So… I just got a free moment. Yay! *cheers*

However, I have limited time, so this chapter is going to be a little short.

I'm kinda excited to write it. I had a bing! moment today. I just hope it works out.

Disclaimer: I do not own Maximum Ride or anything like it.


FPOV

Ever since the gym incident, I've been on red-alert.

I mean, it's not every day you see your dead father, right?

I have stopped loitering around places. Angel and I follow a tight schedule: go to school, go home.

So, as I walk up to my house, I do not expect to see Angel and I's house on fire.

Not a, "I can see the fire down the block," fire.

No.

This is a, "Little Sally Walker is walking down the street when her house bursts into flame," fire.

What. The. Hell.

Angel screams out as every inch of our home sprouts orange and yellow flames.

I don't scream, but I'll admit my eyes bug out and I grab Angel and leap back a step out of shock.

I mean, even in my screwed up life, my house has never burst into sporadic flames.

Again. What. The. Hell.

"Fang, what's going on? Our house is burning! Fang!" Angel exclaims.

"Calm down, Ange," I say, but my voice is hollow, clearly showing how not okay this situation is.

"Fang – Celeste is in there!" Angel screams, terror-stricken, her wide, blue eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"Angel, I think Celeste will have to stay –"

"NO! FAANG!"

Sigh.

For those of you who are sitting there confused, I'll clear this up. I can hear your question of, "Who the heck is Celeste? A dog? A monkey? Their pet dinosaur-lion-narwhale?"

No.

You've actually heard of Celeste, back when Angel found out about Mom abusing me. Celeste is the sole reason Angel begged Max to come back to the house that night, saying (and I quote), "I had left Celeste, and I can't sleep without her." (AN: Chapter 11, if anyone wants proof)

Celeste is Angel's teddy bear.

Angel found this bear along the road one day, wearing a dirty white angel costume. Angel begged me to let her take the bear home, and me, being the loving, adoring, and dirt-poor sucker for Bambi eyes, let her take it home, only cautioning her to, "not lick it – that thing could have diseases or something."

Yeah, I don't know how we've managed for as long as we have.

But this bear is becoming a continual problem for me.

And I must also comment on the way a seven-year-old's mind works. One moment they are concerned about the house burning down, and the next they are more concerned about their teddy bear's fate.

Sigh.

Anyway.

Back off the bunny trail, my house is on fire.

"Angel, it's too late to get Celeste –"

"PLEASE, FANG – PLEEEEEEASE?"

Insert Bambi eyes.

Damn.

"Angel, stay out here, and don't move – understand?" I say, resigned.

"Yes, yes – just get Celeste!" Angel begs, her eyes eager but still distressed.

I sigh audibly this time, and turn around, running up to my burning home.

Standing in front of the front door is hard enough – the heat emanating off the house already has me quadruple doubting my decision to save a dumb teddy bear.

But it's for Angel.

God, if I didn't love her so much, I'd kill her.

So, with that thought, I kick the flaming front door down with a powerful kick.

I start to stomp out the flame on my shoe, and then I realize there is really no point, since the whole house is in flames.

So, I run in, remembering what I can from the few fire-safety videos I watched in grade school.

I bend down, trying to stay out of the smoke. I make sure to avoid any metal surfaces – like doorknobs – because metal conducts heat like a fat kid eats donuts.

Sorry, this isn't the time and place to make fun of obese children.

I quickly head toward Angel's bedroom, the smoke already causing my lungs to protest. I kick down the door again.

There's really no point to worry about the damage I am causing.

Because, deep inside, I already know that we aren't going to live here ever again.

Whoever rigged this house to blow has assured that.

I search through the flaming contents of Angel's room for the accursed bear. Finally, I see a golden halo peeking through the mass of stuffed animals. I tug at the golden appendage and out comes Celeste, remarkably not burnt or on fire.

That stupid bear.

With my prize in hand, I leap out of her room, prancing around the pools of fire.

I start to head out of the house, but I think of something last minute.

I should try to scavenge as many valuable or necessary possessions as I can, because Angel and I aren't going to have much to live off now.

I first go to the bathroom, glad the door is already open due to my growing fatigue. I rip the glass cabinet cover off its hinges, sending it crashing to the ground. It shatters into hundreds of sharp shards (some of which find purchase in my ankles and legs), but I focus on the contents inside the cabinet. I grab the first aid kit and some basic medications, shoving them haphazardly in my pockets.

With that room emptied of all important objects, I run to the living room.

I start to head to the money drawer, hidden behind the television and concealed by a picture of a red apple in a black and white world (AN: book reference, anyone?).

Then, I see my worst nightmare.

The painting is on the ground, ripped to shreds and burning.

The compartment is open.

And all the money that Mom had left, that I had managed to earn (Mom had never used banks, which I had once considered a blessing)….

All of the money that could have supported Angel and I is burning or already burned to a black ash.

I stand still for a moment, the complete hopelessness of this situation washing over me.

As stupid as money is, it makes living in America about a thousand times harder.

"Angel and I will be okay – we've been through worse," I think, snapping out of my paralyzed state.

The smoke is starting to make me cough violently, so I grab the last things I can think of: a photo album and a box of old family trinkets sitting on the bookshelf.

Then, hacking and blurry-eyed, I lumber out of the burning house.

Hitting the air outside is like a spritz of Febreez: a breath of fresh air.

I tumble to a stop next to Angel, who, true to my orders, hasn't moved.

"Fang! You got Celeste!" she exclaims happily.

"Yep –" I say briefly before hacking again.

"Thankyouthankyouthankyou! You're the best big brother ever!" she exclaims, coming in to hug my legs.

Well, shucks.

"You bet," I say, wheezing still.

Angel looks up, her blue eyes wide again. "Fang, you're on fire!"

"What?" I shout, leaping away from her and examining my body.

And yep, I am.

The side of my shirt is on fire.

And my shoes.

See? I told you there was no point in putting out the fire earlier.

So, I do what the action movie stars always forget to do.

Stop, drop, and roll.

Fire vanquished.

Very effective. You don't watch fifty million videos in grade school of Bobby rolling on the floor like an idiot for nothing.

Angel is laughing at me, the bugger.

As I get up, free of the fire, I can feel the burns forming on my skin. However, Angel and I have to get moving.

"Angel, we need to go –" I start before being interrupted by a loud crash.

Turning around, I see the roof of our home collapsed into the main structure, black smoking billowing up into a grey sky.

"Let's go, Ange," I say in a quiet voice, stunned into silence.

We really don't have a home anymore.

So, I put the meager belongings I grabbed into my backpack. I scoop Angel into my arms.

"Hold on, Ange," I say.

Angel, somber again, nods.

I look around to check for onlookers. Finding none, I release my dark wings from my back, flapping a few times to stretch a few sore muscles.

Then, with a few strong running strides, I lift off the ground.

I hover about 20 feet up in the air, looking down at the place I used to call home.

"Fang…," Angel says, looking at the burning house. She looks back up at me, saying, "It's really gone, isn't it?"

"Yeah," I say somberly. The orange flames are dying, consuming itself as the oxygen leaves.

I look at the backyard, seeing flames there as well.

My heart almost stops at what I see there.

In the small backyard, spelled out by orange flames, are the words, "Back to Reality."

A phrase my dad used to say at the end of fun outings.

"Well, the fun's up- back to reality, clan."

"What is going on?" my conscience asks.

"Fang?" Angel asks me, poking me. "Are you OK?"

"Y-y-eah," I say, hating how I stutter the response out.

"It'll all be OK, big brother – I've got you. You're superman!" Angel says, smiley wide.

But, for the first time, I can't reciprocate a smile back.

"Uh-huh," I manage.

Back to reality.

Has this just been a break? Has this momentary pause in terror been my 'fun'?

It doesn't feel like it.

Why can't my dad stay dead? Why does everything I ever know have to be a lie?

I'm so sick of this.

I flap my wings and angle myself to Max's house.

First things first: find shelter.


I land a good block away from Max's house.

I place Angel down on the sidewalk and check my battered, old watch.

My father's watch.

3:10.

Has it only been ten minutes since we left school?

So much has changed.

Max won't be home yet – she has soccer after schools for an hour. And Max's mom works 9-6 shifts at a veterinary office.

I wonder if anyone is home right now.

Taking Angel's hand, I walk us to the front porch of Max's home. With a deep breath I ring the doorbell twice.

Diiiiing dooooong. Diiiiiing doooooong.

I can hear footsteps on hard wood floors. The footsteps grow louder as the person approaches the door.

Finally, the door swings open with a creeeeek, and standing in the doorway is Max's father.

Well, this isn't the prime candidate on Fang's top ten people he'd ask for help from, but it'll do.

"Hello, sir," I say.

Hey, I can be polite. I'm just an overly sarcastic person.

"Why do you smell like smoke, Nicholas?" Jeb asks me.

Some people struggle with the polite concept.

"My house burnt to the ground five minutes ago," I say flat toned, but if you listened hard enough, you could hear the bitter anger in there.

"How did you manage to burn down your entire house, Nicholas? Not that you have much of a house to burn down," Jeb says, his eyes narrowed in annoyance.

My house burning down is an annoyance to the man?

Okay, some people don't even know the concept of polite.

And he assumes I did something to burn down my house?

…Well, I guess there aren't a ton of cases where a person's house is deliberately burned to the ground.

"I didn't do anything, sir. Someone set my house on fire," I say, being the better person in this politeness battle.

"That's what you get for being involved in gangs and trouble, young boy," Jeb says, scolding me.

Uh, hello?

"I'm not involved in a gang or what not –" I try to say.

But nooo.

Douche bag senior is not finished, apparently.

"I don't get why my daughter keeps company with you. I really wish you'd stay away. You are such a negative influence. You are probably the reason she is being so defiant!"

Ok, I am not someone who angers easily.

…ok, that is a semi-lie.

I'm not someone who shows anger easily.

But El Señor Douche-o is really ticking me off.

"Max has always been a defiant person, sir, but could you please listen for a moment?" I say calmly – overly calm.

Jeb stands there, tapping his foot.

Bloop bloop bloop!

That's the sound of Fang's mad-o-meter rising.

"I just came to ask if we could have a place to stay for a little bit. Until we can find another accommodation," I finally spit out, after three minutes of all this nonsense.

Jeb stares hard at me, and then looks at Angel. Then back at me.

"No," Jeb says.

What?

"What?" I question, completely baffled at this man's bone-headedness.

"I am sick of my family having to take care of you because you can't keep out of trouble. I draw the line now. Figure out how to fix it this time, Fang. I'll take Angel in, but you've run out of chances."

What. The. Fuck.

"Are you kidding me?" I ask, all civility gone. I swear my eye is twitching, I'm so mad.

"Are you going to accept or not?" Jeb says, acting like this is perfectly rational.

And I really want to punch this man.

I really really want to sock him in the face.

But you know what readers? I don't.

I can't.

Because giving Angel a solid home is worth more than socking El Señor Douche-o's face into his cranium.

Clenching and unclenching my fists, along with a deep, resigned sigh, I nudge Angel toward Jeb.

"What?" Angel says, looking back at me, confused.

"Go with him, Angel. You'll stay with Max," I say quietly.

Her eyes widen and sadness glistens in them. I almost back out, but I know this is the best option we'll get.

"But – Fang! You can't go away, big brother!" Angel cries, her eyes pooling with tears.

This is the best decision.

This is the best decision.

This is the best God-damn decision.

"I'll still see you. Just not at home," I say, unable to face her now.

"Come on, sweetie – come inside," Jeb says.

This is the best decision.

This is the best decision.

I will not punch Jeb in the face.

This is the best decision.

"FAAANG!" Angel screams as she is pulled into the house.

"Bye, Ange," I say quietly, my heart constricting painfully.

"FAAAAN-"

Angel's shout is cut off by the door slamming.

I stand there on the porch for a moment, questioning how the right thing to do is the hardest.

Then, I turn around and start to walk around.

I hear a door open again, and I hear Jeb's voice ring out.

"Back to reality, Nicholas."

In seconds I am back on that porch, door swung away with a BAM, and my hands on his throat.

"What did you say, Jeb?" I say in a quiet, vicious voice.

Jeb visibly pales.

"I said, what did you say?" I say again, shaking from my fury.

Jeb shakes his head and seems to snap out of some trance.

Then, the bastard smiles.

"Back to reality, Nicholas. Why, does that phrase strike something emotional?" Jeb chokes out, still with that snarky-ass smile.

I audibly growl and tighten my grip.

"How do you know that phrase?" I order out, still hissing.

"Your dad says it all the time," Jeb says, still smiling even though I could snap his neck right now.

"Wipe that God-damned smile off you face, Jeb! In case you haven't noticed, I can kill you right now."

His smile fades slightly. But he still looks like he knows something I don't.

"How do you suppose Dad says that phrase all the time when he is dead?" I hiss, only furry in my mind.

"I work for him," Jeb says, that snarky grin returning.

My eyes narrow further, if possible. "You work for my mother, don't you?"

Jeb stares me straight in the eye, and even with every lying technique I know I can't see any trace of lying as he says his next words: "I work for you father, Nicholas."

I almost recoil in shock, but I shove that phrase away.

It has to be a lie. I saw my dad die.

"My dad was an insurance salesman. You're a whitecoat."

"You really believed that? God, after all these years of observing you, I never thought you'd be this gullible," Jeb says.

I jolt as if I've been electrocuted.

"Observing me? I've just been an experiment for you?" I say, beyond enraged.

"Under your father's orders," Jeb says, having too much fun with this.

The lying bastard.

"My father is dead. I saw him die on my living room carpet," I spit, teeth barred in total rage.

"Seeing is believing, isn't it?" Jeb says.

I can't help it this time; I leap away from Jeb as if he is poisonous.

"What?" I breathe out.

"You've got ten minutes before Itex troops are sent after you," Jeb says, pulling out his cell phone.

Okay.

He's an idiot.

Before he can even open the phone, I snap kick the phone out of his hand, sending it flying into the wall behind him with a loud crack! Then, I uppercut his jaw, roundhouse kick his ribs, then sucker-punch his face on the right, then left.

Finally, I snap kick his stomach, and Jeb collapses to the ground.

With a final, "You're an asshole," I punch him in the temple.

Lights out, Jeb.

I know that I now have about another half-an-hour before Itex is called.

I turn to the side and see Angel, frozen.

"Angel?" I ask tentatively, realizing how much I probably scared her.

Angel blinks, and then says, "I'm not staying with that man, Fang!"

I can't help but give a crooked smile at that.

"We have to hurry, Angel – come on."

I scoop her up in my arms and run out the door, releasing my wings and taking off into the sky. The wind rushes quickly past as I pour on the speed.

Where to?

I don't know.

I do know one thing, though.

My father never died.

And now, he wants me back.


And tada! The plot thickens!

If things go according to plan, I'll try to update again this coming weekend.

Rock on.

This chapter is dedicated to Hero by Skillet.

R&R?