Sitting down beside his son slowly, placing his hand on his shoulder and gently squeezing it, Torch felt the anger that he had been housing inside him drop. His son looked at his hand and shrugged his shoulders, trying to make his hand fall. His nephew sat off to the side staring at them, his father had three of his arms around him, holding him close to him.

"Misunderstood?" he said. "How so?"

Arson looked up and stared at his father, he had tried to shake his father's hand off of his shoulder to no avail, his father's fingers were clutching at his shoulder, he wasn't squeezing him all that much or digging his fingers in, he felt no pain. Taking a deep breath in and letting it out, he opened his mouth and discovered that he couldn't talk. All he could muster was a tiny squeak.

"Bro?"

Turning himself around, he saw that his uncle had three of his six arms around him, he was being held up against him. His brother's head was turned towards him. His brown eyes still held tears but he had a hard look to his face.

"Well..." he started to say. "uh, you..."

"Spit it out," his father said, he could detect impatience in his voice.

"Why should I?" Arson asked. "I mean, you've never listened before."

"I'm listening now am I not?" his father replied. "Talk!"

Arson felt a knot in his throat, he couldn't remember the last time he had talked to his father about his troubles. He had had a good relationship with his father until three years ago, he had walked in one day and had been yelled at for letting to door slam shut when his father had been sleeping and then had been sent up to his room. A few hours later when he had tried to find out why he had been yelled at and sent to his room he had been yelled at again. Before his father had soured up on him he had played games with him and had made him laugh, it all had changed a few months after his third birthday.

"You...changed on me a few years ago." he said, he was fighting back tears. "one day I came in and the door slammed shut..."

He couldn't say anything more, that was all he could get out. His father had nodded his head then had gotten up and had walked a few steps away. His uncle, Blade, was smoothing his hair back out of his eyes, he could see from the look on his face that he was exhausted.

"Yes," his father said. "I remember that day well."

"You do?" Arson asked.

"Yes, I was sleeping and wasn't feeling well," Torch said. "the door had been opened and closed several times and I had promised myself that the next time it was I'd tell whoever had opened it off."

Torch remembered that day like it had just happened. He had had a very bad headache and his stomach hadn't felt good either, it had felt like there had been a ball bouncing around in it. When he had heard the door slam shut he had jumped up from the couch and had ran into the kitchen. When he had started yelling at his son he had huddled low to the floor, his legs tucked under him like a dog would tuck it's tail in between it's legs. After he had yelled at his son he had grabbed his shoulder and thrown him towards the kitchen doorway and had told him to get his ass in his room.

"You also stopped playing games with me," Arson said. "it was like everything I did you had to yell at me for."

"I was going through a tough time son," his father said, turning around. "I had a lot of medical and technical problems going on with me."

"Whut kind o' problems?" Four Way Shot asked.

"Man problems boy!" Torch snarled. "I'll tell you when you're older."

Arson looked at his father, true he had had a lot of technical problems, in the last two years he had had to get a lot of the wiring in his body replaced, the technician had said that it had been singed badly and should have been replaced when he was struck by the lightning bolt that had created him. A few of the metal parts in his body had to be replaced right after and a few parts to his flamethrower had had to be checked and replaced as well. It had taken two years for everything to be fixed on him. The year after he had spent more time in the bed and less around him, whenever he was around him he had either punished and sent to his room or yelled at.

"I guess I can look past the sneaking out of your room bit," his father said. "you're still grounded and in trouble for running away and I'll look past the smoking bit, just as long as you promise not to do it anymore."

Arson looked at his father distrustfully, he was standing two feet away from him and staring at him, his eyes were lit brightly. He could imagine smoke drifting out of his nostrils and rolling off the top of his shoulders. Opening his mouth a little and stretching his hand out, he half agreed to his father's bargain. Inside his mind he was crossing the fingers on his imaginary hand. Four Way Shot was standing up, as was his father and his bladed uncle. Pretending to be tired, he yawned greatly.

"I think someone needs to be put to bed." his uncle said.

"Mah young un' a-needs to git to bed too." his six armed uncle said.

Waking up at eight, the usual for him, Arson shook his head. It felt like a big dream to him, talking to his father and telling him what was wrong, smoking the blunt and giving his brother a joint, sneaking out of the house at three. Pulling his legs out from under the covers and sliding off of the bed, he walked across the room to the bathroom where he washed his face. When he returned to his bedroom he grabbed the black pants, red shirt and the black leather jacket with the red leather interior. The chained black boots were under the bed so he got down on the floor and reached his hand under. The door opened when he was pulling the first boot on.

"Trying to turn into me?" his half brother asked, jealous.

"No," Arson said. "I happen to like this attire thank you."

"So where'd you get it from?" Slash asked. "Your dad says you stole it."

"I did not!"

Arson got up a little too fast, his boot was half on and he fell flat on his face. Slash stood in the doorway, a sleazy smile on his face. Before he could stop him, his half brother ran forward and grabbed his jacket and pulled it. He tried to stop him but it was too late. He heard a rip then he saw the jacket's sleeves slid off. He was in shock, he really like the jacket. Growling loudly, he jumped up, the boot that had caused him to fall had slipped off, Slash tried to run but he wasn't fast enough. Arson grabbed his shoulders and threw him to the ground.

"Dad!" Slash yelled.

Arson wrapped his hand around one of his half brother's hand's, he squeezed and he heard his half brother scream in pain. Slash dropped the sleeves and turned around, he slapped his hands against Arson's face and kicked his legs up into his groin. Hearing his father running, Arson let his brother go.

"What the hell is going on in here?" his father asked, running into the room.

"He jumped me!" Slash yelled.

"He grabbed my jacket and tore the sleeves off!" Arson screamed.

"I did not!" Slash screamed back. "I wouldn't do such a thing!"

"Boys!"

Arson's father stood above the boys, Slash had crawled in between his legs and was acting like he had hurt him. Thinking his father was going to yell at him, Arson allowed his head to drop. His half brother was sitting up, he had that same sleazy smile on his face. He wished he could be allowed to smack it away, his brother was really annoying at times. One time he had grabbed his father's jacket and had stretched it, when his father had turned around angrily he had pointed at him, blaming him for it.

"I will get your jacket repaired," his father was saying. "Slash, leave your brother alone. His jacket, it his business, not yours, it belongs to him, not you."

Looking at his father strangely, Arson slid the jacket off of him and handed it to him. He felt like crying, his brother had accused him of stealing that jacket when really he had just taken it from a store that was giving it away for free, it had had a sign up on the front saying that everything was free. He grabbed the boot that had fallen off, while he was pulling that and the other boot on he was looking at his half brother, who was getting up.

"Why are you letting him keep that thing?" Slash asked. "He stole it, you should have returned it."

"He got it from a store that was giving away clothes for practically nothing." his uncle said.

His father had turned towards his brother, causing him to fall back down. Standing up, Arson dusted his pants off then stood beside his father, he looked up at him. His father had told him that a technician was coming today to fix his flamethrower, he was glad for that. It felt like forever that it had been wrapped up and broken, he planned on testing it when it was fixed.

"Slash," his father said. "go down stairs and get you some breakfast."

Slash stood up and walked out of the room, he looked over his shoulder a few times and shrugged his shoulders on the way out. Slasha was passing at the time he was walking out of the room and she hugged him gently, he wondered what had happened to Four Way Shot. He had collapsed at the door from exhaustion and had had to be carried up to his room, he hadn't heard a thing about him yet and it was beginning to worry him some.

"You too young man," his father was saying. "go downstairs and get you a bowl of cereal or something, you're still being punished remember."

"Yes dad," Arson said. "I remember."

Walking down the stairs and entering the kitchen, Arson heaved a sigh of relief. Sitting at the table, beside his half sister, was Four Way Shot. He had a bowl of cereal in front of him, which was strange as he'd almost always be fed pancakes or sausages and eggs for breakfast. Shrugging his shoulders, he pulled a chair out and sat down in it. A bowl of Cheerios was sat in front of him and he started eating it, he could see that Four Way Shot was eating the same. Sitting across the table was his younger half brother, Loui.

Loui had curly auburn brown hair and blue eyes, the same color as his father's. His shirt was green and his pants were gold, his favorite colors, and there was a green and gold colored hat with gold bells on the table. Usually he'd walk around with a green blanket, he was only two years old. Two days before he and Four Way Shot had ran away he had been stricken with Chicken Pocks and a really bad fever which had caused him to stay in bed, he had been very sick.

"Momma," he squeaked. "I'm finished."

"Okay sweetie," his mother cooed. "go in the living room and play."

"Okay momma."