's face. "I know you have it. You stole it. Who sent you?"
Oh, God, he was talking like Mom did when she was really strung out and that meant that there was no right answer, no hope he'd be able to talk his way out of this. But he couldn't get free no matter how he tried, and that only left words. "I don't know what you're talking about, sir," he said desperately, reasonably. "I don't have anything."
The man scratched his nails across Rusty's face hard. "Liar! You took my stash."
"No," he objected, struggling some more. "I just got here. I don't know anything about it."
With unexpected strength, the man dragged him to his feet, shaking him roughly, and his head hit against the wall and he bit his tongue and tasted blood. "Where is it?" the man demanded again.
"You got the wrong person," he said, pleaded, and the man punched him hard in the face, and he was dazed, slumped backwards, and he felt the man's hands digging deep into his jeans pocket.
He blinked and he could do nothing but watch, feel, as the man rooted through his pockets and came up with all the cash he'd stolen yesterday. "That's mine," he said stupidly, and the man punched him again.
Falling heavily to the ground, he was only just aware of the man shuffling off, clutching the money, making pleased-sounding noises.
Oh.
He lay perfectly still, shaking and sore, and here he was, right back where he started. Homeless and penniless and hurting. For some reason that struck him as unbelievably funny, and he started to laugh and it hurt and he barely noticed when the laughter turned to dry, aching sobs.
"Bad things happen, Danny," Rusty said, and his head was resting on Danny's shoulder now. "Bad things happen and sometimes there's nothing to be done about it."
Danny, shaking with unholy horror and absolute anger, said nothing. Speech was beyond him right now. All he could do was hold Rusty close.
"Besides," Rusty added vacantly. "I was lucky."
Lucky? Danny shuddered.
Rusty's eyes flickered up to him. "Could have been a lot worse." He looked away again. "For a moment I thought it was," he admitted, so softly that Danny wasn't absolutely certain that he was meant to hear it.
"Rus'..." Still words failed him.
"And I should've known better than to keep all my money in the same place, anyway," Rusty said firmly. "Stupid of me. After Mack and Joe, you'd think I'd learn."
Danny stared at him for a long moment. Then he leant over and softly kissed his forehead. "Bad things happen," he agreed quietly. "And that doesn't make them okay."
Took a while before he managed to drag himself to his feet. Breathing was difficult, and his ribs hadn't really healed before. Seemed like this had just been a little more damage.
The world was spinning and he leaned against the wall, his forehead pressed to cool concrete.
He needed to get out of here. Needed somewhere safe.
For a moment, he imagined going to Danny's house. Indulged himself in a fantasyworld where he knocked and Danny was the only one there, despite it being the middle of the night, and Danny took him inside and took care of him and made everything better just by being Danny.
No. He'd done that once before and he'd been unbelievably lucky not to get caught by Danny's parents. Couldn't risk it. Couldn't get them both in trouble.
But he had to get out of here. The man might come back, might want something else from him.
He stumbled out of the underpass and the dawn was breaking and he had to get away, had to.
By the time he got back onto the main streets, they were filling up with people on their way to work. He caught the disturbed looks that came his way; he must look a sight. Right now he just didn't care, and he swerved to avoid them as much as he could, trying to keep out of arms length of the whole world.
Stupid, childish tears were pouring down his face and he wiped them away angrily with his t-shirt. He had to get off the streets and he had to calm down, because right now he was drawing attention to himself and attention was very, very bad.
The playpark was empty at this time of day, and that was good. He sat on a swing. Kid on a swing. No one would find that odd. No one would come near him. He hoped. He wished. He needed.
He was still half expecting the man to appear, to come after him. He could still feel the man's breath on his face, still feel his hands.
He wouldn't ever forget.
Once upon a time, three years ago when he was very young, he'd asked Danny to teach him how to forget. For a moment he'd thought that Danny would cry.
Danny. He pushed the feeling of the man's hands to the back of his mind and he remembered Danny holding him. Two days ago in the abandoned house when Danny had been all that was holding him together. Danny, holding him because he was hurting and Danny wanted to make it better.
That was what he wanted to remember. He wouldn't ever forget that either.
Eventually, he felt a little calmer. Calm enough to head back towards Dad's apartment. Maybe they'd have been evicted by now. Maybe his stuff would be out on the stairs and he'd be able to get some nice, clean clothes before he met Danny.
There was nothing in the hall.
The paper was gone from the door jamb.
He stared for a long moment, his head was pounding and his thoughts were dull.
Then, with trembling hands, he reached out and tried the door.
It opened.
Quietly, not sure what to think, not sure what to expect, he crept inside.
Dad was standing in the middle of the living room, squinting at a wad of notes in his hands. He looked up at Rusty. "Back, are you?"
Rusty stared at him and nodded mutely. This was impossible. This was a dream.
"You did good staying away all week," Dad remarked conversationally, stuffing the money into his back pocket. "Wouldn't have thought you capable."
He was dreaming. He was. He was dreaming, and any moment he was going to wake up, back in the underpass with the man leaning over him.
Dad looked at him sharply. "What's the matter? Forgotten how to talk again?" He laughed a little at his own joke. "Fuck, you're scrawnier than ever. And what happened to your face? Your fancy friend's parents get bored of having you around all the time? Bet you deserved it, didn't you?"
He nodded out of habit, knowing what would satisfy. He couldn't stop staring at Dad, convinced that he was going to disappear any moment now. Carefully, shyly, his legs trembling, he crossed the living room and reached out a hand, convinced that this, at least, would dissolve the mirage.
The arm was solid and warm and very, very real.
"What the fuck?" Dad sounded disbelieving.
He gave a soft, startled little cry and then his hands were gripping the back of Dad's shirt and his arms were wrapped around Dad's waist, his head almost touching Dad's chest, and in his mind he was promising that he'd be better, that he'd be whatever Dad wanted him to be, if only Dad wouldn't throw him away again.
The vicious backhand punch was enough to send him to the floor and bring him to his senses. "Don't touch me, you little bastard!"
He blinked up at Dad through a haze of blood, and even with the pain, he was still smiling, still grateful. Dad hadn't left him... "Sorry," he said, and "Thank you," and he meant it.
Dad snorted. "Should think so. Pathetic little sissy," he muttered. "Fuck, why couldn't you be a real man? Anyone would be ashamed to call you son." He pulled a bill out of his pocket and flung it at Rusty contemptuously. "Go get some food. There's nothing in the cupboards. And don't you even fucking think of spending it on candy or you won't be able to sit down for a month."
He punctuated his orders with a savage kick to Rusty's stomach.
Rusty found he didn't much care. He was home.
Rusty being that close to his Dad. Rusty actually voluntarily touching his Dad, hugging him even. Just the thought of it made Danny shudder. It was wrong and it hurt. Rusty's Dad didn't deserve him. Nowhere close. And he understood - could feel - how happy Rusty had been that his Dad came back, that he still had a home, and Danny wanted there to be things that Rusty could take for granted. The basics in life; he shouldn't have to be grateful for them.
His grip tightened around Rusty's shoulder.
(One day.)
He met Danny at the fountain and Danny was already there, waiting for him. He stood up when he saw Rusty, his eyes hard when he took in the new bruises and the wad of bloodied tissues that Rusty was still holding to his nose.
"Bastard," Danny muttered, soft fury in his voice.
Rusty shrugged. Because, yes, he knew, but there was something to be said for the devil he knew.
Danny looked at him sharply. "What?"
He grinned, helplessly. "It's a good day," he explained, and Danny didn't understand at all.
Rusty had finally stopped talking and Danny held him close and said nothing.
There was no anger any more. There was just understanding and acceptance and the promise of never again.
He wouldn't ever let that happen to Rusty again.
"I'm never going to let it happen to you at all," Rusty told him and there was the same determination and the same promise.
He smiled. "We're better together."
"In all kinds of weather," Rusty agreed, his smile bright and answering.
If they were together they could survive everything. They'd survived tonight and they'd told each other the very worst, and they were together and they would live.
They sat together, in silence and in sunshine, holding hands until they heard the sound of doors opening somewhere below them.
At last. At long last.
Quickly, silently, they looked round the outer office, making sure that they were leaving absolutely no trace of themselves. Everything was fine.
As one they crept into the inner office, and Danny laid the stuffed otter artistically below the break panel. He smiled at Rusty and laid his hand against the glass in preparation.
Rusty shook his head quickly, and there were footsteps coming along the corridor, and Rusty pushed a long wooden ruler into his hand.
Right. Something to break the glass with that wouldn't bleed. He nodded his understanding.
They were tense and silent as the key turned in the lock. Let this work, Danny prayed in his head. Please, please let this work. Because the alternatives were unspeakable.
They waited as the footsteps crossed the office. Waited until the jangle of metal spoke of keys being laid down. Then they waited two seconds more.
Rusty nodded. Danny pushed the ruler firmly.
There was an unholy wailing, the fire alarm screaming, and Rusty was holding his t-shirt out, catching all the bits of falling glass, and Danny was listening to the muffled exclamation from the next room, the sound of rushing footsteps.
He held his breath.
The footsteps were heading away.
Quickly, Rusty shook the glass off his t-shirt, letting it fall over, around and even underneath the otter. Danny headed for the door, trying to listen above the screeching alarm. He thought it was clear.
He nodded back to Rusty and they moved quickly.
The outer office was deserted and, miracle of miracles, the door was open. Rusty was staring at it like it was the sweetest thing he'd ever seen in his life and Danny wasn't exactly disagreeing.
"Come on," he hissed, and he grabbed Rusty's hand. They hurried through the corridor, heading away from the main stairs, into the art department, down and out the back entrance.
They didn't see anyone.
They didn't see anyone and, the alarm still blaring behind them, they were out of the building and out of the grounds and breathing fresh air and free.
He turned to Rusty and he was laughing wildly, sheer, dizzying exultation. "We did it!"
Rusty was laughing too. "Uh huh. Won't Gina be pleased."
Oh, yeah. The detention. He'd forgotten that. "We can tell it's all sorted later," he said dismissively.
"Just think," Rusty said, glancing back at the school over his shoulder. "In an hour's time, we need to go back there."
Uh huh. That brought him up short. Somehow, that very much wasn't in his plans for the day. "Mom will have gone by now," he suggested instead. "And I have ice cream."
"Done," Rusty said promptly, and his eyes were shining as he looked at Danny and there was everything in there that Danny could ever want to see.
He was laughing again for no reason at all and right now he felt invincible.
They would skip school today. There were always excuses that could be made, notes that could be forged. Today, right now, maybe forever, all that mattered was that time was precious and fleeting and he wanted to spend every last moment with Rusty.
A/N: And that, at long, long, long last, is the end of that chapter. I really hoped you enjoyed it. Please let me know what you think.
