Prompt at the end

"He's home!"

His brother's fearful warning abruptly snapped Frankie out of the story's climax. Another few minutes would have let him finish, but the pilfered book dropped back into its place just before the door slammed. Discovery never led to anything good.

"Frankie! Get out here!"

Nor did that tone. The order announced Father had had a bad day at work, which in turn declared that their night would be much worse. Frankie would have preferred to hide.

Experience had taught the consequences of disobedience, however. A gesture concealed his brother in a cabinet as he hurried to the front room.

"I always thought true love—the storybook love between a man and a woman—was a bunch of rot. Father's love meant pain, and beatings, and screaming. I will never forget Mum's screams her last night."

"There you are." Father's smile held far more anger than pleasure—even more evidence of a bad day. "Did you finish cleaning?"

Frankie nodded. He had done that first, then avoided the rooms to keep them clean.

"Yes, sir."

"We'll see about that. Where's your brother?"

Anywhere but here. "Asleep."

Father merely grunted, losing interest for the moment. Anything else made him immediately start hunting, but Father rarely messed with sleep. He much preferred the fearful build-up over the panicked awakening. Sleep kept Gabe safe.

For a while, anyway. Father's bag and coat fell to the floor, and he stalked toward the bedrooms as Frankie hung the items in their places.

"Father loved causing pain. A belt. A plate. A hammer. His own fists. He didn't care how. He just enjoyed making someone else hurt. I think it was the control. The power he held over the other person. Father was nothing if not the 'boss.'"

"I thought you said you cleaned?!"

He had. Hours this morning had gone to picking stuff up, sweeping, dusting, and using a small brush to get the dirt out of the grooves, but he said nothing when screaming rage started ruining his efforts. Even Gabe had known that no amount of work would ever appease Father. The chores served only as an excuse to inflict pain.

"Told you."

He spun, a fearful glance ensuring Father still demolished the bedroom before he spotted his brother peeking from behind the sofa. He had told Gabe to stay put.

"What are you doing?"

"'Brothers protect each other.'" The quoted words ignored Frankie's near hiss. Gabe's vengeful smile joined a small readjustment to let Frankie see the collection of throwable items hidden behind the sofa. "Keep 'im near the furniture. He caint fit back here, 'n I can pelt him. There's some behind the others, too."

He would have preferred Gabe stay hidden. Despite less than two years between them, Gabe was much smaller than Frankie. Father's beatings hurt him more, and they would turn truly dangerous a lot faster. Better for Frankie to take the brunt.

Except stomping footsteps announced Father's return. They did not have time to argue over this.

"He used to come home every night, find the smallest thing wrong, and use it as an excuse to beat us—telling us how much he loved us all the while. It's like he was trying to make us tie the word to his actions, but I knew his love couldn't be the only kind. I'd do anything for my brother, just as he would do anything for me. We started searching for a way to live without him."

"Stay down," he ordered.

"Frankie!" Father stormed down the hall, belt already in hand. "That bedroom is a disaster, and you did nothing in the kitchen. What did you do all day? Sit in my chair?"

No, but words would do nothing. Frankie slowly backed into the sitting room to give Gabe enough room to aim.

"I told you what would happen if you failed your chores again," Father continued, looping his belt around his fingers without waiting for Frankie's answer, "and I love you too much not to follow through. Turn around."

No. Better to confront the pain than let it slam into him from behind. Father usually avoided Frankie's face—something about nosy neighbors.

"Father had told us several times how hard he worked to provide food. I could do the same in only a few years, so I bided my time. We only had to survive long enough for me to find a job."

Disobedience produced a low rumble in Father's throat, but he offered no further warning. The belt lifted high as Father took a single step forward to miss Frankie's face—

And stumbled from the metal that bounced off his back. The belt subconsciously lowered as he spun.

"Gabe!"

Silence answered, thankfully. Gabe had already ducked out of sight, but the distraction gave Frankie a chance to dive behind the cabinet Mum had put in the corner. By the time Father gave up on finding Gabe, he could not see Frankie, either.

Which only angered him further. Gabe bounced up to throw another paperweight, but Father focused fully on finding where Frankie had hidden. Gabe's next throw produced no reaction, and Frankie could not try without feeling the belt. So much for harassing Father into leaving them alone.

The leather shot through Frankie's hiding place, missing him by inches. "Get out here and face me like a man!"

"I could tell you the same thing."

"Then we met Mr. Holmes and Doctor Watson. There's nothing sappy about that love. Nothing painful, either. They help each other, guard each other, protect each other, care about each other. I wanted that with my brother, but they also showed us another kind of love."

The door burst open hard enough to dent the wall, then two men rushed the sitting room. Short and leaning on a thick cane, the first man somehow managed to tower over Father, but Frankie focused more on the second man. He had not realized anger could look so…righteous.

Or that Father would take such strong exception to company.

"Get out of my house!"

One fluid motion abandoned Frankie to lunge at the intruders. Frankie expected the men to either leave or attack, but the taller man simply caught Father's swing.

"So you can continue beating your children?" The belt landed on the floor near the kitchen, and surprise coursed through Frankie when the man easily pinned Father to the floor. "You are fortunate we happened by instead of the Irregulars. Watson?"

"On it." Giving them a wide berth, the shorter man—Mr. Watson—slowly bypassed Gabe's sofa to kneel beside Frankie's cabinet. His smile of greeting looked nothing like Father's. "My name is Doctor Watson," he said quietly. "Are you Frankie?"

"Yes, sir." He nodded but edged further away. Doctor Watson was smaller than Father. He might be able to reach where Father could not.

Not that he showed any sign of wanting to fit in such a small space. Another glance apparently ensured Father remained on the ground before Doctor Watson adjusted to sit against the wall.

"My friend is Mr. Holmes. Are you injured?"

He shook his head. "No, sir. He didn't get me today. Couldn't fit."

He would have eventually, though he might have decided to move the cabinet to speed up the process. Frankie decided not to say as much.

"What about yesterday?"

Frankie shrugged the question away. Yesterday had been better than most. "Just bruises and a couple-a welts. Didn't even hurt much. Why'd you break the door?"

"Dalor."

Mr. Holmes' voice made Frankie lean back to peek around the other side of the cabinet. A uniformed man clicked a pair of cuffs onto Father's wrists, then Mr. Holmes crouched several feet from the end of the sofa.

"Home isn't supposed to hurt, Frankie," Doctor Watson said over Mr. Holmes' faint words. "When your Father whips you or beats you, he is breaking the law. Seeing him swing his belt at where you had just hidden was enough to give us permission to enter."

Breaking the law? A few inches to the right let Frankie see both where Mr. Holmes talked to Gabe and where Mr. Dalor now leaned against the broken doorframe. Father had beaten them several times for breaking the Law of the House. Did that mean Father had broken some Law of the City?

Father had never mentioned a Law of the City. "But what does that mean for us?" he asked instead. "I'm not old enough to get a job yet."

"It means you get to go live somewhere else." Doctor Watson shifted to straighten one leg. "Do you have any other family? A mother? Older siblings?"

A silent negative made Doctor Watson frown, eyes briefly lighting on the mantle.

"Father made Mum scream to death over a year ago," Frankie supplied so Doctor Watson would not think him a liar. "It's just me and Gabe. Please, sir, I won't have a way to get food, and I can't protect my brother on the streets. I was gonna wait until I could work before—"

"Frankie."

Frankie quickly closed his mouth. Father never interrupted unless he had tired of Frankie's excuses. Was Doctor Watson about to hit him?

No. Another small frown noted Frankie's flinch, but Doctor Watson remained against the wall. "You will not be on the streets," he promised. "I know a group of children that live in a courtyard. Some escaped parents like your father. Some lost their parents through accidents or illness. All will welcome you and help you make the courtyard your home. Would you and Gabe like to join them?"

"Mr. Holmes and Doctor Watson proved love exists, but I didn't really see it or start to understand it until we reached the courtyard. From that first day, we were part of the group—no, the family—in a way we had never been with Father or even with Mum. She was too busy trying to avoid Father."

Interest competed with wariness to make him hesitate. "We'll be together?"

"Of course. Hello, Kyle." An older boy poked his head through the doorway, then came to sit inches away from Doctor Watson's hand. "Kyle, this is Frankie. I was just telling him about the Irregulars."

"Hiya, Frankie." Kyle's smile never faltered despite the doctor's fidgeting. "You and Gabe would be in the same courtyard. Could even share a bedroll if you want. We have food, shelter, clothes, and the occasional toy, and when you're old enough for work, we'll help you find something. Doctor Watson and Mr. Holmes are available at need, but four dozen kids means there's always someone to ask for help."

That…sounded pretty good. Certainly better than staying with Father, but he would not decide alone. A few seconds squeezed through the increasingly smaller gap opposite Doctor Watson, and he darted the few feet to dive behind the sofa.

"Gabe?"

"Frankie!" Gabe spun so quickly that a distracted thought wondered how he had avoided getting stuck. "Mr. Holmes says there's a courtyard full of kids! They have food, and toys, and there's no hitting allowed! No screaming, either, unless it's in play. Can we go?"

Frankie let out a chuckle. "I was going to ask you the same thing. You want to?"

An enthusiastic nod answered him. "Sounds a lot better than Father, and we don't have to wait for you to get a job."

That alone made the arrangement better than staying here. When another question confirmed Gabe was sure, Mr. Holmes moved to address Mr. Dalor as they crawled out, but Kyle's offer to help them pack prevented Frankie from eavesdropping. What kind of group was this, that less than five minutes would have Kyle treating Frankie like Frankie treated Gabe?

"There's no believing or not believing in true love, Doris, because true love is just as real as you and me. True love is the pure, wholesome, unconditional love that makes everything you do about the other person. It's the kid giving his food to a hungry sister. It's the Mum working extra hours to give her baby a toy. It's the man pausing his life because a friend is in need." He finally tore his gaze from the cobblestones to meet the tiny redhead's gaze. "It's the brothers rescuing children from the streets, teaching them how to survive, and helping them help others."

Wide eyes drifted to where Mr. Holmes and the doctor slowly mingled through the courtyard. The doctor checked for injuries and ensured they ate enough. Mr. Holmes spoke with the older ones about work and asked the younger about toys and lessons. Both called every child by name.

"Does that answer your question?"

She slowly nodded. "I…think so. Thanks, Frankie."

"Any time."

Slow steps wandered away, darted back to wrap him in a lightning-fast hug, then disappeared into the crowded courtyard. Her hanging head suggested she probably sought a cubby to think for a while, but while Frankie would have liked to do the same, Gabe would probably appreciate some help corralling the littles. Another moment of quiet contentedly observed the bustle, then he hauled himself to his feet.

He saw true love every day.

"…as much as you can carry, of course. If we find something useful that won't fit in your bag, we can either ask the doctor to carry it, or several of us can come back later. You're not leaving home, Frankie. You're making a new one. What do you want to bring?"

From Hades Lord of the Dead: "I never believed in true love, until..."

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