"I don't see why he couldn't stay his ass in here." Arson growled, punching the seat.
"I guess he's a-busy tryin' to git thangs straight." Four Way Shot said, sighing and shaking his head.
"Busy doing what? Getting my torture chamber ready!"
Looking at his brother jump up and down on the seat made him feel nervous, his father and his fire uncle had left half an hour ago to get something, they had said nothing about what it was or how long it'd take them to get back. It was seven in the morning, Arson had been pushed from the train when it had driven into the station and he had been carried, his leg was hurting so much that he could hardly stand much less walk.
"They's prolly jus' havin' problems." he said, leaning back a little.
"You're enjoying this aren't you?" Arson yelled. "You've broken your leg and your father has decided to go easy on you because of it."
"No, I ain't enjoyin' this," Four Way Shot exclaimed, shooting up from the bed. "I would ver much like to git up an' walk a little."
"And I'm sure that if you could your father would still be soft on you." Arson said, close to tears. "Man, you're stuck with a nice dad and I'm stuck with....him!"
Looking at his brother from top to bottom Four Way Shot understood where he was coming from. Even he had problems when it came to his uncle. Several times he had walked in on his uncle and had been yelled at for no apparent reason. It was probably one of the many reasons why his brother prefered to hang around either just him or him and his father. At times when his father wasn't around they hung around their muscular uncle, they were very close to him.
Hearing a click both boys turned around, they were in a rather large room which had cost their father's a lot of money. According to his father, they were to stay in this room for three days and two nights, waiting for the next available train to take them back to their home. Beside's the bed, of which Four Way Shot had been placed on when they had first walked in, there was a small fridge and a couch and a small chair, a window allowed them to look outside. The carpet was red and the walls and ceiling was white.
Hearing a click both boys turned around, they were in a rather large room which had cost their father's a lot of money. According to his father, they were to stay in this room for three days and two nights, waiting for the next available train to take them back to their home. Besides the bed, of which Four Way Shot had been placed on when they had first walked in, there was a walk through kitchenette with a fridge and stink along with a toaster oven, microwave, cookware and dinnerware and a coffeemaker, there was a table in the room with two chairs. A red chair was beside the bed.
"All this trouble for just one small package," his father complained. "I thought you had more upper body strength."
"I do bro," his uncle said. "this thang is a-heavy fer such a small box."
"It was all me lugging the thing up the stairs man!" his father said.
"Torch, ye gotta calm yer ol' butt down," his uncle said. "if not fer yerself then do it fer yer young un'."
Arson was looking at the box in his father's and uncle's hands, it wasn't all that big, neither was it all that small either. More like in the middle. He saw from the corner of his eye that his brother was also looking at the box. He could tell that he was also wondering what was in it. He hoped it wasn't another attempt of his father's to get rid of the clothes that he had been wearing before.
"Pa," he heard his brother call.
"Hold on jus' one second son." his father said.
"Whut's in the box pa?" his brother asked, ignoring what his father had said.
"Nothing you need to know!" his uncle exclaimed.
Setting the box on the floor at the foot on the bed, Torch picked his head up, his eyes were just above the covers and he was staring at his nephew who was pulling back some. His nephew was wearing a brown button up long sleeve shirt, a dark brown vest over that housed two Colt .64's, and black jeans, a black belt held them up and it had two more holisters that housed two more Colt .64's. He had black boots on his feet, gold spurs behind them, a brown cowboy hat and a brown kerchief around his neck, it was of the same design as his father's. At times he really wondered why his brother had allowed for his son to dress almost exactly like himself, it was really confusing at times.
"Lets just say we asked for some food items and they arrived an hour after we got here." his uncle said.
"Whut kind o' food items?" his four armed nephew asked.
"The kind you eat." Torch said, frustrated.
"Food items ye an' yer bro will like." his father said, placing his hand on his son's shoulder. "Ye lie back now, git some rest."
He really didn't understand how his brother was so calm in a situation like this, he believed that he was doing a better job. Thinking back to a few weeks ago, he remembered going into his son's room intending to both talk and tuck him in in secrecy, he didn't know what time his son fell asleep but he knew that around ten he'd walk in to see his son, the blankets half thrown off of the bed and himself almost out of bed asleep. That night he had expected to see the same but instead, he had seen a fully made bed and the window to his son's room fully open, his son not in the room.
"Six Shooter!" he had yelled. "Is my kid downstairs?"
"No, he a-should be up thar in his room." his six armed brother had said, pulling the magazine he was reading down a little.
"Well he's not," he said, walking down a few of the steps. "not in his bathroom either."
"Did ye check yer room?"
He had raced to his room and had thrown the door open, his room was totally off limits to everyone, including his son. He had had to get the lock changed several times after discovering that his son had disobeyed him and had gone into his room, he didn't know why but he had found the top drawer of his dresser open twice and had found several of his cigars missing, he had written it off and said that he must have smoked them. When he had found his room unoccupied he had ran back into his son's room and had poked half of his body out the window, thinking that his son was sitting on the roof looking at the stars.
"He's not in my room and he's not on the roof." he said, running down the stairs.
"Alrighty," his brother has said, pushing himself up and grabbing his arm. "calm yerself, whar else could yer young un' be?"
He had searched the whole house for his son, the kitchen and the laundry room, the living room, he had searched through everyones rooms without finding his son, even the caretakers rooms and the attic. When he had finished searching the house he had gone outside and checked the barn, the chicken house, the pig pen, he had looked everywhere. At eleven he had stopped by the flower vine, when he had pulled out a cigar he had noticed a small puddle of blood by his boot. He had remembered the fight and what his son had said on the way up and had stormed back inside, almost running into Six Shooter who was on his way out.
"He's not out there," he had said, growling. "I believe he ran away."
"Ye shur?" his brother had asked, stunned. "Are ye one hunert percent shur?"
"I recall him saying that he was going to run away."
He had raced up to his room and had grabbed his cell phone and a small device that the humans had called a tracker. He had made a point to make the humans sew a tracking device in all of his son's jackets, the jacket that his son had been wearing was a new one and he had gotten one of the devices sew into it a few days ago. He was sure that it was working fine.
"You have no idea how worried I was when I found that you wasn't in your room," he said, turning his head towards his son. "you just have no fucking idea."
"Yeah, I can just about imagine what happened. "Arson huffed. "You probably just looked then went back to whatever it was you was doing before you saw that I wasn't in my room."
"No, son," he said, he was walking towards Arson slowly. "I did not, I started searching the whole damn house, then everything outside."
"You think I'm going to believe a thing you say? It was probably my uncle that made you start searching." Arson said, taking a step back. "Go smoke a cigar, leave me alone."
The chair was right beside him so he sat down in it, he had no idea why his son revered him in this way. Whenever he had tried reaching out to him he had pulled away. The one time that stuck out well was when he had brought him some soup and had pulled the blanket over him when he was sick, he had left the room for a few minutes and when he returned the blanket was off and the soup was sitting on the floor, untouched, his son had been lying on his side, his side slowly rising, he had thought that he had fallen asleep. The day afterwards he had tried feeding him, his son had told him that he could do it and that he wanted to be left alone. He had done just that.
"Son," he said. "we're going to get a few things straight right now."
The incident when he had had to pull his son from the train came to his mind. There had never been a time where his son had started screaming for someone to help him, he had caused everyone in the station to look at them, very embarrassing yet it made a red light pop up in his head. He had had to push his son off of the trains steps, he had plopped down on the ground hard and started crying for someone to help him, it had gotten a lot of humans attention. All the way through the station he had carried his son by the waist, all the while his son had been crying and screaming for someone to help him. Six Shooter had followed behind him closely, his son resting in his arms, both of their cheeks rose red from embarrassment. When they had gotten into the cab he had plopped his son beside him, the cabby had turned around and had taken one long look at them before asking where they wanted to go. He had told him to take them to the Homelife Studio and Suites hotel, one of the top-rated hotels in Illinois. The ride there had been fine, everyone had stayed quiet, but when they had gotten to the hotel the same thing started up again. He had grabbed his son's hand and his son had wrenched it out and had ran a few steps before tripping up and crying and screaming for someone to help him. Six Shooter had taken his son up to the room, he had stayed behind and had apologized for the noise, paying the hotel extra for the trouble.
"First off I want to know why you have been asking other people, strangers in fact, to help you out when there's nothing wrong with you." he said, he tapped his fingers against the chairs arm. His son was standing a few feet in front of him, almost against the wall. His eyes, a star burst orange and yellow with red background, were bright and he could see that he was shaking a little and his hand was in a fist.