Gone

"Dewey?" Rowan called, looking around the apartment. He should have been back by now. "Dewey?" A note of panic now because it was two a.m. and something was right. "Dew?"

Nothing.

So he hit the streets.

It was a miserable night. Rainy. Like most others. The city had a look-what-the-cat-dragged-in kind of air about it tonight and it irritated him like headphones that only played music in one ear. It made him cranky.

He and Dewey were supposed to go grab some candy from the store and watch a movie tonight with the storm, but Dewey went to the store and never came back like some kind of sick joke about abandonment.

Except Dewey would never abandon him. He just wouldn't. So Rowan didn't understand what was happening. At all.

That was six hours ago.

He clucked at someone as they shouldered past him on the street.

Night or day, the city was ill-tempered, but he wasn't in the mood for it tonight. Rowan glanced both ways down the crossroads and went straight. If he was out, he might as well pick up the candy himself. The grocery store was only a few blocks away and it was a nice twenty-four-hour one too.

He never made it inside.

Instead, as he approached from the back, someone coughed.

Rowan startled, turning toward the sound.

Sitting in a puddle, slumped up against the old black brick of the grocery store was a heavily beaten Dewey. There was a knife in his hand, a mangled box of cigarettes in the other, both gripped by white knuckles that trembled under the dim light filtering from a far-off streetlight. Tears wet his cheeks, making the large purple bruise shimmer in the dim streetlights.

Rowan jogged over.

There was no way. No way. Dewey's father was an ass at the best of times but at the worst... Rowan's heart pounded in his chest.

"Dewey?"

"Hey, Ro," a soft voice whispered.

"Jesus, Dewey," Rowan said, cursing as he dropped to a knee next to him. "What happened?"

Dewey opened his mouth, but then just as quickly snapped it shut and shook his head. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, dropping both the box of cigarettes and the knife. A rough, gasping sob escaped him.

"Dad... Dad... He..."

Another gasp left him and the hands pressed against his eyes shook so badly his bones might've rattled free.

Rowan looked over his friend, struggling against the flip-flopping panic in his chest.

Up close, it was ugly.

Dewey was one of those bastards that always looked good. He was charming, had good skin, and even though he did fuck-all to his hair, it always had this glossy look to it. But not tonight.

Tonight, he was bloody and beaten. Matted clumps of bloody hair stuck to his temple beside an ugly bruise. The curves of his lips were bulbous and split, full of a fear he didn't know on Dewey. And there, on his neck, were two reddish handprints.

"What happened?" Rowan asked, more firmly this time.

Big doe eyes turned up to him, glassy with tears and purpling already from whatever happened to his nose.

"Dad... Dad finally..."

A whining cry escaped Dewey's throat as he fell forward onto Rowan's chest.

Rowan wrapped his arms around Dewey and held him there. The tears were warm against his thin t-shirt, burning themselves into his memory, and the sounds Dewey made were hot irons branding Rowan's memory. He held him more tightly as pain crept into his chest.

This was bad.

Dewey shuddered. All at once, the tears seemed to halt.

The world quieted then, and it was an odd thing.

Rowan would think back on it for many years, about how the world fell away and then apart when Dewey whispered, "He killed my mom."

A/N: Here's the rest of the stories with these two, some are exclusive, some aren't. You don't really need to have an exclusive subscription to understand the vague plot, but it's appreciated if you do!! I never thought I'd write more than one or two of these, but it's almost turning into a book of its own, especially with three more prepped and ready to go.

Normal Stories

Dew Drops

Rain drops

Exclusive Stories

River Droplets

Gumdrops

Chicken Skin