The heat from earlier that day had retreated almost entirely by seven o' clock, when they reached the heart of the city. Michael could feel the chilling January night air on his face as they rode down the street, numbing his nose and chin. It was the temperature that caused Michael to pull over prematurely and park his bike; he didn't want Sam, who was decked in a thin t-shirt, to freeze before they had even gotten around to seeing anything. After offering Sam his jacket – which Sam only accepted on the third request – they began down the busy sidewalk.

The sheer number of people was overwhelming to the two boys, who were used to seeing only several people on the street at a time—and they had always seen the same old faces. Here, everybody was different, yet each person fit into the big picture perfectly. The different hair colors, makeup, accessories, piercings, tattoos, clothing (or lack of, in some cases)…nobody seemed to mind because it all coincided with Santa Carla's general crowd. It was astonishing, to say the least.

"Did you see the guy with the bird on his shoulder?" Sam half-whispered, half-yelled.

Even though Sam wasn't exactly being quiet about it, Michael struggled to hear what he had said. This crowd was just as obnoxious as it was freaky, and he found himself pushing through more than a few people that were in his way. He questioned his decision to leave his bike on the side of the road, even though he had taken the keys. And after seeing the murmuring parrot guy and the stoic group of teenagers with gaudy makeup and black clothing, he realized he should probably make this quick.

Well, as quick as he could make this little trip without disappointing Sam, that is.

Before Michael could ask what Sam wanted to look at, the blonde was grabbing his brother by his wrist and yanking him through the doors of a little store with jewelry displayed in the window.

The shop was tightly packed with racks of different necklaces, bracelets, earrings and the like—so packed that Sam couldn't tell just how large the store was. It seemed like all the clothing, jewelry, and miscellaneous items were never-ending. The air smelled surprisingly sweet, very unlike the stale air of most shops of this layout. The lights above were dim but illuminated everything clearly enough that the items could be made out. Dim and old; one in particular was busted, while another flickered occasionally.

As Sam examined the store, leaving Michael's side while the brunette looked over some watches, he noticed several lanterns placed in the corners of the store. There was a bench to one wall, where two young, blonde men sat. They both wore vacant expressions and dark sunglasses. They never moved, and Sam could have sworn they didn't even breathe once. He figured if they were dead the store would probably smell, though, so he just assumed they were both stoned and moved on, completely unfazed.

He spotted a display of earrings that caught his attention and began sifting through the diverse selection. He was gently fingering a pair of light blue feathers when he heard from behind him, "Last I checked you don't wear earrings, Sammie."

Sam jumped, having not heard Michael approach, and then smiled at him. "I think I want my ears pierced."

"Really? Why?"

He shrugged. "Why not?"

Michael couldn't find a reason to disagree with that. "I'll take you somewhere to get it done if you want."

Sam beamed at him and surprised Michael with a crushing hug. He gasped for air and Sam let him go after a moment, so he could grab the blue feather earrings. It took a moment to weave their way to the small counter that must be where they paid. There was no cash register, but there was a tan, dark-haired man standing behind the wooden surface. His hair was moussed, much like one of the stoned blondes on the bench, and he had strong facial features that contributed to the serious expression he wore.

Sam held up the earrings. "How much for these?"

"A dollar." Michael was getting a dollar bill out of his wallet when the man added, "I can pierce your ears for you, if you'd like." Michael paused and gave the man a questioning look. There was a small quirk on the corner of the man's thin lips for a second, and then it disappeared and his face was serious again. "I noticed the lack of holes in his ears."

Sam smiled. "Su—"

"How much?" his brother interrupted. Sam gave him a pointed look.

"For you?" The dark-haired man that couldn't have been a few years older than Michael looked at them both for a moment. "I could do it for free."

"Awesome!" His face nearly split in half with his smile when he saw the man reach behind the counter to grab a little kit. Sam's eyes twinkled when he saw the needle. Michael cringed away from it. The whole time Sam was getting the needle driven through his earlobes, Michael wondered how his brother could do it without his smile faltering at all. He never even flinched. It was very odd, and the man doing the piercing obviously thought so as well. He never said anything about it, though. In fact, he never said much at all.

When they left, Sam was as happy as ever, his ears were an angry red, and Michael was missing a dollar. He checked his wallet to make sure he still had enough money to at least buy them some food. "I need a job," he muttered to himself.

"What?"

"I only have five bucks," Michael explained. "I should probably apply somewhere."

"You could apply there," Sam suggested, pointing towards a video store they were passing by that had HELP WANTED tacked onto the door. "Discounted movies!" He laughed and skipped ahead several feet. Passing by that store reminded Sam that he needed to see a movie as soon as possible. He hadn't seen one thoroughly since his condition started—when he was ten. That was over five years ago, already.

Sam entered a place with a sign that said it served ice cream out front, before Michael had a chance to catch up to him. His brother came trailing in after a few delayed seconds, already fretting over how much this was going to cost. The sign said the place had ice cream, not cheap ice cream.

The place was surprisingly busy. There wasn't much of a line, but the tables and barstools were all filled up with people who were eating the diner's food. A woman with red hair pulled back in a pony tail leaned against the counter upon seeing Sam and Michael enter. When they approached, she greeted casually, "Hey there, boys. What can I get you?"

Sam scanned the items that were written on the chalk board (how quirky) behind the woman, brows furrowing in concentration as he tried to decide what flavor he wanted. "Can I have some strawberry ice cream?" he asked.

She smiled at him. "Sure thing. What about you?" she asked Michael, who wasn't sure he wanted to order anything at all. "We have really good beer," she suggested. "Only seventy cents a can."

"No, thanks. I'm underage."

She grinned. "Too bad."

Michael coughed, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. "I'm good. Just his ice cream," he assured her.

She sauntered away to scoop Sam's ice cream, returning less than a minute later with a small cone. "Fifty cents, sugar," she drawled, and Michael gave her the amount. The look she gave him was unsettling, to say the least, so when Sam started licking his ice cream on the spot, Michael gave an impatient tug on his arm so they could leave.

Sam made a noise around his mouthful of strawberry flavored goodness in protest but followed behind Michael. He looked around the diner one last time—but instead of just checking out the unique décor, his eyes locked on the back of someone sitting at one of the barstools.

The room spun, and suddenly Sam was no longer standing in the diner with a cone in his hand, nor was he with Michael. He was sitting in a desk, surrounded by many other kids his age. A school, he quickly realized; it took him a moment to recognize the setting. The teacher was talking and writing on the board, but he couldn't hear anything she was saying. He was paying attention to the clock – as if he was expecting something. There was a click of a door opening, and then he was back in the diner. Michael was at his side, holding on to his arm to keep him grounded. The ice cream was still in his hand. There was no indication anything bizarre had happened, thankfully, other than Sam's blank stare for those few seconds. But Michael knew. He always did.

"Sam," he said lowly, urgently. He gave the blonde a light shake, snapping him out of his trance. Sam tried to form words, but his eyes were locked with the man that had triggered the vision. He had turned in his stool to face Sam, scrutinizing him intensely with cold blue eyes. Sam quickly averted his gaze, only to notice two other men that were staring at him near the entrance of the diner. He swallowed thickly. The look they were both giving him…

Michael noticed and gave the men a pointed look, never taking his eyes off them as he promptly led Sam outside. He waited for them to cross the street before asking the question at the front of his mind. "Are you okay?"

Sam shook off Michael's grip on his arm. "I'm fine."

"I thought you said you were feeling better, Sam."

"I am," he hissed, and then realized there was no reason to get irritated with Michael over the fact that he had had another vision. He sighed, stopped walking, and crossed his arms over his chest. Michael stood behind him, waiting for him to speak.

When Sam said nothing after a few moments, Michael began, "We could go home." He quickly added, "Or you could continue to rob me of all my money," in a weak attempt to lighten the mood.

Sam didn't want that one vision to completely ruin his night. After all, this had been the longest time frame between visions he had ever had—by a lot. Usually they were right on top of the other, all crammed into one jumbled mess. And while this last vision was vague, it was the clearest and most comprehendible he had ever had. Sam wanted to keep running around Santa Carla until the sun rose, but to be honest, he was feeling suddenly drained—as if that small vision had sucked all his enthusiasm and freedom right out of the night. His headache was slowly returning, the dull pain creeping back into his mind.

"Let's just go home," he said quietly. "Please." Michael pursed his lips. He didn't want his brother's first fun night in forever to end on this note, but he couldn't bring himself to say no to Sam, either.

Only the kitchen light was turned on when they returned home. It was dark outside, but Michael wouldn't call it "late," per se. It wasn't even nine yet. Still, it seemed Lucy had turned in already, and their grandpa… Well, they never knew with him.

Michael made a pit-stop in the kitchen, and Sam followed mutely. The younger of the two settled in one of the chairs at the small, round kitchen table, resting his elbows on the surface and pressing his forehead into his hands. Michael filled up a glass of water and set it in front of him without a word, and just leaned against the fridge. He didn't know how many seconds—or even minutes—had passed until Sam finally said something.

"Thank you."

"For what?" The water? The night?

"Everything."

Michael was silent for a second as he let that sink in. "You're welcome."