After Dark [Closed]

[playingwithwords]

The car pulled into a parking spot and Dallas made no attempt to leave it quite yet. His eyes were locked on the sunrise that was so clearly visible from their spot. It was a promise of a new beginning. It was a vow that today was going to be nothing like yesterday. The Reds and the yellows and the blues all twisted together in a pattern of random certainty. The discoloration that rose from the horizon reminded the teenager a lot of what laid underneath his shirt. 


As if on cue, his side ached. There was no way he was going to be able to run. And there was no way he was going to be able to bail on running without telling Sam the truth. Dallas was a conflicted mess and had he been paying less attention to the sun rise—and more attention to the situation—he might have kept his mouth shut. 


"If you end up staying in town," his words offered no emotion. His eyes were locked on the sight ahead. He knew how much Sam wanted to leave. He also knew how much tied Sam to this town. He had people who wanted him to stay. Dallas had people who needed him to stay. Dallas couldn't. Sam might. "I need you to watch out for Austin," he breathed in from his noise and could practically taste the sweat that had been left from the day before. "I know it's just a few months." Sam did plan to go back to school after all. He was just taking a break. "But if you stay here...I need to know he's safe."


The teenager's words were very clear. While Austin was here, he was not safe. What happened once Sam left for college? What happened when it was just a hot head and his mother? What happened when there was no buffer, no one to take the blows? 


Dallas's side pleaded for more Advil. The pain killers had put a big enough dent in the ache that he could only feel it when he focused on it. It was deep kind of pain. The type that started inside of you and progressed as it moved through your being. "I think I'm going to call the cops once I come back from school next year." Dallas's words were heavy. His eyes shut and he relaxed back into the seat. He wasn't look for a response. He was looking to vent. "Mom'll hate me but..." His head shook once more. "I can take this shit. Austin can't." I deserve this. Austin doesn't. 


Dallas forced his eyes open as he was forced to deal with the reality of the whole situation. The sun had almost finished rising. Their new beginning was just about to start again. He turned his head to Sam. His green eyes locked on the boy's for only a moment. "Can we spend the night tonight?" The circumstances had changed. Dallas couldn't deal with another ass kicking. Quinn probably didn't have another one in him, at least for a couple days. Monica would be fine. Which meant that the two boys, who would be significantly less fine, could find a save haven for the evening. 


Once he got his affirmation, his affirmation, his hand moved to unbuckle his seat belt. The sudden turning towards the door cause him to take a sharp in hale. His eyes shut quickly as he willed the pain, that had come from rubbing against his side, to disappear. He settled back into a chair and left his keys in the ignition. "I'm sorry," his eyes locked on the steering wheel. Was running just another thing that this city had stolen from him? "I don't know what I was thinking." He wanted to lie. He wanted to desperately to promise Sam that he was fine. Or tired. Or previously injured—but of course not from Quinn. He wanted to tell the boy that everything was okay and he just needed to take a little nap in the car for the rest of the foreseeable future. But Sam wasn't one to pry so lying wasn't completely necessary. "I can't run." And he was planning to leave it at that. "I can come pick you up after you finish or..." His eyes moved to the woods that surrounded the back of the school. "I guess we could do a little planning of our own?"


How could they possibly discover the horrors of Boone if they didn't have an attack plan ready? 

 

[melissaphilia]

Sam tried to tell himself that Dallas's unusual quietness was just his being tired. The car felt full of pressure on the ride over, and Sam didn't have the right words to release it. He unbuckled his seat belt as they parked the car, ready to get out and go, to let his legs carry him far and long and just focus on the movement of his muscles and his breathing. But Dallas didn't move. He could feel the worry in his chest, like a dog chewing on a bone, a repetitive grinding against his nerves. Wrong, wrong, wrong. The truth of last night tried to poke through Sam's wall of thoughts, but he held it back. He wanted to hold on a little longer to the illusion that everything was fine. Don't let him touch you. 


Sam looked at Dallas. Registered the tightness in his eyes, the rigidness of his muscles, the white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. Dallas's eyes were a vivid greenish gold, absorbing the light as the sun rose. He turned away and listened to Dallas. Sam had been trying not to think about what the end of summer would bring, what it would mean. He faced it now. Dallas was leaving. His best friend was finally getting away, getting out of Boone. And Sam was happy for him. So relieved that he wouldn't have to deal with Quinn or with Boone anymore. It didn't matter that they would hardly see each other anymore, because Sam knew that at least it meant Dallas would be safe and happy. Well, happier. He wasn't just leaving Sam though. He was leaving Austin. Sam had been holding onto the hope that Nick would bring him out to Colorado. But that was before Johnny died. His parents had made it clear yesterday what they thought of Sam's plan to go and work with his uncle, and Nick last night had all but admitted he had lost the argument. But Sam couldn't imagine why his parents would want him to stay in Boone, now more than ever. He'd be safer with Nick in Colorado. But he would also be gone. To his mom and dad that probably felt like losing not just one son but two. But Sam didn't want to stay here anymore than Dallas did. And if he was leaving Austin behind, someone would have to look out for him. Some emotion welled up in Sam's throat, but he wasn't sure what it was. He'd lost his older brother, but he was gaining a younger one. Dallas was going to lose his brother but gain his freedom. 


Sam's gaze flicked back over to Dallas for a moment. The two boys had fought so many times about whether or not to call the cops on Quinn. Dallas had always, always ardently refused, no matter how bad it was. Sam knew he was doing it for Austin, maybe even a little bit for Monica. To hear him now finally consider it, Sam thought he would feel relief. But he didn't, because it meant last night had been bad, worse than ever before. Or maybe Dallas was just tired of being strong, tired of the fighting. Sam wasn't tired of fighting. Sam was already flushed with anger, his hands wrapped tight into fists, ready to pound something. He shoved it down, tried not to show it in front of Dallas. He hadn't actually said it yet, hadn't actually admitted that Quinn hit him, had hurt him. Don't let him touch you. 


Sam looked back at Dallas. He could see the pain behind his eyes as he asked to stay over. "Yeah. Of course. Always." Sam tried to sound relaxed, but he didn't think he did a very convincing job of it. He tried to tell himself that Dallas didn't need Sam to be his savior. He wasn't telling him all this so that Sam would go over there and kick the shit out of Quinn. Sam was his best friend. He was the only person he could talk to about what went on, the only one he could trust with the truth. But Dallas was all Sam had now, too. If Dallas wanted to leave under his own terms, that was fine. But he couldn't stand the thought of Quinn taking Dallas from him. So when Dallas moved to unbuckle his seat belt, and he hissed in pain that the simple movement caused him, Sam felt himself toeing the edge. He could see it. The fight last night, the bruises underneath Dallas's tank. Had he touched Austin too? Or just Dallas? He could hear the apology in his friend's voice, the insistence that Sam could still go for a run if he wanted to. Sam didn't want to run without him.


"I'm sorry I wasn't there," Sam said. His voice was thick and heavy. He knew he should just agree to Dallas's suggestion that they figure out what they were going to do about Boone, where to start. Guilt washed over him before he could speak. It wasn't fair. While Sam was being hugged by his mother, Dallas was taking a beating, his mother probably hiding instead of protecting her children. It wasn't fair that Johnny was dead and Quinn lived. It wasn't fair for Dallas to deal with the physical pain along with the emotional pain. Don't let him touch you. Sam jumped out of the car without another word, his ears buzzing. He went to the line of trees and pulled back his arm. He let it fly, his fist connecting with the most satisfying crack, bits and pieces of dried bark chipping away. Sam threw another punch, and another, the pain radiating through his wrist and up past his elbow. He imagined Quinn's face, a bloody mash of skin and bone and broken teeth and swollen eyes. He could see the dark spots of his blood dotting the wood, the smear of it across his knuckles as his skin broke and opened up and droplets of red welled to the surface. Red filled his vision. He threw one last punch, the physical pain finally gaining enough force to make Sam focus on that instead of the storm in his head. Physical pain was so much easier to deal with. He felt the anger subside a little bit, a wave retreating, enough for him to return to the car. He shut the door and sat with his hand limp in his lap, quivering as the adrenaline worked its way out of his system, leaving him deflated. His flexed his fingers a little bit. It hurt like a bitch, but he could do it. Nothing was broken. Now they were both hurt. 


Sam knew it had only upset Dallas more, but Dallas had his way of dealing with shit and Sam had his. He felt better. He knew that was fucked up, and if Dallas wanted to yell at him that was fine. Maybe Dallas would feel better afterwards too. 


"Let's head over to Old Bessy. Nick told me a story last night that you should hear." 

 

[playingwithwords]

He's your flesh and blood, Dal. You've got to protect him, always. You've got to love him. You've got to be there for him, even when Ma and I are gone. 


The teenager could hear his father's words echoing through his head. When Dallas was a real boy, he had thrived in a house of love and protection. Bad grades and rude remarks were faced with extra chores and patient words. Houston had always made it so very clear that regardless of what you did, you would never face violence. The man had dealt with a past heavier than most and ardently refused to put his children through the same thing. 


When Dallas was a real boy, neither of his parents brought alcohol into the house. Wine was for weddings and beer was never, ever the right response to bad thoughts. Houston had been born into a house of vodka soaked walls and he would not do the same for his children. 


When Dallas was a real boy, the only voices that raised were his and Austin's during a heated video game. Cruelty and curses never left their lips because they were a family. And family did not scream or hit or instill fear into one another. Family was family. Houston taught his boys that a brotherly bond was more important than anything else else would ever do. While he lectured them on family, Monica baked cookies for PTO and sang in a church choir. She was the kind of mother you could only dream about. 


When Dallas was real boy, he had had a family. He was the son of two people who would do anything for their children. He was the brother of someone who only needed protection from algebra—not bullying fists. And he had carried those titles with great ease. 


But now, as he sat in the car by himself, he wondered what had changed. Houston's death had deserved Monica's self worth and happiness. It had taken Austin's silliness and replaced with a nasty temper. It had ripped apart a family that so desperately wanted to be whole again. Monica filled her perforated soul with Quinn. Austin choose angry words and late nights. Dallas found peace with running and laughing. 


And Sam filled the aching in his heart, the same one his best friend understood too well, with pain. Dallas should have been angry. He should have been pissed when Sam returned to the car with oozing hands and a pained expression to match his own. Instead, his eyes took a look of sadness. He gave a slow shake of his head and started up the car. "You eat yet?" He asked. Now that their run wasn't happening, he knew the other boy needed something to fill his stomach. 


Dallas pulled into the drive thru at McDonalds and rattled off Sam's order from memory. How many times had they hid out here until their families had demanded their presence? How many times had Sam and Austin orders copious amounts of food just to take it all back to Old Bess and see who could eat it the fastest? Dallas was going to miss even the simplest things, like the way the drive thru lady greeted them by name and asked about their day. 


The elder boy pulled out his wallet and handed money off to the woman. He threw Sam's food at him and set his own coffee down on the console. The day he consumed something from Mickey D's would be when pigs flew. 


Dallas had a nasty habit of not really accepting gratitude. He ignored Sam's offering of money and protests about the warm hot cakes. It was a lot easier to focus on someone else's shit then your own. The Beast died in front of Old Bess and he climbed out with the boy. "Sit down and spill it," Dallas pressed once the warehouse door collapsed down. He limped away from his friend, his eyes trying to stay emotionless. The teenager soaked up each word as he brought a first aid kit to Sam. The pair had gotten it once they realized that sometimes the wall got hit just as much as the bag. 


Dallas passed out the bandages before sinking back into the chair. Fuck. He just wanted to hear the story. The Advil was wearing off and if he didn't focus on something else soon, he'd be in a whole lotta pain. "What's the story?" 

 

[melissaphilia]

Sam awkwardly tried to hold the Styrofoam container still in his lap with his hurt hand while he shoveled his breakfast into his mouth with the other. He only regretted his rash behavior a little bit. By the time they got to Old Bessy the hot cakes were gone with only crumbs and a layer of syrup at the bottom of the container as proof of their existence. His hand really hurt. They went inside and Sam sat down, gratefully accepting the first aid kit. He picked out the biggest of the splinters on his own, doused it with peroxide and wrapped some gauze and tape around his knuckles. Pus and blood soaked through. He searched for a bottle of Advil or even an ice pack among the Band Aids and alcohol swabs but there were no pain killers. They would both have to endure until they could get more. Sam put his feet up on the coffee table--it had belonged to his grandparents, but they sold everything when they moved down to Florida and let Sam have it--and turned to Dallas. 


"So I asked Nick last night if anyone had ever tried to go after... it." There was no word for it, no name, not even the certainty it was an 'it'. Only that there was something. Sam continued. "You remember my grandfather? I always thought he was kind of a dick, but Nick told me that one time when he and my dad were young he remembered his dad being on the phone one night. Guess someone my granddad knew tried to go out and find it, probably tried to kill it. Nick said they never came back and no one ever heard from them again. Nick doesn't remember who though. Maybe my dad does. Someone else I'm sure remembers. Might be as good a place to start as any. Maybe he wasn't alone?" Johnny wasn't alone, Sam thought. Emma was with him. Does that mean it only takes one at a time? Or did it choose between the two of them? Why Johnny, if that was the case? Sam tried to remember an occasion when more than one person was taken in a single night, but he couldn't. 


"If we can make a list of everyone who was taken maybe we can find a connection." Sam paused and thought about what he had promised Nick last night. Don't do anything stupid. He knew what his uncle was really asking him to do, but Sam hadn't promised him he wouldn't go looking for it, whatever it is. Nor did he promise not to go out after dark. He said he wouldn't do anything stupid. Okay, so he wouldn't. They would be smart. They wouldn't rush out into the corn fields at midnight with guns and pickaxes hollering and screaming until they were vanished away or drowned or wound up dead some other nasty way. 


"Do you think we should try and get the police to help? No, that's stupid. They'd just tell our parents and get us in trouble. But they have to know something, right? Why aren't they just doing their fucking jobs?" Because they're scared, Sam thought. They should all be scared, but Sam was mostly just pissed. Neither of them had mentioned the fact that what they were doing was dangerous. But that brought up one other thing though...


"Austin has to stay out of this." Sam caught Dallas's eye, wondering if it needed to even be said. Dallas cared about his brother too much to bring him into this, but Sam said it just to be sure. "He can't know what we're doing. He'll want to get involved." Was it worth it? Sam wondered. He pretty much promised to take care of Austin when Dallas left for school. He couldn't do that if he was dead. Or if Dallas died-- Sam didn't let the thought finish coalescing. But that didn't change the fact that someone had to do this. It didn't change Sam's mind about that someone being him. Just don't be stupid. 


"You don't have to do this, if you don't want to." 

 

[playingwithwords]

It. 


The word twisted at Dallas's pained expression. It threw anger and frustration into the mix. He didn't want it to be an it. He wanted an answer. He wanted to know exactly what it was they were about to go after. An animal? Another person? Something in between?


He collapsed back into the couch and pain filled the majority of his face once again. He allowed for that to be drown out by Sam's words. Granddad. Police. Austin. 


Dallas kept his tongue until he was sure the other boy was done speaking. 


You don't have to do this if you don't want to. 


"I've got as much invested in this as you do. I've got just as much to lose." They had both lost family members to a monster (or a person? Or an animal?). They both had family members that were counting on them to just please, please stay alive. He shook his head. He was doing this. He was absolutely doing this. He wasn't going to leave his brother alone with all these undecided beings. He had to make sure he was leaving Austin with only one enemy. 


Dallas pushed himself off the couch. His legs strained but his eyes locked down on the other teenager. "I think I know someone we can talk to," he told him. "One of my dad's old bakers...Laura Rae Jones. You know her yeah?" Everyone knew her. And she knew everyone. She was a woman older than time who cooked secrets into her baked goods. She was rachetity, easily annoyed, and not exactly a ray of sunshine. But she had loved Houston Coleman and Dallas knew he looked enough like his dad to get by. 


"But first, we gotta go to the pharmacy. My side is fucking killing me," Dallas's first real omission to the pain he was feeling. He knew Sam had it just as bad. The boy's knuckles had to be stinging by now. "How're you feeling?"

 

[melissaphilia]

Laura Rae Jones. Yeah, who didn't know that old bat. Sam tried to think if he had seen her yesterday at the funeral, but he hadn't really been looking at anyone or anything else but the shiny surface of his brother's coffin. She liked their family well enough. Johnny, of course, was always sweet to her and helping out deliver orders whenever he had the time to spare. Most important was that she was one of the oldest members of the community. If anyone remembered something about what happened that night Nick told him about, she just might. 


Sam looked hard at his friend, dissecting the pain and resolve set within his face. His eyes traveled south to Dallas's side hidden beneath his shirt, then he dropped his gaze to his own singing knuckles. Sam shrugged.


"Probably better than you." He stood up and held out his hand. "I'm driving though. You'll put us in a ditch." He waited until Dallas reluctantly relinquished the keys to the Beast, and they went outside where it had only gotten hotter. Sam jumped into the driver's seat, turned on the engine and rolled down the windows. Music blared out of the speakers, and he turned the volume down. He didn't mind the noise when Dallas was driving, but Sam found it hard to concentrate when he was behind the wheel. He paid more attention to the lyrics than to the road. 


He carefully drove them over to the Walgreens on Story Street, stealing glances at his friend's face whenever they turned a corner or bounced over a pothole. He pulled into an empty spot near the door and cut the engine.


"Wanna wait here? I got this one." He waited until Dallas gave a curt nod and got out. Inside he perused the shelves for Advil and fresh gauze. He picked up a couple protein bars, checking to make sure they were vegetarian, and a couple bottles of water. He also grabbed an arnica gel that said "Bruise Aid" on the front. He paid at the register, the woman behind the counter glancing from the items to Sam's bloody patched knuckles with a look of pity that Sam studiously ignored, and returned to the car. He dropped the plastic bag in Dallas's lap. They popped the pills and fixed themselves up, then continued on to the bake house of Laura Rae Jones. 


The bakery was open seven days a week, even Sundays. It was a small, one story building with wide windows on either side of the front door. A plastic sign read "Come in, we're open." Sam pushed through and inhaled the smell of butter and powdered sugar and warm bread, his mouth watering. He'd eaten one of the bars on the way over, but he realized how hungry he still was. A woman and her young daughter were peering into the pastry case, the girl's breath fogging up the glass and her fingers leaving little greasy marks everywhere. There was no one behind the counter, but a moment later Laura Rae herself appeared holding a white cake box. She and the woman finished their business, and when they left it was just Sam, Dallas, an Laura Rae Jones. The older woman looked at them with slanted, suspicious eyes and said, "You boys look like hell." 

 

[playingwithwords]

The beast smelled like worries and uncertainity. Well, more specifically, it smelt like Mickey D's and day old coffee. It was a smell Dallas partially minded but it brought quite a bit of comfort as he rested into the passenger seat. Mickey D's and day old coffee was what kids their age were suppose to be living off of. Not fear and worries and pain. Certainly not the death of a loved one. No one was suppose to bury their older brother before he passed twenty. No one was suppose to bury their father before they hit ten. No one was suppose to experience what these two boys had in less than two decades. 


But they had. 


This was their life and they were living in it. Their future, what laid ahead for them, depended solely on how they carried out their next actions. They could be smart, listen to their parents, and stay the hell away from the dark. 


Or, they could fight like hell for answers and hope to god that they didn't wind up six feet under. 


Dallas didn't even have to consider the choices. 


He wasn't afraid of dying. He only feared for his family's safety. And, as he ran the Bruise Aid against his side, he knew there were a hell of a lot worse things out their than Quinn. He didn't want Austin or Monica to have to face those things. He wanted answers. 


He needed them. 


The teenagers abandoned the Beast in the middle of an empty parking lot. Weekdays were not busy days for the Jones Family Bakery. Their busy days came after the Sunday service when people were rushing for a baked delicacy from the only place open in town. Luckily, the only other car in the parking lot belonged to the customers inside.


Dallas limped besides his friend as he waited patiently for the woman to finish the transaction of money. He almost laughed at her first statement. "We're fine, ma'am," he promised. 


"Mmm," Laura Rae clicked her tongue against her teeth and shook her head slowly. "And the sky is green." They were speaking bullshit but she wasn't going to question it. "What can I do ya for?"


"Well, ma'am," Dallas's eyes moved over to Sam. "We've gotta question for ya."

 

[melissaphilia]

Laura Rae turned her back on the boys. The movement made her look disinterested but Sam knew she was still listening. She would have walked away or told them to leave if she didn't want to bother with them.


"Do you remember my grandfather?" Sam asked. Laura Rae straightened up.


"Jack Murphy? What's that old bastard saying about me now? Whatever you heard it ain't the truth." Sam blinked at the vehemence of her tone. He peeked a glance at Dallas in surprise, who looked just as taken aback as Sam. 


"Uh, nothing. I haven't spoken to him." The idea of Laura Rae and his grandfather hooking up when they were kids lodged itself in his brain and he shuddered. 


"That two-timing son of a bitch," Laura Rae Jones continued, as if Sam hadn't spoken. "He was supposed to take me to prom, ya know? Left me for your grandmother, if my memory serves me correct." She sniffed, but Sam thought he caught her fighting a smile, as if the knowledge of his grandparents getting together didn't bother her as much as she was saying it did. Sam tried again.


"That's not why we're here. We wanted to ask you about someone who went missing about twenty years ago. My uncle Nick was telling me a story about someone I think my grandfather was friends with. Someone who went out after dark to try and stop whatever's out there that's killing people." 


Laura Rae's expression turned to stone. Her nostrils flared out and her lips turned white pressed tightly together. She spun around again, giving the boys her back once more. 


"You're uncle ain't got no place telling you a story like that. And you boys got no place asking an old woman like me about what happens after dark. I ain't got nothing to say to you two, so just go on now, ya hear? Get." 


Sam glared at the old bat's back, and looked at Dallas again. She knew something. They weren't leaving until they found out what she wasn't telling them. 

 

[playingwithwords]

Though Dallas had stayed silent during the banter between Sam and Laura Rae, he was very much paying attention. His grassy eyes were locked on the small woman's being. She had lived through just about everything. Her refusal to talk made that very clear. She held the same sort of ignorance as Monica did. She didn't want to know the truth. She didn't want to know how bad things really were. She just wanted to continue running her bakery and going to Church. She just wanted to be silent and ignorant like the rest of Boone. 


But Sam and Dallas didn't want that.  They needed the truth and they were determined to get it. 


"Ma'am," it was Dallas's turn to pester her. Sam was a fighter, an arguer. Dallas was good at kissing ass and pleading with everyone. He knew what to say and when to say it,"we just need some answers. I know you ain't got 'em. I know this stuff is scary but..." He took a deep breath and gave a shake of his head. "People are droppin' dead and getting more and more scared. We just need to know what's going on."


"Leave it to the police, young man! What would your daddy say if he knew you'd been out here looking for trouble?" Laura Rae spun back around. Her dark eyes were piercing and on the boys. 


Dallas as just blinked back at her. "Ma'am, if my daddy was around to chastise me for comin' out here, Sam and I wouldn't need to be out here to begin with."


That had Laura Rae frozen in her wake. Her eyes moved over the two and her jaw set. She was either about to holler, or cave. Dallas was praying for the latter. 


And he got it. 


"Your granddaddy was friends with Tristian McCall and Peter Stork. Peter went missing a couple decades ago. Him and Tristian use to deliver food for my mama when she ran this store," Laura Rae leaned her small frame back into the counter. Her eyes had a very thoughtful look about them. "Guess they got the dumb idea to go out and look for...it." She didn't meet the boys's eyes. She couldn't. "Tristian came back a babbling idea. Scarred up and refusing to talk about what happened. Peter never came back. Blame it all on a wild animal. Case closed."


Laura Rae pushed herself off of the counter and took two strides towards the boys. "Those woods ain't safe. They ain't safe for anyone or anything. You've both got good good families. Do them a favor and stay alive." She didn't look away until she got some form of affirmation. 


"Yes ma'am," Dallas agreed. "Just one quick question....where does Trisian McCall live now?"

 

[melissaphilia]

Houston Coleman. Peter Stork. Johnny Murphy. Sam made the list in his head, trying to remember the names of every person in Boone who had been taken after dark. How far back did that list stretch? And who would be next? Hopefully no one, if they could help it. He was tired of being told not to go out at night. Sick of hearing people whisper that if they just stayed inside, that if Johnny hadn't gone out, they'd be safe. He'd still be alive. They shouldn't have to live in fear the way they do, shouldn't have to abide by such rules. People were afraid but they refused to leave. Sam couldn't understand it. How did people live like that? How did people like Laura Rae Jones spend their entire lives living in fear of an evil they couldn't even name and never gain the courage to do something about it? Sam couldn't live like that. He wouldn't. 


He looked the old woman in the eye and gave her the confirmation she wanted. Again, they promised her they would simply stay alive. Not that they would stop searching, stop digging. Don't be stupid. Stay alive. Sam didn't care that what they were doing could be defined as both stupid and life threatening. It would be worth it in the end if they could make it all stop. 


Laura Rae sighed and shook her head. She turned her back on the boys and waved her hand. 


"He's over on Greene Street. Across from the baseball park. Don't go bothering him though, ya hear? He don't need a couple of hotheaded buffoons pestering him." 


Sam and Dal thanked the woman for her time and left the bakery. Sam looked at Dallas over the hood on the truck and said, "We're going to pester him, right?" Before Dallas could answer him, Sam's phone started buzzing in his pocket. He rolled his eyes, anticipating either of his parents. The time must have been getting close to eight o'clock. Still pretty early in the day for them to already be looking for him. When he fished his phone out though, it wasn't him mom or dad's number on the screen. His heart stuttered and then raced at the name and his mouth went dry. He glanced up at Dallas, who was looking at him confused. He wasn't sure why, but he didn't immediately tell him who was calling. The phone continued to ring. Should he let it go to voicemail? He debated for a moment, then quickly said, "Gimme a minute," and walked a few paces away from the car. He answered the phone, praying his voice would come out normal.


"Hello?" 


"Sam? Hey, it's Allison." Sam shut his eyes and couldn't help but picture her, all blue eyes and blond curls. His heart was still a rogue bouncy ball in his chest cavity. Two years of dodged glances and brief hallway encounters and just the sound of her voice left him feeling like a dog stuck out in the rain. He hated that she still affected him this way, still made him nervous and jittery. He swallowed, paused for a moment too long.


"Hey."


"How are you?" she asked. Sam shoved his clenched fist into his pocket, gaining some idea as to what this phone call was about. 


"Fine." Sam felt like there were invisible clamps on his lungs and heart and throat, all squeezing at once and cutting of his blood circulation. His muscles twitched. He fought the urge to hang up on her. 


"I'm sorry about your brother. It's just awful." Allison's voice broke a little and for a horrified moment Sam wondered if she was going to cry. He didn't think he'd be able to handle it if she did.


"I've been thinking about you a lot," she went on. The clamps tightened. "Sam, I'm so sorry. I never apologized properly for what happened with Trevor. It was an accident but I felt so ashamed after it happened-" A bubble of laughter burst from Sam, and Allison fell silent. 


"Sam?"


"Sure. Johnny's dead and now you feel sorry." His tone had been flat before, but now it was sharp and laced with his anger. He pictured Allison's face on the other end, eyes wide and hurt. Good, he thought. See how it feels. 


"What? No... No, that's not it." 


"Are you sure? 'Cause it sure seems like it's the only thing people have to say to me these days. 'Sorry your brother is dead, too bad you'll never be as good as him, we all know it should probably be you in the ground instead of him.'" 


"Stop it. That's not true." Her voice was a shaky whisper. Sam swallowed hard. 


"Yes it is," he said. 


"Sam..."


"I gotta go." 


"Wait, Sam-" He hung up on her and let his arm drop to his side. He felt hollow, like someone had scooped all his insides out with an spoon and replaced everything with paper. He neutralized his expression and walked back to the car. He did his best to shove all thoughts of Allison and Johnny out of his head. There were more important things to think about now. 

 

[playingwithwords]

"Hell yeah we are," Dallas murmured as if the question had even been worth asking. They were going to pester him and pester him until they got what the needed. The truth.


The teenager's hand coiled around the Beast's door handle. He watched Johnny turn himself away with the phone and the other boy took that as his cue. He slipped into the seat and leaned back; his eyes never left his friend. 


Dallas could remember the bombardment of phone calls that had filled Monica's phone when his father first died. He could remember the fruit baskets and the bouquets. He could remember the blessings and apologizes. But eventually, after not too long, the whole world moved on. Their sadness dripped away because Houston hadn't been their father or their brother or their husband. But he could have been, and that was what made them sad to begin with. 


The whole world moved on and the family was left to pick up their own pieces and wade through the murky waters alone. Dallas knew that that one phone call wouldn't be the last one. He also knew that Sam didn't want to talk about it. 


Silence fell on them and the blonde did what he did every time there was silence. He blasted the radio. The Beast roared to life and he backed it out of the parking lot. He said nothing to his friend. He offered no pity and no worried looks. Both of them had baggage. That baggage was much better locked away then put out for the world to see. 


Dallas pulled through the quiet town as he made his way to McCall's house. "We need to be careful 'bout how we approach this," he decided as they neared the road. His voice broke over the radio and his eyes flickered to his friend for a second. "We don't need him calling our parents."

 

[playingwithwords]

It seemed, that Monica wasn't the only parent who was pestering the boys. She hadn't seen Dallas since the night before and her body was wrecked with worry. Not that she would ever let him know that. No, she buried that deeper than anything else. She had to be strong for her boys—even if she couldn't protect them. 


But, the day was ticking by and she hadn't heard from Dallas. So she checked in the only way she knew how: she asked for a favor. 


His phone rang just as Dallas's words slipped from his lips. The boy pulled it from his pocket and glanced down at the number. A heavy sigh left him and his ribs ached. He didn't want to pick up. 


"Yeah, Ma?" He mumbled. 


Monica's words were carefully picked. "Hey honey? How're you?" She didn't give him time to respond. "Can you go to the store and get me some cocoa and eggs? I need to bake a cake. Please, honey? Austin's up in his room and I don't wanna bother him. I'll make an extra one for you."


Dallas had never been very good at denying his mother. He murmured affirmation and hung up the phone. "We need to go to the store."