Raindrops

Dewey was bleeding.

He cut his hand on the stop sign when his foot slipped on the white crosswalk paint and he tried to catch himself.

"It's fine, right?" he asked, his voice trembling as he held Rowan's thin grey shirt to his palm. "Ro, tell me it's fine."

"Let's go home."

It wasn't fine but it wasn't glaringly bad either. Rowan pressed his lips together and started walking, hoping Dewey would follow. He'd call his mom. She was probably just now starting her shift at the urgent care. If it was bad enough, she could help out later. Few stitches. No money.

Besides, he needed a shirt. He was too skinny to stay warm long.

"Oh shit. It isn't, is it? Fuck. I don't have money for a- Ah!"

Rowan turned sharply, catching the moment Dewey slammed into the asphalt, shoulder first and face second as a dog shot out from the alley. He cursed and rushed over. The rain broke the heat but it made everything slick and Dewey was uncharacteristically inelegant tonight.

The drizzle turned to a downpour.

Rowan sank, knees against wet asphalt, next to Dewey.

Round, grey eyes peeled up to him. Tears gathered and fell down the rain-slicked skin. They carved straight paths through the water. Through the thick drops splattered against Dewey's tan skin gone pale from isolation. His lip wobbled.

And suddenly this wasn't about his hand.

"I miss Coop," Dewey whimpered, his voice cracking.

Coop, Dewey's childhood dog the Australian Shepherd with two different colored eyes, who responded better to the name Sausage than Cooper. The one who followed him home through the city right out of a cardboard box. The one who crawled into his bed and died on Dewey's lap. The safe place.

"I MISS COOP!" Dewey wailed, pressing his good hand against his face.

Rowan awkwardly shuffled Dewey forward as he sobbed until he crawled out of the street. Dewey stayed on his hands and knees a second longer before falling sideways onto his hip, half across Rowan, crying.

There wasn't anything to do but let it happen.

It was lucky it was late and the streets were barren, Rowan thought as he draped a hand across Dewey's back. Unlucky that this had to happen at all.

The streetlights faded from red to green to yellow and back again. The rain lifted and intensified, ebbed and flowed with the wind. Someone somewhere smoked a cigarette. Its smoke stunk up the road. The crosswalk sign flickered.

Go.

Stop.

Go.

Stop.

Dewey wept.

He wept in the same pulsing waves as everything else. Bursts of intensity made him shake and the calm in between afforded him the necessary breaths to continue sobbing again.

Rowan waited until Dewey started shivering to tap his back.

"C'mon, Dew. Let's go home." Those grey eyes turned back up toward him, lost and looking for a way out. "We've gotta fix your hand."

And like he used to as a child he replied, "'Kay, Ro."

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These are all just microfiction pieces. There is a vague timeline, but it isn't necessary to read them all or in any order. Every other one will be exclusive if you're interested in checking out more!

Part One: Dewdrops

Part Two: Chicken Skin