Pulling himself up quickly, looking at his nephew, Six Shooter could tell that something was wrong. He had seen Arson act like this before but it had been for only a few minutes, Arson had been doing this for a long time now. His flamethrower was up, even though it was broken and couldn't be used the bandaging around it would be able to do some damage, his brother had bandaged it real good and tight so that everything inside wouldn't fall even more apart. Setting his son on the bed, he prepared himself to act fast, he had a feeling a fight was about to happen.

Torch, himself, could believe that his son was standing in front of him with his hand in a fist, his son had done a few things that had been abnormal the last few years but nothing like this. He remembered this one time where he had sent his son to bed for breaking into one of the caretakers cars, his son had gone up a few steps then had ran back down and had kicked him in the heel. His son had also hit him the night before he had ran away, something he had never done before, it had surprised him.

"Calm down son," he said, eying his son. "no one's gonna hurt ya."

"You say that so confidently," his son said. " do you not remember how you slapped me the night I ran away?"

"You were hitting me son," Torch said, sitting down in the chair. "I'm not going to just stand around and let someone hit on me."

"You could of just pushed me away." Arson said, walking to the side.

"I could have yes," Torch said. "slapping you got the point across now didn't it?"

"Yeah, don't touch my old man," Arson screamed. "if ya do he'll slap you and he won't think twice about it!"

Arson took several steps forward then ran towards the door. He was turning the knob when his father grabbed him. Screaming as loud as he could, thrashing his arms and kicking his legs out, he wished he could twist his body around. Throwing his head back he knocked his head against his father who dropped him. Turning around he tried stomping on his father's foot but was instead picked up by the waist. With a roar his father lifted him up and slammed his body to the ground, he felt all the wind in his body leave through his mouth.

"I don't know what your problem is son," his father said, he was on top of him holding him down. "but I don't like it."

Seeing his father get up, still not feeling like sitting up, Arson felt great fear. The first thing he thought was that his father was going to kick him in the ribs. Instead his father walked over to the chair and sat himself in it. After a few minutes he felt new air rush into his lungs. Sitting up slowly, checking himself to see if anything was broken, he saw that his brother was slowly sliding from the bed, his uncle had his eyes on him, not his own son.

Four Way Shot felt great concern for his brother, his father had just slammed his body to the floor and he had stayed on top of him for a few minutes. His uncle had tried doing this to his muscular uncle a few times and had, instead, had the deed done to him. His father had called it the ol' switcheroo. With a push, he fell off of the bed and onto the floor. Closing his mouth tightly, biting his lip hard, he fought hard to keep the scream of pain in. His father hadn't noticed that he was on the floor, he was looking at his brother who was sitting up. Slowly sliding forward, he intended to go to him.

"Collect your boy Tex."

Pulling his head up he saw that his uncle was slightly turned towards him, he didn't understand why his uncle wouldn't allow him to go to his brother, usually he'd let him. Turning around he saw that his father was standing above him, his legs on either side of him. When he felt his father's hands on him he cringed, his leg hurt but he still wanted to go see his brother, he didn't want to sit on the bed the whole time they were here. Pushing his head into his father's shirt, he felt like crying.

"Ye wanna cook dinner?" his father asked. "Or do ye want me to do it?"

"I'll cook supper," he heard his uncle say. "won't take long, going to be easy tonight."

Making a disgusted sound in his throat, Four Way Shot dug his head deeper into his father's shirt. He hated easy meals, they didn't taste as good as the fully cooked meals that the caretakers made back home. His uncle wasn't all that good a cook, a majority of what he cooked was almost all the way burned or half way burned. Feeling his father place him on the bed, he turned his head slightly, looking in the direction of his brother. Arson was still on the floor, but his head was between his hands. He didn't know if he was crying or if he was just hiding disappointment. He wished his father had offered to cook, he was a great at it!

"Might as well get started." Torch said, standing up.

Picking his head up off of the floor, Arson felt like screaming. His father, he had heard, had taken up the duty of cooking them supper. Seeing his father walk towards him he wished he could grab his ankles and say no. There was a lump in his throat, he couldn't talk, all he could do was make a few sounds. When his father swung a leg over him he didn't touch him, the other leg nudged him a little when he picked it up, he rolled over a little when he felt it pressing against his ribs. Picking his head up when his father had walked past, he saw that his uncle was walking towards the bathroom.

"Pssst, Four Way," he whispered. "can you hear me?"

"Shur can!" his brother replied silently. "

"You happy about my dad cooking supper?" Arson asked, picking himself up and dusting himself off.

"Course not!" he heard his brother whisper. "Whut do ye think he's a-cookin'?"

"Something easy he said," Arson said, walking forward. "probably a tv dinner."

"Could it be hot dogs?" Four Way Shot asked.

"If he's cooking hot dogs then there'll be a sure bet they'll be badly burned." Arson whispered.

"Yuck!"

Seeing his father walk into the room, Four Way Shot quickly closed his mouth. He didn't know if his father had heard him same yuck or not, he hoped so. His father stopped in the middle of the room for a few seconds then he walked towards his brother. Arson pulled back and lowered his head when his father patted him on the shoulder. He had been doing that a lot lately, and Arson wasn't use to it yet so every time he did do it he'd pull back and try hiding his head. At times he'd use the short spike on his head like a bull would use his horns, of course he never charged anyone, his spike was sharp enough to cause some trouble.

"Ye all ready fer dinner?" his father asked.

"H....kinda." his brother said.

"Ye gotta try to control that thar mouth o' yers," his uncle said, patting his shoulder gently. "ain't right fer a five year old to be a-cussin'."

Turning around, hiding the laugh inside, Arson saw his brother make a slashing motion under his throat. Four Way Shot's father didn't know that his son, at nine years old, cussed as well, although not as much as he did. One time when they had been sitting at the table a few years back, his father still outside trying to catch the chickens that didn't want to go in the chicken house, Four Way Shot had said fuck you out loud. Everyone at the table had stopped eating and had stared at him, surprised. Four Way Shot had slid half way out of his seat, embarrassed.

"Supper in five." he heard his father yell.

Five minutes later his father placed a plate in front of him, he was sitting at the table as was his brother. Both of them were looking at the food, surprised. The hot dogs that were on their plates weren't burned, in fact they looked right tasty. Letting his brother try his first, Arson held his breath. A few seconds of chewing turned into his brother nodding his head. Turning his head to the side and picking one of the hot dogs up that was on his plate, he took a bite. It tasted right well, he wished that his father had set down some mustard, ketchup and onions, he and his brother agreed that a hot dog without mustard, ketchup and onions wasn't as tasty as one that was bare.

"Do ye got any katchoop or moosturd?" his brother asked.

"Sorry kid," his uncle said. "there's none in the kitchen."

Four Way Shot's father was standing, his plate in one of his hands and one of the hot dogs in another. His uncle, on the other hand, was sitting in the chair, his plate on his lap and the second hot dog in hand, half eaten. Turning around, intending to finish his meal, taking one look at Arson made him want to gag. Since Arson didn't have lips, he had hot dog shreds all over his mouth.

"If you like this," he heard his uncle say. "you're going to love dessert."

"German Chok-lit Cake." his father chimed. "The bes' dang chok-lit cake out thar!"

Neither he nor Arson knew what German Chocolate Cake was, when they tasted it though they thought it was the best cake ever! After one bite they started purring like kittens. Arson finished his first and as usual he had asked for more and had been denied, Four Way Shot got through his slice and then he tried standing up.

"Son, ye stay sittin'." his father said.

"But I gotta go potty." Four Way Shot said, jumping up and down in his seat.

"Ye hold it." his father said. "I is almost finished."

Four Way Shot's father was a little too slow, quite unusual as he was rather quick. After supper Arson sat down in a corner while Four Way Shot was ushered to the bathroom for a bath. His father was sitting in the chair, reading the magazine that he had been reading on the train. The trees on the cover were on fire, the flames seemed to be reaching for the sky and the smoke gave it a darker feel. His father got a lot of magazines in the mail with covers such as this, some of them had drawings and photos of fires and what had happened to cause them and others were magazines about natural disasters. At times his father would get books in the mail, the newest one that had come in a few months earlier had been about volcanoes and their history, it was one of his favorite reads.

"Alrighty, yer a-clean." Six Shooter said.

Seeing his uncle walk out of the bathroom with his son in his arms almost asleep made a distant memory spark up in Arson. He remembered when he had been carried by his father when he was sick, how gentle and caring he was a few years ago. He missed it, he truly did. Now, whenever he was carried it was only to take him into his bedroom for disciplining. Now, whenever anyone touched him he thought it was for disciplining, he'd always pull away a little and he'd always get a little jumpy, he was okay with Four Way Shot, he knew that he wouldn't hurt him. Yawning a little, Arson stood up and made for the bed.

"And where are you going?" he heard his father say.

"Bedtime, I'm tired." Arson said, flashing his eyes on and off.

"You go to bed at eight son?" his father asked.

"Yeah," Arson replied, turning around a little. "why?"

"Seems a little early to be going to sleep." his father said, shrugging his shoulders. "Not to mention you just got through eating."

"Torch!" his uncle called. "If he a-wants to go to sleep early than let him."

His father looked at his uncle for a few seconds then shrugged his shoulders, before he returned to his magazine he made a go ahead motion with his hand. Taking his jacket off and unbuttoning the first few buttons on his shirt, Arson got ready for bed.