*Author's Note: Thanks to JediGurrl for being the first to review the story

*Author's Note: Thanks to JediGurrl for being the first to review the story!

James awoke slowly, consciousness tugging him back from his comfortable oblivion. He sat up stiffly, grimacing. 'Where is he,' James thought, immediately feeling the familiar panic rushing through him. Things finally seemed to be going right for once, because the old man had passed out. James stood slowly, leaning against the wall for support. He grabbed the cloth bag he had been filling and quietly made his way past his father's still form. He quickly made his way into the other room and sat down to evaluate the damage. Mostly bruises, he noted. Those'll heal. He gingerly pushed against his ribs. He knew what a broken rib felt like, but fortunately everything seemed to still be intact (for the most part). He stood again, wincing. He had to leave now. If there was any doubt of that before, it was gone now. He hurriedly began searching the tiny bedroom for any spare change. He came up with 84 cents – not a whole lot, but he'd make do. He threw the coins in the bag and winced, putting a hand to his back. When he drew it back it was covered in blood.

"Damn," James whispered, feeling the back of his shirt again. Sure enough, it was in tatters, or parts of it anyway. That wouldn't do any good. He found an old shirt of his father's, one that somewhat clean and didn't reek too badly of alcohol. He hurriedly changed into it. The new shirt was a couple sizes too big, but he was satisfied just the same. He grabbed a vest and hurriedly buttoned it up over his shirt, then grabbed a cap and threw it over his blond hair. He grabbed a towel off the floor, spit in it, and tried to wipe some of the dried blood off his face. He regarded his reflection in the grimy mirror for a moment. Presentable. He looked almost normal, except for the eyepatch. Suddenly, a small crash was heard in the other room.

"Shit," he muttered, grabbing the bag. He looked around the room frantically before remembering that the window in the bedroom had the fire escape right outside. Thankful for that, James quickly made his way over. He had one leg out the window when he felt a sharp tug on the bag. He cried out as he was pulled back, aggravating the wounds on his back. He let go of the bag and scrambled out the window. His father lashed his arm out, knocking the cap off James's head. James turned around and slammed the window shut, catching his father's fingers. He hard the old man's roar and hurriedly made his way down the fire escape. He skipped the last set of stairs, opting to jump instead. He landed on his hands and knees but quickly got up. He took off running down the alley, ignoring the searing pain coming from his ribs. He heard his father yelling after him, but he never looked back. He just kept running into the night – away from the apartment, away from his father, away from his past.