Cocky

"No, I don't... wait... just... awww." Jim bites his tongue from letting slip what was in his mind. Lying under his back under the sink, things were not going well. Hearing his phone go off on the kitchen table, he lets it ring for now. He'd look at it later.

Becky ducks to look under the sink, trying not to laugh. "I'm sorry. Can I do anything?"

"No." Jim groans and slides out so he can sit up. "Other than get me something to drink."

"Now that I can do."

Jim grins and tosses his wrench aside before getting up and checking his phone. The message worried him, and it must have shown on his face.

Becky hands him a glass of iced tea, frowning at the look he had. "What's wrong?"

"That was Rosetta... said Mick was gone for a few days and wondered if we'd watch BJ for her 'cause she's a wreck."

Becky's eyebrows rise. "That's... strange. Did she say where Mick was going, or what was wrong?"

"No. Could have something to do with Dylan though. That would be my guess."

"But why would Rosetta..."

Jim looks at his wife, still worried. They had both mentioned to each other the question of how things were between Mick and Rosetta lately, and both had been concerned. But neither wanted to make assumptions either. "I'll go see what's up."

"Yeah. And yes we can handle BJ. I'm more than happy to have a little one around here."

Jim grins and gives his wife a kiss on the cheek. "Me too. Be right back and don't use the sink!" His exit is followed by Becky's laughter. Jim opts to check the dining hall on his way to the house, unsure where Rosetta would be. He just didn't want to call - it sounded as though face-to-face would be better this time. Sticking his head in the dining hall, he glances around. "Rosetta?"

Sparky stops his strumming on his guitar and looks to the door. "Not in here." Something seemed odd. "Everything alright?"

After a quick explanation, Sparky volunteers to go find Rosetta. He was more involved than Jim was, and Jim agreed that he'd go find BJ instead to keep the boy out of the way in case Rosetta was more upset than he thought. The brothers split up in different directions, Sparky heading to the house. He knocks on the front door but doesn't receive a response. Contemplating his options, he knocks again, then finally opens the door cautiously. "Rosetta?"

Coming in all the way, he looks around. Things seemed normal. Quiet. But then he hears something down the hall. "Rosetta?" Heading down the hall, he realizes that the sound is quiet sobbing coming from the bedroom. The door is open, but he's still careful, stepping into the dim room. He's about to call for Rosetta again when he spots her on the floor and his heart gives a leap.

In an instant, he's on his knees next to her with an arm around her shoulders and speaking softly. "Rosetta... are you okay? What is it? What happened?"


I hope so, Hero... I hope they can help him. But it will really depend on whether or not Dylan wants the help. I know Mick wants him helped and that's why we're going to the McClain's, but they can only do as much good as their patients want them to. If Dylan doesn't want to be there... forcing him won't do any good, and may just make it worse. Let's just hope he's still got some brain cells of sense left.

Dylan stares back at Katie, seeming to take forever just to process what she was saying. He knew what words she was saying, but his mind was so lethargic that it took him a while to put everything together and understand what she meant. Surprisingly, he doesn't argue back. Instead, his eyes fall to the floor.

Trying to adjust his weight, he finds it hard with his hands cuffed behind his back. "Can't you take these things off?"

"Nope," Jason responds flatly. "You're stuck with them, Bud."

Dylan frowns, shifting his gaze to him. "You're Jason, aren't you?"

"That's right."

"Who sent you guys? If it was the cops, they woulda had me in jail already."

Jason exchanges a glance with Katie. The truth was always best. "Your dad. He's included in that batch of worried sick people."

Dylan scoffs, rolling his eyes.

"Hey." Jason gives him a light kick with his boot. "Don't diss your dad. You're lucky you got him around to care at all, believe me."

"Yeah, well he never cared enough to be around before."

"Everyone makes mistakes. You can't hold onto that bitterness, Dylan. Hating him won't do anyone any good."

"You're a sniper, not a counselor."

Jason quirks an eyebrow. "You think you know a lot, don't you?"

"I know you two are freaks." Dylan's eyes narrow, lucid enough for his cockiness to show through. "The Elite has their own two little superheroes."

Jason forces a slight laugh and shakes his head.
He's lucky we don't throw him out while we're going down the road. He's got some attitude.
"I wouldn't call us superheroes... just smart enough to use what we got. What about you? How far have you gotten with what you can do?"

"Ha!" Dylan smirks at the idea. "All I can do is get into trouble. Or haven't you figured that out yet?"

"Oh, we figured it out. But we know there's more to you than that. What I'd like to know is why you're flushing it down the toilet."

Dylan clams up, his jaw muscles working on his tension. "Where are you taking me?"

"A place that can give you help."

"The only help I need is to be left alone."

"That's not the answer, and you know it. I know you're not stupid."

"Then why can't you just leave me be?" Dylan's look turns into a glare at both Jason and his cousin. "Why can't anyone just leave me alone? That's all I want."

Jason shakes his head, disgusted. "Ever thought you have more than one person that cares about you?"

Dylan pulls his knees up closer to his chest, his wiry frame making it easy. One could clearly see that he'd lost much weight, and it wasn't a surprise. "Ever thought I didn't need them?"

"Oh yeah... yeah, you've done a real good job on your own. How long you think you'd last with those doped-up friends of yours? A week? A month? How long 'til you got desperate for a fix and messed with the wrong punk on the street? How long 'til you got a knife in your gut for challenging the wrong dealer, huh?"

Dylan's glare falls to the floor. "You don't understand."

"How about you help us understand?"

"You think I just took off on a whim the other day?" Dylan gives a laugh. "No one pays attention to me. No one cares where I go or what I do. Ask my mom where I've been spending my nights the last two months and she'll tell you in my bed. Then go see how many times my bed's been slept in. I'm not as stupid as you think I am. Only when she realizes I'm gone does she apparently call my dad."

Even then, she didn't call Mick.
Jason shakes his head again. "So you've been at this game a while now, huh?"

Dylan seems to want to answer, but falls silent again instead.

I wonder now how long it really has been. He looks like he's been down this path a while now, not just a week. Something seems off though. Notice how he looks like he wants to say more, but doesn't? I wonder if some of his so-called friends already got to him and he's afraid of ratting them out. Sheesh... how does someone get this far?

Surprisingly, Dylan seems to be able to read Jason's face. "Don't pretend you're better than me," he hisses. "You don't have a clue where I've been."

"You're right. Care to share?"

Dylan lets himself fall to his side, curling up the best he can, and taking another hard jolt as a pothole is hit. "You can tell my dad to just forget about me."

"You can tell him yourself. He's going to be meeting us."

Dylan's face seems to change from anger to almost fear. His eyes find Katie again, almost as if begging her not to take him.


Gunner slips on a clean pair of jeans and runs a towel through his almost-dry hair. Ambling back to the living room in his bare feet, he goes to the couch and flops down before putting his things back in his bag underneath the coffee table. It had been a long day at work, his mind pulled in a million directions at once. But once he'd been able to leave, he'd gone home and packed his bag. He'd almost changed his mind about going to JT's, but after a short time in his own apartment, he knew he at least needed one good night's sleep and he wasn't going to get it unless he went somewhere else. Getting across down and finding the key had been easy, and after that, the evening was free for him to explore a little bit, then settle himself down.

Sighing, he pulls his legs up to sit Indian style. The house was quiet. He could hear two clocks ticking. One in here, and one in the kitchen. It was strange... but even though he was alone, it felt better than his apartment. Dark shadows didn't lurk here. It was a peaceful house. And he knew without fully knowing JT that this was a godly house. No wonder Bree liked it here. It felt... safe.

Gunner eventually picks up the television remote, assuming he had the house to himself after JT's call and not hearing from Bree all day. He'd almost called her, then had opted to let be. Leaning back, he clicks on the television to find a B movie.