The Chronicles of Starwind and Hawking - pt 2
As he washed a couple of dishes from the night before, Gene couldn't help but let his mind wander. It seemed as though things refused to get better. Jim seemed to be getting worse, and he was still lacking a job. Then again, maybe the fact he didn't have a job was a good thing, considering Jim shouldn't be left alone in his current state, but...
He shook his head. They needed money, and that was that. He set the final clean dish down on the counter, as he sighed with exhaustion. After walking over to the refrigerator, he pulled out a carton of milk, and poured some of it into a newly washed glass. He whistled a tune, as he walked out of the kitchen and into Jim's room.
The ailing boy was laying beneath the blue covers, his eyes closed. Gene knew he wasn't sleeping, as he noticed a little smile creep across his friend's face as he entered the room. "Hey, uh, I brought you some milk."
"Thanks," said Jim softly. Gene walked over the bed, as he sat the glass on the bedside table.
"How you feelin'?"
"Okay." Jim managed a grin.
"Oh, shut up. You feel like crap and you know it." A small laugh left Jim, followed by a loud cough. "You see?" Gene glanced at the glass of milk. "Think you could sit up for some of that?"
"Yeah." Gene grabbed several pillows from the floor, and put them behind Jim, after which, propped the 10 year old against them. "Do I have to drink it?"
"Yes, Jim, you have to drink your milk."
"And the story...will you finish?"
"I'm not falling for the same trick twice, Jim. As soon as you drink your milk, I'll tell you more."
"Fine..." Gene handed the boy the glass, but as soon as it was in Jim's hand, it appeared he couldn't hold it still, as his hand was shaking.
"Geez, Jim. You should have just told me that you couldn't hold the glass yourself!" Gene quickly grabbed the glass away from Jim.
"I can hold it," muttered Jim defensively.
"I already told you - I don't like doing laundry," shot back Gene, as he saw the drops of milk on the sheets. "Now hold still so I can hold the glass up to your mouth." Jim didn't say anything, however, he did what he had been told. "There." Gene held the glass up to Jim's mouth, as his young partner swallowed. As soon as he had finished, Gene pulled the glass away, and put it on the bedside table. "That wasn't so bad, now was it?" Jim didn't answer, as he just stared at Jim, with a displeased look. "Hey, you'd better be nice if you want me to finish that story."
"Fine," a defeated Jim sighed. "Just as long is you finish." Gene grinned as he pulled up a chair next to the bed.
"Now...where did I leave off?" He sat down in the chair. "Oh, yeah. Now I remember..."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The child's scream echoed throughout the dark alley, as he landed upon the older man, who in fact, was not happy at all with the boy's behavior. The boy's nails dug into Edward's skin, causing the murderer to bellow obscenities at the child. Out of all of the confusion, though, there was one thing Gene seemed to notice in particular - Edward's gun flew out of his hand, and onto the hard, wet concrete. "Yes!" He ran over to the gun, and picked it up. He couldn't help but admire it. "This thing is a classic!"
"Indeed," muttered the man, as he tossed the kid off of his bleeding arm. "The bullets are rare." The little boy landed painfully against a garbage can, and seemed to lose consciousness. Gene smirked as he aimed the gun at Edward. He pulled the trigger...
...and nothing happened.
"That's why I didn't load it." Gene stared at the blue eyed man in disbelief.
"No way! You mean it never had bullets in it?! This whole time?!"
"I don't see how you could interpret 'I didn't load it' in any other way."
"Crap!" Gene scowled, as he tossed the gun aside. Again, he pulled out his knife, and began to charge at his enemy.
"You know," said Edward, as he barely dodged the knife. "We don't have to do this."
"Yeah, but I want to!" Gene once again charged at Edward. This was thrilling, and he had no idea why. However, for an man in his fifties, Edward moved rather quickly, and he appeared to be bored, each time he dodged Gene's would-be devastating blows.
Much to Gene's delight, though, he got his opponent in the face. That delight quickly disappeared, as Edward pulled his hand away from his face, revealing only a small, bloody gash...and he was laughing. "Boys will *always* be boys." He grabbed Gene's arm, barely keeping the knife away from his chest. "Listen - I already got what I wanted. Whether the boy lives or dies doesn't matter to me. My work is done." He shoved Gene down, who immediately got right back up.
Unfortunately, Edward had already gotten back in his car, and was driving out of the alley. However, Gene could hear the man's voice over the engine. "You know too much, kid! I'd watch your back, because someday, I'll be there!" Gene growled, as he slammed his fist at the wall.
"If only I had gotten into more fights...I would have known..." He sighed, as he looked at his bleeding knuckle. "So...what do I do now?" He looked at the gun, which was only about five feet away. Well, he may as well get something out of this miserable defeat. Slowly, he picked up the gun and examined it. "No way! A Caster?!" Sure enough, it was an old Caster gun from long ago, still in good condition. "And that old fool left it here?! Geez!" He slipped it into his pocket. It would serve him well later, he was sure.
He was startled to hear a soft moan coming from the trash cans. "Oh, yeah. I forgot about him." He cautiously walked over to where to sound came from, and saw the dirty blond headed kid laying on the ground. He wanted to leave him. After all, what use would a kid be to him? But then again...
He smiled. Yeah, this kid would serve him well. Besides, he would have a tinge of guilt for the rest of his life, if he left a young child on the streets, though he would never admit it to himself. It seemed part of his heart went to the vulnerable boy. He went over to the boy and checked him over. He didn't seem to have many injuries. After picking him up, he was surprised at how light the boy was.
By now, the boy was partially awake, his eyes only halfway open. He snuggled against Gene's somewhat broad chest; something Gene had not expected. "Daddy..." Gene's muscles tightened.
"What...?" The boy did not respond, as his breathing became a soft rhythm. Then it hit him like a ton of bricks. That picture of James Hawking...looked like Gene himself. Adam Bailey had even commented on it. And in the dark of the night, it would be difficult for a barely conscious kid to tell the difference.
He just hoped the kid's reaction wouldn't be too violent when he discovered his father was dead, as well as his mother...
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
He ran through a dark corridor, running from the shadows that pursued him. How long had they been chasing him? Not even he really knew. But he knew what he was running for. "Mommy! Daddy!" It was cold, and it was dark. He wanted to go home. Was it too much to ask for? He was beginning to wonder. Soon, though, he felt the cold slowly begin to disappear. What substituted it was a soft, and inviting warm feeling that encased his entire body. He wanted to stay in it forever...
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
His eyes shot open, as grabbed onto the sheets that protected him. He felt someone's warm back pressed against his own. His first impression was that it was his father, but his eyes grew wide as he heard the stranger snore. Though he didn't know his father as well as he wanted to, he knew for a fact that his father *never* snored.
So...if this wasn't his father, then what the old man had said was true.
His mommy and daddy had gone to a far away place, and they would never come back.
He sat up, and cast his eyes about the dirty, dark room. Clothes were strewn out all over the place! His captor apparently was not a good housekeeper. He immediately got on his knees and looked over the strange man's shoulders. No, this was *not* his original kidnapper, but a young man, who looked, painfully, like his father. The red hair was what stood out the most. The same texture, the same style.
A hot tear escaped his eye, rolled down his cheek, and plopped onto the stranger's face. His face flinched, and the little boy quickly resumed his place under the covers. The man looked kind to a certain degree, and he almost felt as though he could trust him, but still, this man was a stranger. "Hey, kid...you awake?" For a moment, he forgot how to breath. This voice...it seemed laid back, and not very harsh. It was gentle to a point, yet it didn't compare to his father's all around gentle nature. Though one side of himself was screaming to him to pretend he was asleep, the other half of him answered.
"Um...yeah." His voice trembled as it spoke. The stranger sat up, as he wiped something that was glistening off of his cheek.
"You took a hard hit to the head. You okay?" He didn't want to answer, even though it seemed as though those dark eyes of the stranger's said that he expected it. The truth was, he didn't know how to respond. His parents had just been murdered, he had been kidnapped, and now he's in some uncomfortable bed with some weird guy, who dared to even resemble his father! The stranger still looked upon the boy, as he extended his hand out. "The name's Gene Starwind," he said coolly. "What's yours?"
All hope, even though it wasn't that much, that his father was still alive, vanished. He no longer had the will to speak, as what was left of it also died. And, much to this Gene Starwind's dismay, the dark eyed boy did the only thing any normal young child would do at a time like this...
Throw up. And unfortunately for the man in front of him, he was in his line of fire.
"Crap!!" Gene got up from the bed while looking at his soiled shirt in disgust. He jumped out of the bed and ran out of the room, screaming obscenities all the way. The little boy sighed, as he raised an eyebrow.
"Um...oops." He raised his voice a bit. "My name's Jim Hawking!
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Kid, were you ever taught proper manners?" Gene threw off the now stained sheets from the bed onto the floor. "I hate doing laundry."
"I'm really sorry," said Jim, the young boy, who had more than likely ruined Gene's sheets, as well as a good shirt.
"Yeah, kid..." Gene appeared to be quite miffed, but at least he wasn't as angry as he had been earlier.
"My name's Jim; Jim Hawking." Jim looked a bit annoyed himself.
"Oh, yeah." Gene threw the last sheet on the floor. "I didn't seem to hear you the first time, due to...um...unusual circumstances." Jim was starting to turn a slight shade of red. He came to the conclusion that if this guy meant to hurt him, he would have done it earlier. Maybe he wasn't as bad as he thought he was. The teen stepped back and looked over the bed. "Well, we won't be able to sleep in this for awhile, that's for sure."
"How long am I going to be here?" Jim inquired.
"For awhile, kid." Jim appeared a bit annoyed. "Get used to it." The boy tried to refrain from crying, as his lips curved downward. "Hey, hey!" Gene walked over to a saddened Jim, and looked him square in the eye. "Be a man." The little boy put his hands on his hips.
"I *am* a man!" He exclaimed, his eyes narrow.
"Then don't cry." Almost as soon as Gene had made the statement, Jim straightened up, wiped the tears from his eyes, and any signs of distress disappeared. "Good." He looked down at Jim's stained overalls. "You don't want to sleep in that. Stay here." Gene didn't even give the boy a backward glance, as he walked to his closet, and began to rummage around. "You know," he said, as he looked, "what you did back there to that Knight guy was pretty cool. You've got guts. Even though they can't hold your food very well, they're there."
"Thanks," said Jim, wondering if he was supposed to take that as a complement.
"No problem." Gene exited the closet, with a large, blue T-shirt in his hand. He casually tossed it to Jim, who caught it with relative ease. "Put that on." Jim nodded, as Gene picked up the dirty sheets, and exited the room. The little boy sighed as he took off his clothes, and slipped on the extremely immense, blue shirt. Not longer after he had put on the strange shirt, Gene walked back into the room, a bit more relaxed than he had been earlier.
"I'm sorry about all that, Mr. Starwind." Gene softly laughed, as he made a peculiar expression at Jim. "Call me Gene - everybody does."
"Um...okay, Gene." It felt awkward to the boy's tongue.
"Looks like we won't be sleeping on the bed." Though the sheets were stripped from the bed, it still didn't seem that becoming to sleep in. Jim sighed as he looked up at Gene. For some reason, his presence was almost comforting; he wondered why.
"Nope. Guess not."
"Well, now that I'm fully awake, I'm hungry." Gene turned towards Jim. "Want something to eat?"
"No, thanks." The boy was in fact hungry, but he wanted to take the advise that so many others had given him so many times before. Never take food from a stranger.
"Suit yourself. You're missing out on *a lot*."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Jim Hawking had never seen someone eat so fast in his entire life - or that much, for that matter. He raised an eyebrow, as he saw his new friend pour himself a third bowl of cereal. He was going to comment on his eating habits, but he decided not to. It was the man's home - he could do whatever he wanted. "You sure you don't want any?" Gene looked up from his bowl, taking a brief brake from eating.
"I'm sure."
"Cool. More for me." The brake was over, and Gene resumed eating. Within a few quick moments, the cereal was gone. Gene shoved the bowl away from him, and grinned. Obviously, he was finished.
"Now what?" Jim couldn't believe he actually asked the question.
"Bed," muttered Gene as he stood up from his chair, his stomach finally filled. He frowned slightly. "Oh, yeah. We can't." He looked at Jim. "Any ideas?" Jim was quiet for a moment, before he finally spoke.
"You have a couch?"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Gene shifted uncomfortably, as he pulled the sheets up to his chest. The kid had offered to sleep on the floor, and Gene had no problem letting him. His eyes wandered along the ceiling, as he sighed. Adam Bailey was dead - the person who had offered to take the kid off of his hands. So, what happened to the kid? Surely he, a 16 year old, wouldn't be placed with that sort of responsibility. To take care of a kid, who had just suffered the loss of his parents was unthinkable to him!
He knew that once the child got over the shock of everything, he would be extremely depressed. Comforting was *not* one of Gene's skills. Not only did he have a kid to look after, but some crazy man chasing him - a crazy man who had damaged his pride considerably. This angered Gene, and he wanted to get Edward Knight off of his back as soon as possible. He had double checked the locks, and sealed all of this windows. He knew he wouldn't fall asleep, and would pay close attention to his surroundings. Even if the murderer hadn't of threatened him, he wouldn't have been able to sleep anyway.
He listened to the soft breathing of the child on the floor. He knew it had to be uncomfortable, but then again, the old couch he was currently on wasn't exactly a cloud. By now, he was counting the cracks in the ceiling, his silent counting's rhythm matching the boy's steady breathing. It was difficult to support himself, and he knew if Jim lived with him it would be even harder to support them both. Unless somehow the boy could become apart of them business...
He shook his head. What would a child his age have to offer for their benefit? *But then again,* he thought, *fate has away of laughing at us sometimes.* Maybe the child had some sort of talent that Gene did not know about? He wasn't sure, but he had a feeling that he would be with the child for a long time, and he would eventually see them. Time could only tell.
His muscles grew tense, as he felt a small hand lift up the sheets. He shut his eyes, so the child wouldn't know he was awake with worry. After a few seconds, he felt a small body climb onto the couch, and hesitantly settle against his own. Within a few moments, the child's tight muscles became relaxed, and soon his breathing was once again slow and steady. Gene opened his eyes, and looked to his right to find Jim's small head resting upon his broad shoulder.
The sight of the vulnerable youth almost made his worries go away. However, they returned as quickly as they had left.
"1...2...3...4..." His whisper could be barely heard. Despite the fact there was much Gene didn't know, he did know one thing - it was going to be a long night. "...5...6...7..8..."
~*~*~*~*~*~
"Jim?" Gene leaned forward in the chair, as he looked closer at his friend. The sickly boy had his hand over his face, and he didn't seem to be responding. "Jim?" Was he...embarrassed? As he strained to look closer, he thought he something glistening on his cheek. No, he wasn't embarrassed...but crying? Gene concluded that it was his imagination, as Jim removed his hand, revealing nothing on his cheek.
"Yeah?" Jim looked up at his older friend, with a slight grin.
"Nothing."
"You going to finish, Aniki?"
"Yeah," answered Gene as he got up from his chair. "Let me get a glass of milk first, though." Jim frowned a bit. "No, it's for me!"
"Oh..."
End part two
As he washed a couple of dishes from the night before, Gene couldn't help but let his mind wander. It seemed as though things refused to get better. Jim seemed to be getting worse, and he was still lacking a job. Then again, maybe the fact he didn't have a job was a good thing, considering Jim shouldn't be left alone in his current state, but...
He shook his head. They needed money, and that was that. He set the final clean dish down on the counter, as he sighed with exhaustion. After walking over to the refrigerator, he pulled out a carton of milk, and poured some of it into a newly washed glass. He whistled a tune, as he walked out of the kitchen and into Jim's room.
The ailing boy was laying beneath the blue covers, his eyes closed. Gene knew he wasn't sleeping, as he noticed a little smile creep across his friend's face as he entered the room. "Hey, uh, I brought you some milk."
"Thanks," said Jim softly. Gene walked over the bed, as he sat the glass on the bedside table.
"How you feelin'?"
"Okay." Jim managed a grin.
"Oh, shut up. You feel like crap and you know it." A small laugh left Jim, followed by a loud cough. "You see?" Gene glanced at the glass of milk. "Think you could sit up for some of that?"
"Yeah." Gene grabbed several pillows from the floor, and put them behind Jim, after which, propped the 10 year old against them. "Do I have to drink it?"
"Yes, Jim, you have to drink your milk."
"And the story...will you finish?"
"I'm not falling for the same trick twice, Jim. As soon as you drink your milk, I'll tell you more."
"Fine..." Gene handed the boy the glass, but as soon as it was in Jim's hand, it appeared he couldn't hold it still, as his hand was shaking.
"Geez, Jim. You should have just told me that you couldn't hold the glass yourself!" Gene quickly grabbed the glass away from Jim.
"I can hold it," muttered Jim defensively.
"I already told you - I don't like doing laundry," shot back Gene, as he saw the drops of milk on the sheets. "Now hold still so I can hold the glass up to your mouth." Jim didn't say anything, however, he did what he had been told. "There." Gene held the glass up to Jim's mouth, as his young partner swallowed. As soon as he had finished, Gene pulled the glass away, and put it on the bedside table. "That wasn't so bad, now was it?" Jim didn't answer, as he just stared at Jim, with a displeased look. "Hey, you'd better be nice if you want me to finish that story."
"Fine," a defeated Jim sighed. "Just as long is you finish." Gene grinned as he pulled up a chair next to the bed.
"Now...where did I leave off?" He sat down in the chair. "Oh, yeah. Now I remember..."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The child's scream echoed throughout the dark alley, as he landed upon the older man, who in fact, was not happy at all with the boy's behavior. The boy's nails dug into Edward's skin, causing the murderer to bellow obscenities at the child. Out of all of the confusion, though, there was one thing Gene seemed to notice in particular - Edward's gun flew out of his hand, and onto the hard, wet concrete. "Yes!" He ran over to the gun, and picked it up. He couldn't help but admire it. "This thing is a classic!"
"Indeed," muttered the man, as he tossed the kid off of his bleeding arm. "The bullets are rare." The little boy landed painfully against a garbage can, and seemed to lose consciousness. Gene smirked as he aimed the gun at Edward. He pulled the trigger...
...and nothing happened.
"That's why I didn't load it." Gene stared at the blue eyed man in disbelief.
"No way! You mean it never had bullets in it?! This whole time?!"
"I don't see how you could interpret 'I didn't load it' in any other way."
"Crap!" Gene scowled, as he tossed the gun aside. Again, he pulled out his knife, and began to charge at his enemy.
"You know," said Edward, as he barely dodged the knife. "We don't have to do this."
"Yeah, but I want to!" Gene once again charged at Edward. This was thrilling, and he had no idea why. However, for an man in his fifties, Edward moved rather quickly, and he appeared to be bored, each time he dodged Gene's would-be devastating blows.
Much to Gene's delight, though, he got his opponent in the face. That delight quickly disappeared, as Edward pulled his hand away from his face, revealing only a small, bloody gash...and he was laughing. "Boys will *always* be boys." He grabbed Gene's arm, barely keeping the knife away from his chest. "Listen - I already got what I wanted. Whether the boy lives or dies doesn't matter to me. My work is done." He shoved Gene down, who immediately got right back up.
Unfortunately, Edward had already gotten back in his car, and was driving out of the alley. However, Gene could hear the man's voice over the engine. "You know too much, kid! I'd watch your back, because someday, I'll be there!" Gene growled, as he slammed his fist at the wall.
"If only I had gotten into more fights...I would have known..." He sighed, as he looked at his bleeding knuckle. "So...what do I do now?" He looked at the gun, which was only about five feet away. Well, he may as well get something out of this miserable defeat. Slowly, he picked up the gun and examined it. "No way! A Caster?!" Sure enough, it was an old Caster gun from long ago, still in good condition. "And that old fool left it here?! Geez!" He slipped it into his pocket. It would serve him well later, he was sure.
He was startled to hear a soft moan coming from the trash cans. "Oh, yeah. I forgot about him." He cautiously walked over to where to sound came from, and saw the dirty blond headed kid laying on the ground. He wanted to leave him. After all, what use would a kid be to him? But then again...
He smiled. Yeah, this kid would serve him well. Besides, he would have a tinge of guilt for the rest of his life, if he left a young child on the streets, though he would never admit it to himself. It seemed part of his heart went to the vulnerable boy. He went over to the boy and checked him over. He didn't seem to have many injuries. After picking him up, he was surprised at how light the boy was.
By now, the boy was partially awake, his eyes only halfway open. He snuggled against Gene's somewhat broad chest; something Gene had not expected. "Daddy..." Gene's muscles tightened.
"What...?" The boy did not respond, as his breathing became a soft rhythm. Then it hit him like a ton of bricks. That picture of James Hawking...looked like Gene himself. Adam Bailey had even commented on it. And in the dark of the night, it would be difficult for a barely conscious kid to tell the difference.
He just hoped the kid's reaction wouldn't be too violent when he discovered his father was dead, as well as his mother...
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
He ran through a dark corridor, running from the shadows that pursued him. How long had they been chasing him? Not even he really knew. But he knew what he was running for. "Mommy! Daddy!" It was cold, and it was dark. He wanted to go home. Was it too much to ask for? He was beginning to wonder. Soon, though, he felt the cold slowly begin to disappear. What substituted it was a soft, and inviting warm feeling that encased his entire body. He wanted to stay in it forever...
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
His eyes shot open, as grabbed onto the sheets that protected him. He felt someone's warm back pressed against his own. His first impression was that it was his father, but his eyes grew wide as he heard the stranger snore. Though he didn't know his father as well as he wanted to, he knew for a fact that his father *never* snored.
So...if this wasn't his father, then what the old man had said was true.
His mommy and daddy had gone to a far away place, and they would never come back.
He sat up, and cast his eyes about the dirty, dark room. Clothes were strewn out all over the place! His captor apparently was not a good housekeeper. He immediately got on his knees and looked over the strange man's shoulders. No, this was *not* his original kidnapper, but a young man, who looked, painfully, like his father. The red hair was what stood out the most. The same texture, the same style.
A hot tear escaped his eye, rolled down his cheek, and plopped onto the stranger's face. His face flinched, and the little boy quickly resumed his place under the covers. The man looked kind to a certain degree, and he almost felt as though he could trust him, but still, this man was a stranger. "Hey, kid...you awake?" For a moment, he forgot how to breath. This voice...it seemed laid back, and not very harsh. It was gentle to a point, yet it didn't compare to his father's all around gentle nature. Though one side of himself was screaming to him to pretend he was asleep, the other half of him answered.
"Um...yeah." His voice trembled as it spoke. The stranger sat up, as he wiped something that was glistening off of his cheek.
"You took a hard hit to the head. You okay?" He didn't want to answer, even though it seemed as though those dark eyes of the stranger's said that he expected it. The truth was, he didn't know how to respond. His parents had just been murdered, he had been kidnapped, and now he's in some uncomfortable bed with some weird guy, who dared to even resemble his father! The stranger still looked upon the boy, as he extended his hand out. "The name's Gene Starwind," he said coolly. "What's yours?"
All hope, even though it wasn't that much, that his father was still alive, vanished. He no longer had the will to speak, as what was left of it also died. And, much to this Gene Starwind's dismay, the dark eyed boy did the only thing any normal young child would do at a time like this...
Throw up. And unfortunately for the man in front of him, he was in his line of fire.
"Crap!!" Gene got up from the bed while looking at his soiled shirt in disgust. He jumped out of the bed and ran out of the room, screaming obscenities all the way. The little boy sighed, as he raised an eyebrow.
"Um...oops." He raised his voice a bit. "My name's Jim Hawking!
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Kid, were you ever taught proper manners?" Gene threw off the now stained sheets from the bed onto the floor. "I hate doing laundry."
"I'm really sorry," said Jim, the young boy, who had more than likely ruined Gene's sheets, as well as a good shirt.
"Yeah, kid..." Gene appeared to be quite miffed, but at least he wasn't as angry as he had been earlier.
"My name's Jim; Jim Hawking." Jim looked a bit annoyed himself.
"Oh, yeah." Gene threw the last sheet on the floor. "I didn't seem to hear you the first time, due to...um...unusual circumstances." Jim was starting to turn a slight shade of red. He came to the conclusion that if this guy meant to hurt him, he would have done it earlier. Maybe he wasn't as bad as he thought he was. The teen stepped back and looked over the bed. "Well, we won't be able to sleep in this for awhile, that's for sure."
"How long am I going to be here?" Jim inquired.
"For awhile, kid." Jim appeared a bit annoyed. "Get used to it." The boy tried to refrain from crying, as his lips curved downward. "Hey, hey!" Gene walked over to a saddened Jim, and looked him square in the eye. "Be a man." The little boy put his hands on his hips.
"I *am* a man!" He exclaimed, his eyes narrow.
"Then don't cry." Almost as soon as Gene had made the statement, Jim straightened up, wiped the tears from his eyes, and any signs of distress disappeared. "Good." He looked down at Jim's stained overalls. "You don't want to sleep in that. Stay here." Gene didn't even give the boy a backward glance, as he walked to his closet, and began to rummage around. "You know," he said, as he looked, "what you did back there to that Knight guy was pretty cool. You've got guts. Even though they can't hold your food very well, they're there."
"Thanks," said Jim, wondering if he was supposed to take that as a complement.
"No problem." Gene exited the closet, with a large, blue T-shirt in his hand. He casually tossed it to Jim, who caught it with relative ease. "Put that on." Jim nodded, as Gene picked up the dirty sheets, and exited the room. The little boy sighed as he took off his clothes, and slipped on the extremely immense, blue shirt. Not longer after he had put on the strange shirt, Gene walked back into the room, a bit more relaxed than he had been earlier.
"I'm sorry about all that, Mr. Starwind." Gene softly laughed, as he made a peculiar expression at Jim. "Call me Gene - everybody does."
"Um...okay, Gene." It felt awkward to the boy's tongue.
"Looks like we won't be sleeping on the bed." Though the sheets were stripped from the bed, it still didn't seem that becoming to sleep in. Jim sighed as he looked up at Gene. For some reason, his presence was almost comforting; he wondered why.
"Nope. Guess not."
"Well, now that I'm fully awake, I'm hungry." Gene turned towards Jim. "Want something to eat?"
"No, thanks." The boy was in fact hungry, but he wanted to take the advise that so many others had given him so many times before. Never take food from a stranger.
"Suit yourself. You're missing out on *a lot*."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Jim Hawking had never seen someone eat so fast in his entire life - or that much, for that matter. He raised an eyebrow, as he saw his new friend pour himself a third bowl of cereal. He was going to comment on his eating habits, but he decided not to. It was the man's home - he could do whatever he wanted. "You sure you don't want any?" Gene looked up from his bowl, taking a brief brake from eating.
"I'm sure."
"Cool. More for me." The brake was over, and Gene resumed eating. Within a few quick moments, the cereal was gone. Gene shoved the bowl away from him, and grinned. Obviously, he was finished.
"Now what?" Jim couldn't believe he actually asked the question.
"Bed," muttered Gene as he stood up from his chair, his stomach finally filled. He frowned slightly. "Oh, yeah. We can't." He looked at Jim. "Any ideas?" Jim was quiet for a moment, before he finally spoke.
"You have a couch?"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Gene shifted uncomfortably, as he pulled the sheets up to his chest. The kid had offered to sleep on the floor, and Gene had no problem letting him. His eyes wandered along the ceiling, as he sighed. Adam Bailey was dead - the person who had offered to take the kid off of his hands. So, what happened to the kid? Surely he, a 16 year old, wouldn't be placed with that sort of responsibility. To take care of a kid, who had just suffered the loss of his parents was unthinkable to him!
He knew that once the child got over the shock of everything, he would be extremely depressed. Comforting was *not* one of Gene's skills. Not only did he have a kid to look after, but some crazy man chasing him - a crazy man who had damaged his pride considerably. This angered Gene, and he wanted to get Edward Knight off of his back as soon as possible. He had double checked the locks, and sealed all of this windows. He knew he wouldn't fall asleep, and would pay close attention to his surroundings. Even if the murderer hadn't of threatened him, he wouldn't have been able to sleep anyway.
He listened to the soft breathing of the child on the floor. He knew it had to be uncomfortable, but then again, the old couch he was currently on wasn't exactly a cloud. By now, he was counting the cracks in the ceiling, his silent counting's rhythm matching the boy's steady breathing. It was difficult to support himself, and he knew if Jim lived with him it would be even harder to support them both. Unless somehow the boy could become apart of them business...
He shook his head. What would a child his age have to offer for their benefit? *But then again,* he thought, *fate has away of laughing at us sometimes.* Maybe the child had some sort of talent that Gene did not know about? He wasn't sure, but he had a feeling that he would be with the child for a long time, and he would eventually see them. Time could only tell.
His muscles grew tense, as he felt a small hand lift up the sheets. He shut his eyes, so the child wouldn't know he was awake with worry. After a few seconds, he felt a small body climb onto the couch, and hesitantly settle against his own. Within a few moments, the child's tight muscles became relaxed, and soon his breathing was once again slow and steady. Gene opened his eyes, and looked to his right to find Jim's small head resting upon his broad shoulder.
The sight of the vulnerable youth almost made his worries go away. However, they returned as quickly as they had left.
"1...2...3...4..." His whisper could be barely heard. Despite the fact there was much Gene didn't know, he did know one thing - it was going to be a long night. "...5...6...7..8..."
~*~*~*~*~*~
"Jim?" Gene leaned forward in the chair, as he looked closer at his friend. The sickly boy had his hand over his face, and he didn't seem to be responding. "Jim?" Was he...embarrassed? As he strained to look closer, he thought he something glistening on his cheek. No, he wasn't embarrassed...but crying? Gene concluded that it was his imagination, as Jim removed his hand, revealing nothing on his cheek.
"Yeah?" Jim looked up at his older friend, with a slight grin.
"Nothing."
"You going to finish, Aniki?"
"Yeah," answered Gene as he got up from his chair. "Let me get a glass of milk first, though." Jim frowned a bit. "No, it's for me!"
"Oh..."
End part two