Ch. 34

At first James thought it was still night when he opened his eyes. His room was dim and there was almost no light streaming in from the window. Raising his head from his pillow, James peered at his clock in the meager light and was surprised to see it was nearly 8 in the morning. The little boy blinked the sleep from his eyes and sat up, the heavy blankets still wrapped around his shoulders. Strange, he could hardly hear any noise from downstairs. For that matter, he couldn't hear much from upstairs either. The sound of wind and snow was still constant, but it didn't seem like many members of his family were awake.

Not too surprising, really; thanks to the extra blankets, James was quite warm, but the air in his room was certainly on the cooler side. Leaving such a warm cozy cocoon didn't seem all that appealing. The little boy huddled in his mass of covers, wondering if he should try to go back to sleep. It was certainly a tempting idea and James did lie back down with the intent of drifting back into dreamland. But while he fell into a light doze, James found himself blinking back awake a mere fifteen minutes later. Oh well, might as well get up then. If nothing else, James figured he could read his new book, though he'd probably have to start from the beginning as he couldn't remember much from the few pages he'd managed to get through.

Though he shivered a bit when leaving his bed, James had to admit that getting dressed on a cold winter morning was far easier when you had a much warmer room, a cozy desk lamp, and no worries about punished for being slow to start chores.

I hope wherever Dylan is, he's warm enough.

More snow rattled against James's window. The little boy finished making his bed before putting his folded pajamas away. Having finished that, James walked over to his window and peered outside. A thick layer of ice covered the glass window pane, but James could still make out the shape of bare tree branches waving in the ever-present wind that howled down from a dark grey sky. Snow was still coming down, but it wasn't falling as heavily as it was last night. Unfortunately, the wind merely picked up the snow that had already fallen and was tossing it about so wildly that it was doubtful whether or not anyone would be able to tell the difference. But James knew no one would be outside today; not only would it be freezing, but the stinging snow and the dark skies would make it difficult to see. Hardly good for playing in, even if there was more than enough snow to make a dozen forts. Oh well, maybe once the storm died down. After all, it would take a long time for the snow to melt and James was sure he and his friends could enjoy it for several days.

Unlike Dylan.

True, but Dylan probably wouldn't consider that a loss. After all, the very first day Dylan had arrived, he hadn't wanted to play outside and had run back to the comfort of couch and television as soon as he'd been able. A shame, really, because he'd missed out on a lot of fun and now the older boy would be missing out on a lot more than just snow to play in.

"I hope he's feeling better, though," James said, looking up at his toy shelf. Above him, the little otter was still curled up on the truck's hood, but she was peeking out at James from the brim of her captain's hat with what looked to James like an amused expression on her face. The little boy smiled back, pleased to see his stuffed friend was content.

"I'll see you later; I'm going to go downstairs and read my book. I think a few others are awake now, so we'll probably stay by the fire in the living room today. And you and your truck are together, so I know you're alright."

No response came from either otter or truck, but that was alright as far as James was concerned. He knew they would both be happy because they were together just as James and his family were together. That was really all that mattered on a day like today.

Stopping in the bathroom to wash up and brush his teeth, James quickly retrieved his new book from his bedroom and made his way downstairs. The Peach Pit was dim, but James could see the flickering shadows thrown up from a newly-made fire.

"Hey, kid, you're up early." Centipede, who was kneeling by the fireplace and prodding the fresh logs with a fire poker, looked up with a grin as James entered the room.

"So are you, Centipede." James trotted over to his guardian, who happily swept him up in a tight hug.

"Yeah, well, I slept like a log. Plus, I went to bed way earlier than I usually do." Centipede winked at James before setting his son back down. "How 'bout you, kid? You sleep alright?"

"Yes. Really well."

"Good. Everyone else is still snorin' and even when they do wake up, it probably won't be long before they'll all snoozin' again. This weather, Jimmy-boy; it'll knock you out cold."

"I'm glad we're all inside, then."

"Yeah, me too. You hungry?"

"Yes."

"C'mon. I'll fry up some eggs and bacon for us and I know Mrs. Ladybug got some muffins from one of the bakeries a few streets down. We'll have some and set the rest out for the others. Give her a break from cookin', yeah?"

"Yes, let's do that."

"Alrighty. Want hot chocolate with breakfast, kiddo?"

"Yes please!"

"Me too!"

Centipede had clearly planned on making eggs and bacon for himself, as the frying pan was already warm with melting butter. As such, it took little effort for the many-armed bug to add a few extra eggs and strips of bacon to the pan. Meanwhile, Jams fetched the cocoa powder and sugar and filled the kettle with water from the sink.

"Thanks for the help, kid." Centipede set the kettle over a back burner and turned it up high. "Mind grabbin' the plates too?"

"Sure. I'll get the knives and forks too."

"Atta boy. And hey, I don't gotta worry about you throwin' a knife at me, right?"

"Someone threw a knife at you?" James turned to look at Centipede in utter disbelief.

"Yep," Centipede chuckled as he deftly flipped the bacon sizzling in the pan. "And that someone was Dylan."

"Are you okay?"

"'Course I am. Kid couldn't have hit the broad side of a barn. And anyway, it was a butter knife Dylan threw, so not as bad. He did manage to hit a waitress's arm, but it more startled her than anything. "

"I..." I didn't think Dylan'd do something like that," James said softly as he brought the plates and silverware over to his guardian.

"Me either. But he did a whole lot worse."

"Mr. Grasshopper and Mrs. Ladybug said Dylan stole a lot of desserts from Miss Spider's club."

"Three desserts, actually. But that's on top of all the food he stole from the Grad Deluxe. They got a snack bar there, just like the one your friend's brother works at. Oh, get this, Jimmy-boy: when Dylan was at the Locke and Key, he used your last name as a cover."

"He did?" James felt his heart thump a little harder in his chest.

"He did."

"I'm not going to be in trouble, am I?"

"What? Aw, no, kid, nothin' to worry abut." Centipede pulled James to him with several arms as he flipped the eggs and bacon onto two separate plates with a few of his other hands. "I was able to clear that up no problem. Besides, your friend's brother was already suspicious of Dylan bein' related to you, so him screamin' for more ice cream didn't help. Me showin' up only confirmed the kid was a little fake."

"Oh, okay." James sighed with relief as Centipede poured water from the now-steaming kettle into the mugs already prepared with cocoa powder. "Did Dylan use my last name at the Grand Deluxe too?"

"Nah, he did somethin' else equally stupid. C'mon, let's sit by the fire while we eat. You want a blueberry muffin, right?"

"Yes please."

"So do I. C'mon, kid, you're gonna love this story."

Thanks to the fire, the living room was awash with heat. This was especially good as outside, the sky had suddenly grown darker as snow started pounding from the sky in earnest again. Centipede glanced out the window as he and James sat by the fire and shook his head.

"And to think, some people doubted me when I told 'em this storm was gonna be a bad one. Huh, who's laughin' now, eh, kid?"

"At least you found Dylan and he didn't get caught in the storm."

"Not for long anyway. Food okay?"

"Yes, it's great."

"'Course it is. I know my way around a stove, Jimmy-boy." Centipede gulped down a mouthful of bacon and eggs before continuing his recount of Dylan's antics.

"Anyway, Dylan didn't have to give a name at the Grand Deluxe 'cause the idea is, the kids just gotta give the person workin' their snack bar the number of the room they're stayin' in. Then, the parents get the bill."

"Oh. So if the kids staying at the hotel try to sneak food, their parents find out?"

"Pretty much."

"But then..." James frowned in thought. "Couldn't someone like Dylan just say he was in a different room?"

"How d'you think he got caught?" Centipede grinned.

"They found out right away?"

"Yeah, but to be fair, Dylan just picked a bad time to pull that stunt. Turns out there was some kinda party bein' thrown and a lot of the hotel kids were goin'. Two of the kids in line happened to be in the room Dylan claimed to be stayin' in and they called his bluff real quick."

"I'll bet Dylan wasn't happy about that."

"From the sound of it, he sure wasn't. Kid threw a massive fit, kicked a woman workin' there and ran out the door. And lemme tell ya, Jimmy, Dylan was real lucky we were next door 'cause in this weather, it don't take long for you to start stumblin' around in the dark thanks to the wind and snow. Just walking out to the car last night was bad, never mind comin' back through Central Park."

James shivered as another gust of wind punctuated Centipede's words. The little boy sipped from his mug of hot chocolate, shuddering with relief as the steaming drink soothed him. "I'm glad he's alright. But..."

"But what, kid?"

"He's not sorry, is he?"

"Nah, kid, I don't think he is."

James nodded. "I'm glad Dylan's okay, really I am. But... he wouldn't be sick and in trouble if he hadn't run away from school and stolen all that food."

"Got it in one, Jimmy-boy. And listen, I'm glad that little monster's safe too. Trust me, no one should be caught out in this cold. But it's kinda hard to feel too sorry for someone who ended up in hot water 'cause they did somethin' dumb, right?"

"But that's only fair, right? Like you said?"

"Sure is. And hey, it's gonna work out. Dylan... well, he's in for some rough times, but we're gonna try and set him straight."

"And it's not all his fault, right? His grandmother taught him to be bad, didn't she?"

"Pretty much. That's why she's gonna be in trouble too." Centipede swallowed down a bite of muffin before throwing a few arms around James's shoulders. "Hey, listen, kid. I know this is gonna be hard, but... we may need you to talk to Ms. Gould about what happened with Dylan and how he talked to you. She's gonna need all the proof possible to show that Dylan's worse off with his grandma and needs to live somewhere else."

"I know. Mrs. Ladybug asked me about that. I don't mind."

"Yeah?" Centipede grinned at his little boy. "Thanks, Jimmy. You'll be a big help."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Dylan caused a ton of trouble and is gonna have to stay in juvenile detention 'till we find a new place for him. But I made sure he was sent to one of the better places. They're strict with the kids, no question there, but the staff there aren't mean. You disobey, you lose privileges and get extra chores, that sorta thing. No missin' meals, no bein' told they're worthless, and no gettin' smacked around."

"That's good." James felt relief flood through him as he bit into his blueberry muffin. "Will he still go to school?"

"I think they gotta school program there, but we'll see. Though I don't really see Dylan ever wantin' to have too much to do with school, do you?"

"Probably not," James admitted. "But I want him to find something that makes him happy. I know Dylan likes television and sweets, but I don't think it was enough for him."

"Nah, I don't think so either and you're right, kid; Dylan needs to find what he's good at. Actually, Mrs. Ladybug's had a pretty good idea about that."

"What's that?"

"Apparently, there are some families who own farms that take in kids like Dylan. They teach 'em how to run the farm, work with animals, all that good stuff."

"Really?"

"Yeah. What do you think about that, Jimmy boy?"

"Well... I think it sounds like fun and getting to work with all the farm animals would be great. But, I don't know if Dylan would be happy about it."

"Probably not at first, but I get the sense that a kid like Dylan would be happier workin' with his hands than bein' stuck in an office all day once he grows up. Plus, it'd be a good way for him to work off all those sweets he ate!"

James considered this as his sipped the last of his hot chocolate. "Where would the farm be?"

"I'm not sure. I know there are a couple on Long Island and a few in upstate New York, though."

"So, Dylan could still come back to the city to visit his grandmother?"

"Oh yeah, he ain't goin' far. Plus, Ms. Gould'll have to keep an eye on him and we're gonna do the same."

"That's good. And maybe Dylan will like working with animals or planting things. I don't think he's ever done it before, so maybe he just doesn't know it's something he'll end up liking."

"Exactly, kid. No harm in tryin', right? But that' just one possibility. It's gonna depend on what the family court judge decides and if there's a family in the city who wants to take Dylan in, that may be easier, seein' as how Dylan's lived in the city his whole life. But like I said, we'll see what happens. Done with your breakfast?"

"Yes. Should we set out the rest of the muffins for everyone now?"

"Let's do it."

"We should put the plates and the frying pan in the sink to soak too. That'll make them easier to wash."

"Good thinking, Jimmy boy."

Together, Centipede and James prepared a platter of the fresh muffins and set out cups for coffee and tea. The now-cooled frying pan was splashed with liquid soap and filled with water before being set in the sink along with the dirty plates and silverware. James also helped Centipede wipe down the counters and stove, leaving them clean and shining for the next use.

"Job well done, kid. C'mon, let's go relax."

Together, Centipede and James returned to the living room. Centipede flopped down onto the couch, stretching his long body along the full length of the long sofa. James sat down near the other end of the sofa, but Centipede shifted over, allowing James to lie down next to him while holding the little boy tightly to him.

"You know, kid, outta all the boys who coulda fallen in that peach, boy am I glad it was you."

"I'm glad you were there too, Centipede. You and everyone else."

"Thanks, Jimmy." Centipede ruffled James's hair as the two laid back against one of the pillows. Centipede watched James through half-closed eyes as the little boy opened his book back to the first page.

"That the new one from the series you like?"

"Yes. Mr. Grasshopper got it for me last night. I tried starting it before bed, but I fell asleep."

"Can't blame ya there, I might doze off again myself. After yesterday, I think a day to relax is something we all need. And I mean all of us, Dylan included."

"Do you think he's feeling any better today?"

"Who knows? Might be a day or two before his stomach stops feelin' bad, but hey, he brought that on himself. At least he's somewhere where he's got people who will actually help him get better, even if he don't like it."

"I just hope Dylan can learn to be good and find something to make him happy."

"So do I, kid. 'Course, whether or not Dylan wants to learn or be happy, that's on him. Either way, you don't gotta worry about him, Jimmy boy; you let us take care of that."

"Okay, Centipede." James leaned into his guardian's arms as Centipede closed his eyes, settling into the couch with a contented sigh. The heat from the fire washed over the two as James found himself drawn into a beautiful summer meadow with the two royals, enjoying the sun, the breeze, and the splashing of otters frolicking in the stream. Outside, the wind and snow continued their assault on the city, but James paid the storm no mind. As far as he was concerned, he had everything he could possibly want.

The same could not be said for Dylan.
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As far as Dylan Anderson was concerned, his first night spent in juvenile detention was the worst night of his life. After the sheer indignity of a hot bath, the older boy'd had his teeth forcibly brushed by the nurse.

"I don't trust you do it properly by yourself, given how badly you've been treating your teeth," Nurse Nora had said, holding his mouth open with a gloved hand as she's scrubbed Dylan's teeth with a minty toothbrush.

"OPPIT! IT URTS! IT HURTS!"

"It only hurts because your teeth aren't used to this. What the dentist is going to say about this, I have only imagine. Now rinse your mouth out."

Dylan had been only too glad to do so, not even protesting the water he'd been given to do so with. He'd also been forced to drink two extra glasses of water and only the threat of a needle in his arm had stopped him from protesting any further. He did, however, protest against the pill Nora had given him to take along with his second glass of water.

"I HATE MEDICINE!"

"This will help you sleep, Dylan. You may either take it as a pill or I can give you an injection. Your choice."

That had been enough for Dylan and the boy had swallowed down the pill, though not without sulking the whole while. After that, he'd been led straight to a small room with a single bed and a tiny private bathroom.

"Into bed with you. I'll come around to check on you in a bit, but you'll probably be asleep by then."

"My stomach hurts."

"I imagine it does. Sleep will help."

Normally, Dylan would have complained about the lack of a TV, but the medicine was quickly taking its toll on the boy. All the same, Dylan had pouted as he curled up under the woolen blankets and pressed his face against the freshly-washed pillow. Angry thoughts of James and the stupid bugs in prison ran through his mind for a moment or two, but sleep quickly claimed Dylan for its own and the nine-year-old slept soundly for the rest of the night.

However, Dylan was not in a good mood when he awoke. Rubbing pudgy fists into his eyes, Dylan sat up with a groan. His head felt heavy, his leg muscles- unused to all the movement from the previous day- were sore, and everything from the top of his chest all the way to the bottom of his stomach ached. With a groan, Dylan flopped back against his pillow and tugged the blankets around him. He looked around, but aside from a window and a small bedside table, the room was bare.

Oh great, just great! No TV, nothing good to eat and he felt awful! How was he supposed to get better without TV and sweet foods to help him? Stupid doctors and nurses; all they cared about was giving people shots and telling people the things they liked were bad! Why couldn't he have a TV? Grandma had a TV in her hospital room, so why couldn't Dylan? He didn't know, but unless they wanted to get in trouble like the stupid bugs, they'd better listen!

"Ahh, good morning, Dylan. And how are you feeling this morning?"

Dylan looked up to see Nurse Nora wheeling a small tray into his room. On top of it was a small bowl and a glass of orange juice.

"I feel awful. I want chocolate pancakes."

"Out of the question."

"I WANT them!" Dylan groaned as his stomach lurched unpleasantly at the thought of heavy chocolate pancakes, but he wasn't going to tell the stupid nurse about that.

"The doctor was very clear about what you are allowed to eat, Dylan. I can tell your stomach is still troubling you, so any kind of sweet foods are off the table. I've brought you some chicken broth, oyster crackers, and orange juice. Let's see how your stomach reacts to that."

"I don't WANT that!"

"You need proper nutrition, just as you need fluids. If you refuse to eat or drink, you will need an IV."

"NOOOOO! I HATE SHOTS!"

"Then I suggest you eat what you're given," Nora retorted, setting the bowl and glass on Dylan's bedside table. "However, I should let you know that we're looking into your medical records and if you're missing crucial injections, you will need to have them before you're allowed to mingle with the other boys."

"NOOOOO! I DON'T WANT SHOTS! I WANNA GO HOME! I- UGGGHHH!" Dylan's tantrum came to an abrupt halt as his head pounded harder than ever and his stomach seemed to rise up to his throat. The boy flopped against his pillow with a groan, clutching at his middle as his body and head throbbed.

"Yes, I had a feeling you'd still be feeling poorly today. You'll need to stay in bed for the next day or two, I think. But again, until we're certain of your injection records, you will have to stay isolated from the other children. We cannot risk them giving you something your immune system cannot fight."

"Can I watch TV? Grandma lets me watch TV when I'm sick!"

"Television is a privilege you will have to earn while you are here, Dylan. As of now, you have not done so."

"NO FAIR! I WANNA WATCH TV! I'M SICK! YOU HAVE TO LET ME WATCH TV! YOU HAVE TO!"

"I most certainly do not and if you keep yelling like that, young man, you'll only feel worse."

"BUT-"

"After you've eaten and rested a bit, I can bring you a book or a puzzle to help pass the time."

"BUT THAT'S BORING!" Dylan stuck out his lip and tried to make himself cry, but Nora was unmoved.

"From the sound of it, a bit of boredom would do you the world of good, especially after your little escapade. Now eat your broth!"

"NOOOOOO!"

"I'll remind you: either eat or you will be nourished with an IV. Your choice."

"Whhhhhaaaaaaaaa!" Dylan flopped back on his bed as he cried, peering up through squinted and dry eyes at the nurse. Nora's expression didn't change; she merely held the small spoon out to Dylan with no change to her expression.

"Well?"

"Whhhhaaaaaaaaaaaa!" Dylan kicked his legs free of his blankets. He quickly regretted doing so, as his overtaxed legs sent waves of pain through his chubby body and Dylan quickly ceased kicking. He did not, however, cease his whining.

"I WANNA WATCH TV! I WANNA WATCH TV! I DON'T WANNA EAT THE GROSS SOUP! I WANT CHOCOLATE PANCAKES AND-"

"Alright then. An IV for you.

"NO NO NO! NOOOOOOO!"

"You had your chance and you refused, Dylan. I will save your meal for later; perhaps you will be more inclined to actually eat at lunch. Until then, though, I must give your body what it needs through any means necessary."

"NOOOOO!" In a fit of rage, Dylan leapt from the bed and tried to run. In an instant, his sore legs wobbled and he fell to his knees. At the same time, Dylan's sore stomach lurched again and he retched. Thankfully, he didn't vomit, but a small amount of hot acidy spittle spewed from his mouth and onto the floor. Dylan groaned as his pounding head sagged on his neck like a wilting flower and he didn't resist when Nora heaved him back onto the bed in a sitting position.

"Lie down and stay still. I'll get you some water."

Dylan whined and moaned as the nurse left the room. Why? Why was everyone being mean to him? He hadn't done anything wrong today; why was everyone treating him like this?

"I wanna go home! I want my grandma! I wanna go home!"

Dylan sniffled as he curled back up on his bed. Outside, the wind sent snow lashing against the window panes, but Dylan ignored it. Instead, the boy could only focus on how blatantly unfair the whole situation was. He didn't deserve to be trapped in a small room and be forced to eat gross food and given shots when he didn't want them! Grandma would be so mad if she found out this was how he was being treated! Where was she anyway! Why hadn't she come to get him? Why hadn't she left the hospital already?

"Bet the stupid bugs made her stay," Dylan muttered. Yes, that had to be the case. They were the ones who wanted Dylan to eat gross healthy food and go to bed and do schoolwork. They were the ones who didn't let him watch TV or have sweets. And they were the ones who sent him here! As such, it only made sense that the stupid bugs and stupid James would have made Grandma stay in the hospital too.

Yeah, sure, James was a kid like him, but Dylan was sure that if James said Dylan should get treated badly, the stupid bugs would happily agree with him!

"Bet James is glad everyone's mean to me," Dylan muttered. "I'm gonna make sure he gets to sent to jail too. And then he'll get shots and have to eat gross food and not watch TV and-"

"Alright, Dylan, I have some water for you. But I need your arm first." Nora had returned, along with an orderly who was wheeling a wheeled tripod from which a plastic bag of clear fluid was hanging. The orderly set the tripod next to Dylan's bed as Nora set a small tray containing a glass of water, a length of thin rubber tubing, some disinfectant, and a small paper package on the floor.

"NOOOO! I DON'T WANNA SHOT!"

In response, the orderly grabbed Dylan's arm, pushed up his sleeve and held it down. Dylan thrashed and bucked but Nora merely swabbed Dylan's exposed skin with disinfectant and then ripped open the package, exposing a sterile needle.

"AHHHHHHHHH!"

"This will be over in a few seconds. Going forward, I hope will listen to us when we tell you to eat."

"NOOOOO! AHHHHHHHHH! DOOOOOOONNN'TTTT! WHHHHAAAAAA!"

But once again, Dylan's cries went unheeded and while the sting of an IV needle was certainly one of the most unpleasant experiences of Dylan's life, it would not be the last.