The Fall of St John

It happened one year that Hogwarts began to house what may well have been the worst Ravenclaws to ever grace such halls. Four boys of violence and cruelty. Boys who kept the rest of their peers stamped firmly into the dirt, crushed deep beneath their heels.

Divan Amara. Though not an obvious bad boy, when pushed far enough over the edge he could become violent, aggressive and even deadly. Outwardly, he wasn't cruel or unkind to his peers, but he was fairly well known for almost mutilating another student. You could say he had a hidden darkness. A darkness he wasn't afraid to use when the time was right.

Hunt Clavell. Dangerous. It was a very good word to describe him. Selectively mute, rarely interacting with other students and occasionally even painting himself as a helpful person, Hunt was a manipulator, and an expert one at that. And a lot of the time, he could wrap someone around his little finger without ever saying a word. Most people only heard him speak after they'd already become his victim, after learning what kind of a person he really was, and yet he never ever got in trouble for it. Not with any form of authority, anyway. Because Hunt was a manipulator, and the threats he made could scare any of his victims into silence.

Eric Kessler. A bully, mostly for the fun of it. He and his friends enjoyed making others miserable. It made them feel better about themselves, and Eric loved anything that boosted him up in any way. What made him as bad as he was, what made him lash out so much at others, was undoubtedly his own insecurities, which also made him annoyingly good at singling out insecurities in others.

John St Crow. The smallest and weakest of the four and the ringleader of the bullies. He seemed to have some level of control or authority over Kessler and their third friend, Riordan Damek, and it was an authority they obeyed without question. John was someone who was unafraid of reprimand and who could proudly say he had taken life before. He didn't give a damn about the thoughts and feelings of others, and he didn't trust a soul.

And that was how they were for the first five years of their magical education. Nothing seemed to stop them. They were immortal demons ruling over a great castle. Unbeatable.

At the beginning of their sixth year at Hogwarts, things changed ever so slightly. At first glance, it seemed the same. Kessler, Clavell, Amara and the rest of the boys they were forced to share their dorm with settled in, the former already making things difficult for those around him, seven boys in one room. And an eighth bed between Clavell and Lewini, one of the comparatively normal boys. An empty, unladen bed.

St Crow hadn't come back.

At first, Eric thought it was okay. The idiot had probably missed the train, or maybe his family was on holiday. Or maybe he'd heard that Slytherin girl he'd been fucking before the end of last year had died, and he was off for the funeral or taking some time to grieve. And then he'd noticed John's sister was back, sat with the Hufflepuffs and laughing happily.

Time passed, and John didn't come back. Eric and Riordan continued their teasing and mocking of others without their lord and master, as Lewini had once mockingly called him, but Riordan stopped pretty quickly. He had mostly gotten into it so Eric would guard him from being bullied, and so he could guard John from physical harm. So it was just Eric, doing what he did best, but with his heart not really in it now his closest friend was missing in action. Riordan had managed to ask John's sister when he'd be coming back, but all she'd been able to say was that she wasn't sure if he would be coming back at all.

It was almost Christmas break when they next got any news. Three months, nearly four, had passed, and the boys were heading up from dinner. A bunch of them in a clump, discussing their plans for the holidays. Hunt opened the door to their dormitory

and froze. The boys behind him walked into his back and pushed  him forward a little...and saw what made  him freeze.

At the foot of the eighth bed was a suitcase and a backpack. Both baby blue in colour, matching the top worn by the skinny boy sat on the edge of the bed, back to the door.

"John!" Eric yelled, pushing past the others to go to his friend. He grabbed a skinny shoulder a little too roughly and greeted his friend in too loud a voice. "God, where have you been? Three months you've been gone, three bloody months! What's been going on?"

One golden eye shifted to meet two bright blue, but no other reaction came. And then Eric noticed a few things. That eye was a lot...duller than he remembered. Like John had seen some serious shit. He'd always had a bit of a haunted look to that eye, but...this was worse. And he'd always been skinny, but he'd obviously lost weight since they'd last met. He looked brittle and delicate and ill now. Very ill. And Eric could have sworn he used to be...was he paler now? He was ill. That had to be it. He'd been away because he'd been ill. And for some weird reason, he was wearing thick ski gloves. Eric sat on the bed John was facing.

"John? John, what's wrong? What...happened to you? Did...did you just get here?" He was somewhat aware that the other boys had come in now and that they were watching the exchange. "You must have just gotten here. You missed dinner. I bet you missed the food here, huh? Those house elves sure make the best gravy!" No reaction. John's single, disturbingly dull eye was watching him, following his head whenever he moved, but at the same time not really looking at him. "Are you sick? You look like shit. Are you going to talk? John. Stop being weird. Seriously, man, you're freaking me out." He heard what he thought was John's stomach growling, which made sense if he'd missed dinner, he must have been hungry, and the small boy tensed considerably at the sound. After a painfully long pause, he stood, walked past Eric, went to his suitcase and went to take something out of it, then seemed to change his mind. Instead, he continued walking round to the other side of the bed, got in and drew all the curtains.

"Well, that's a rejection if I've ever seen one." One of the other boys, Caleb, quipped.

Eric was honestly just confused. He'd thought for a moment John was going to do something. Go get something to eat or go start a fight with Clavell or find some way of telling Eric and only Eric why he came back so late and looked so god damn terrible. But no, he was just turning in. As if nobody was speaking to him. As if nobody was there and nothing had happened.

How...unnerving.

Hunt pushed lightly against Eric's back, a silent request for him to move off the bed. It was his bed, after all, and he wanted to lie down. Eric turned and slapped the offending hand away.
"Don't touch me, you mute freak!"
They stared at one another for a moment, each giving a silent challenge, and then Hunt smiled. And spoke. A surprisingly soft and sweet voice carrying a distinct Irish lilt that Eric didn't think he'd heard before, even through every fight the mute had had with John.
"I think St Crow is the mute freak now." He began, and for a moment, for a sweet, blissful moment, Eric thought he would stop there. Hunt walked round to John's bed, smile widening into a cruel smirk and voice rising in volume until everyone's attention was solely on him. "It looks to me, in fact, that St Crow's reign of terror is ending. The St Crow has fallen, his golden age is dead and gone, and I think it's time for revolution. An uprising. Revenge." He tore open the curtains John had closed moments prior, and the smaller boy was curled up in his bed. He looked so...vulnerable. And Eric had known that inside, John was very vulnerable, and he felt his insides go cold as Hunt tore those curtains right from the rails. Every single one. "St Crow has spent five years, five miserable years, tormenting the student body, our year and below! He has driven people to considering suicide, he has held his band of insecure and crazy demons around him like vicious pack dogs, ready to attack on signal. Obedient little hellhounds. He has been unyielding and unmerciful in his assault, and now look at him. Finally fallen silent. Showing us what he truly is. A scared little boy. Vulnerable. Weak. Bearing his weakness to the world. Which means now is our time to strike back. Every person who St Crow has wronged can pay him back tenfold! Show him how it feels to suffer the way he made us suffer! How do you feel about that, St Crow? Any objections?"
Hunt was on the bed now, stood over him. John spared him a glance, but otherwise said nothing and didn't move at all. He didn't even stir when Hunt began searching his pockets, and finally pulled out an old kitchen knife.
"The amount of times you've held this to my throat..." Hunt breathed before his hand lashed out. Suddenly, he had John held upright by the hair, dull grey blade against tan neck...and John didn't seem to care. "He doesn't mind, lads. He has no objection. Maybe letting him know how it feels would be a good lesson! It begins, the fall of St John Crow!" And with that, he pushed John back down onto the bed and went to start his uprising, doing his best to pull Amara, Docdocs, Haley, Lewini and Rust with him. One or two people spared the last two boys left in the room a sad glance before they left.

Eric was pretty sure John had only threatened Hunt with the knife once. It was in their fifth year, when John had confided in Eric that he believed the albino bastard to have been 'hurting' girls in the year below. Yet, he had to admit there had always been bad blood between them. It had been there since their very first night together, and John had started it. He'd taken one look at Hunt and decided he hated him. At first, Eric had thought he was just looking for someone to hate. Then, he'd figured it was an autism thing, because it didn't take long for him to figure out that John was obviously autistic. Finally, as Hunt took off to turn the entire school round in some sick experiment to see if he could drive the one-eyed Ravenclaw to suicide, Eric realised that this hatred was because John could tell from day one that there was something very, very off about Hunt Clavell. Somewhere inside him, John had known from the start that Hunt would be the kind to assault the girls and manipulate others to his whims, and only now was Eric seeing exactly what that meant for the others around him.

And that was the year things changed.

((1. I am not happy with this piece at all. But you get to see it anyway. 2. Divan Amara, Corey Docdocs and Dinesh Lewini belong to a friend of mine, but are all Ravenclaw males in the same year as John, Hunt and Eric...and Caleb and Cyrenaica, they're in here too. The description of Divan at the beginning is based entirely off of a single event that happened in a roleplay I did with his creator after someone attacked Eric and Divan attacked back (Eric and Divan were dating at the time). I'm pretty sure in the original roleplay Divan almost murdered or did murder the other student in question, which is probably why I don't have Kit listed as an OC right now, that or because I just don't remember Kit's last name, but my memory is terrible and I'm probably wrong...aaaanyway, this whole thing was just to play around with the relationship between Hunt and John, and how John ended up going from the bully to the victim in his 6th year...I figured Hunt the Manipulator could be a good catalyst. John's character file can be found on my OC files blog. The files of the others are still being done.))

Stupid Messes

Sometimes, the young man would take a simple look at his life and wonder how he ever ended up there. It had started from an early age, from when his parents began to shun him out of fear that he might not have any useful ability to speak of. From when he felt like another person that simply was not good enough. From his struggles in school, to the year he'd had his first child. He'd been young at the time, and had believed, like an idiot, that that relationship would last forever.

It lasted a couple of weeks after the birth of their daughter, their twins, and then she'd left him with the babies and his absolutely furious parents. And once again, Jeremiah Strit was just not good enough. And from that point on, for nearly three years, he'd been unwilling to form a relationship with another woman, treating it all as a game. Fun. Sleep around, never catch feelings, and the next woman's baby just isn't his problem.

So how did he end up here? New Years, 18 years old, staying with a girl named Dianna because he was sick of being with his family and just feeling so...inadequate. Not up to their standards. A failure. He was lying on a mattress on the floor, and he didn't know where the bed had gone. One daughter was curled up under his arm, the other bawling inconsolably over a broken toy, his stomach growling in hunger because Dianna had spent the last of their money on lord only knew what again and  tears rolling down his cheeks because he couldn't deal with this any more. He wanted to go home.

He wanted to go home!

But he couldn't. Because his parents didn't want him home. And because Dianna was pregnant. Of course she was. Of course he would get himself into that kind of mess again. This wasn't even his second child and he just never learnt. Only this time he'd been hoping he could actually have a working relationship again. No such luck.

For the time being, he could live with Dianna. She was lovely, if a little bit terrible at handling money. It was the place itself that was the problem. And the fact that his girlfriend had spent their money on something she wouldn't even tell him about and never let him have any control over the spending, and was so god damn jealous and possessive all the time and even tried to keep him from talking to his friends and hated him working at the same place as another female because she was so psychotic and insecure and honestly, why was he with this woman?

Because she took all the money either of them made and because he had nowhere else to go. So he put up with the crazy stuff she did because the last girl he'd been in a relationship with had been crazy as well so maybe that was just how girls were in a long term relationship. Besides, she was always lovely to the twins and she was absolutely gorgeous and she offered to let him stay in her house when he fell out with his parents, so did he really have a right to complain?

May 14th, exactly one month before his 19th birthday, Ruelle Strit was born. She was premature and seriously ill, and Jeremiah forgot the exact things he was told, but he was pretty sure the lady at the hospital telling him and Dianna about what was wrong with the baby was suggesting Dianna had been taking drugs during her pregnancy or something.

They'd argued about that. They'd argued because Jeremiah had spoken to the female staff and Dianna didn't like it. They argued every single time he went back to visit Ruelle because that woman always accused him of cheating if he ever so much as looked at another human female, no matter how little sense the accusation made. Then again, she did know he slept around, and she did know Ruelle was his seventh child. It was his own fault if she was especially suspicious.

It wasn't crazy.

But by the time Ruelle was home, the arguing had gotten so bad that Jeremiah just walked out. He took his twins and left, and that night managed to secure a shelter staying at a friend's house and sleeping on his sofa. The next morning, Jeremiah, the twins, and his friend, Caius, went back to Dianna's house, because he had calmed down and hopefully so had she. Caius pretty much just tagged along because he wanted to talk about everything he'd just learnt about power tools from another mutual friend of theirs.

When they got to the house, they could hear Ruelle crying, and Jeremiah discovered he'd forgotten his keys. After a good hour and a half of knocking and calling to Dianna to let them in, because surely if Ruelle was there, Dianna had to be there as well, and trying to apologise through the door, Caius helpfully decided that Dianna wasn't home and the baby was home alone, and he very casually broke the front door window pane and let them all in.

The house was a mess. As empty as before, but with rubbish on the floor and a suspicious and kind of gross smell in the air that for some reason just filled Jeremiah's little heart with dread. He told the twins to wait by the front door and the two adults ventured into the house, calling Dianna's name until Caius let out a shrill scream. The girliest scream Jeremiah had ever heard. And the others came running and they found her.

And she was dead, lying on the floor in a puddle of her own vomit. And she was dead. And it looked like she had taken something and she was dead and she might have killed herself and she was dead and she'd been lying there for a day as if she'd died just after he'd walked out and she was dead and he'd never seen a dead person before and SHE WAS DEAD.

He was ashamed to admit that upon discovering the body, he'd thrown up on the spot and started crying.

And how...just how did he find himself here?

Home. Stood on the doorstep, hand raised to knock, Savannah clinging to his belt, Ophelia stood on his other side, baby Ruelle in a baby sling across his chest, and too scared to knock because he was just going to get lectured and rejected and told his life was over, just like the last time he'd come home with a baby. He'd considered going elsewhere first. To his half-siblings, rather than to other friends, but Azriel and Galilah's work was dangerous and kept them from home a lot, so it was so hard to actually find them and ask and in the end he just gave up, and Raphael was far too ill to take in his half-brother and two or three nieces at the time. So what bloody choice did he have?

He lowered his arm, ran his hand over Savannah's head and turned to leave, promising they'd do something nice, maybe try and find Uncle Azriel again, and the front door opened behind him.

"Jer...?"

He glanced over his shoulder. One of his younger brothers was stood on the doorstep, evidently about to go out somewhere. Dressed up nicely. His hair had grown longer since they'd last seen each other and he definitely needed it cut.

"...Chaim..."

"Were you here to visit or just stare at the beautiful architecture and leave?"

Savannah broke away from her father, running to her uncle with a squeal of delight. Jeremiah reluctantly turned and walked back to the doorstep.
"Wait." He muttered when he drew closer to his little brother, who had now lifted his toddler niece up for a hug. "...Since when were you taller than me?"
"Uh...since puberty?" He stepped aside to let Jeremiah in. "You look like utter shit."
"I feel like it. I caught some kind of hell cold off one of my friends and then I went to see Raph and I didn't realise he was in hospital."
"Oh, yeah, that...he's not dying though, it'll be fine."
"Define fine."
"Not dead."
He didn't really have a response to that, but he didn't have enough time to struggle to find one either.
"Chaim!" A woman's voice called. "Who're you talking to, sweetheart?"
"Don't call me that, mum, we've had this talk!"
Their mother came out of the kitchen and a strange expression came over her face when she spotted her elder son. And then she smiled, hurried forward with her arms out and stopped short of embracing him. "Jeremiah! Goodness, it has been so long! Where have you been? Why haven't you called? It's been months and months and the only reason I didn't call the police was because Raph said you'd gone off with another girl and is that a baby? Have you been sleeping around again? Because I was hoping you'd be able to settle down for once but you never do, do you? You always have to just have your wicked way and leave, never mind the consequences. I mean, you've never been one to mind the consequences, a caution-to-the-wind type, you are, and lord knows what kind of influence you'll have on your siblings. Honestly, I think the problem is partly Galilah's own influence on you, your sister wasn't very sensible either and you seem to have taken after her but worse. Are you here to show off your new accident or are you staying for dinner or are you moving back in? Maybe you should stay, you don't look well. You haven't been eating right, have you? Typical. You-"
"Mum!" Jeremiah cut her off with a sob. Somewhere in her tirade, he'd started crying, and she hadn't noticed. She wasn't good at noticing things. She was the kind of person who talked and talked and talked without leaving a single breath for anyone to even think of replying, and the type who struggled to listen or notice anything important, and now her son, her least-favourite son, was sobbing in front of her. He felt Chaim's hand on his shoulder, heard him calling  his name, and Ophelia's little call of 'Daddy?' sounding near tears herself and he started bawling. And everything he tried to say next, about what had happened with Dianna, about how he just wanted her to appreciate him and stop wishing he was better than he was, about how he was afraid and depressed and confused and how he had no idea what he was supposed to do anymore, it all came out in a mess, made unintelligible by his tears and the tightness in his throat.

And at some point he'd been moved to the sofa and sat down with tea and handed a box of tissues, and his children had been taken to another room while his youngest sister, Rebecca, sat next to him and poked him repeatedly and asked him personal and annoying questions that he didn't bother to answer. He could smell his dad cooking in the kitchen, and his mother had insisted he stay whether he like it or not and at this point he knew. There was no way around it. He was a worthless failure and was never going to go anywhere in life. He'd disappointed his family, he'd let them all down and he'd now ruined their day. Well, Rebecca seemed happy to see him, but otherwise the general feel was pretty sour.

It was times like these that Jeremiah believed this was where his life would be at its absolute best. That he'd never get a lucky break. But that was okay, because he'd always have some reason to ask himself how he'd ever ended up in this mess.

The Band Project - Intervention

((Forenote: The Band Project is a new series of oneshots I'm doing based on fictional bands I've created. They focus on the past, present and future of the members. This particular piece focuses on the past of two members of the group Three Tin Cans, all of whom have completed character files on my OC Files blog, and has brief mentions and suggestions of eating disorders, sexual abuse, sexual predation and child neglect.))

Prince didn't quite recall why he'd been sat alone in the corner of an under heated internet cafe on the run up to Christmas, hunched over in his too thin coat and staring at the computer screen blankly. The screen displayed some article about a hurricane hitting some place he'd never heard of.  He wasn't really sure why he'd opened  it. It was just something to look at, something to do. He was about 17, probably crying, and hopefully somewhere his father wouldn't come looking for him. Although, to be totally honest, Prince's father was more than used to him disappearing for hours without giving any indication over where he might be going. Sometimes, he looked for him or tried  to call him repeatedly, and other times he just gave him a bitterly disappointed look the next time he saw him in the house. It was normal for Prince to be away from home and avoiding his family. Occasionally the girl from college who thought he was anorexic would let him sleep on her sofa as well, so lord only knew when Mr Osbaldeston would see his youngest son next.

Prince didn't look away from the screen when the 12-year-old boy entered the cafe. He just took a sip of his lukewarm coffee and clicked over to a chat site to see if either of his friends were on. He missed the ratty, dirty clothes the boy had on and the way he glanced  around in a mix of excitement and anxiety as he ordered a drink, found he couldn't afford it and went to sit down, but then, all of this only really drew the attention of the person serving him, who asked if he was okay but otherwise left him.

Neither of his online friends were on, so Prince started looking at pictures of pugs. Dogs were his favourite animal, and he loved pugs most of all. Their squished up faces were adorable. He sat there, considering asking his father for a dog for Christmas. That or a new phone. But then again, he probably wouldn't get anything expensive. His birthday had only been two days ago and he'd gotten a drum kit he never intended to use. He didn't even know how to play the drums but he did know something that big didn't come cheap. As harsh as his father was, Prince was pretty sure all the old man wanted from his children was a smile at least once a year  instead  of three perpetually scowling and mentally unstable boys. Father always tried to get his sons to smile again. It wasn't going to happen any time soon.

He started looking up how to get a pug and about these new smartphone things. And how pricey they were, just in case his dad might say yes.

"You don't look like you do in the photos."

Prince paused, cup halfway to his lips, and glanced to the side. A very close and very young voice had said that, and had sounded afraid. A much older voice responded.

"Oh, don't I? I'm sorry. You look exactly like in the photos. Very cute."
"You said you were 14. You said you were 14, but you're not. How old are you?"
"Does it matter?"
"Yes."
"Listen, I'm sorry I lied. I just didn't want to scare you. I know children can be easily frightened, especially those that are vulnerable."
"Uh...yeah..."
Prince turned his head to look. Nobody else was paying them any heed. He figured they were quiet enough that from the back corner of the shop the assistant couldn't hear a word they were saying, and that the business man on his laptop just really didn't care what was going on around him. It was pretty empty. The 12-year-old boy had been joined by a much older man with greasy hair who was currently leering lecherously across the table at  him. It seemed pretty clear to Prince that he'd somehow managed to convince the boy to meet up with him after an online chat and was probably some kind of sexual predator. The man glanced around and Prince quickly turned his attention back to his computer.

"Listen." The  man muttered, dropping his voice low enough that Prince had to strain to hear. "I think we should get going. I can show you around, show you all the best spots around here. This is my home city, after all, I know where everything is."
"I'm not sure I want to any more."
"Nonsense. You've made it all the way out here, you can't just sit inside sulking." He reached across the table and took the boy's hand. Their voices dropped lower and Prince closed his web pages. He watched the man get up out of the corner of his eye. The man was holding the boy's hand and the boy was following, looking confused and uncertain. Afraid, even. Prince got up, paid what he owed and  followed at  a distance.

Prince wasn't sure how long he followed for or how he was never noticed by the man, and ten years later he didn't remember what made him so sure the man was going to do something to the boy then and there. Perhaps it was the way the man had stopped walking, the way his hands were positioned on the boy's body, the look in his eye. Either way, the 17-year-old chose his moment to start running.
"Tyler!" He yelled, using the first name to come  to mind. "Where have you been? What have I told you about going off with strangers?" The man had moved away from the boy, and Prince clamped a hand on the confused boy's shoulders. "I'm sorry about my brother." Prince told the man, giving the most sheepish smile he could.
"You two are brothers?" The man asked, clearly not believing it. After all, the tall, skinny brunette and the tiny blond with the wet eyes looked nothing alike.
"Yup! I came up here with him. He said he wanted to go somewhere, the museum and the cathedral and the Beatles tour, he loves the Beatles, and we were going to the museum, weren't we, Tyler? But then you ran off."
The man narrowed his eyes at the boy. "I thought  you said your name was Franklyn."
"Sorry I lied." Franklyn replied instantly as he moved to cling to his apparent elder brother's skinny frame like a baby monkey. "I thought the name made me sound more grown up." He looked up at Prince for  a moment. "I'm sorry for running off, Matt. But I don't want to go to the cathedral. It sounds boring. That's what you and mum wanted to do. This place sucks. I want to go home."
Prince smiled at him, and then at the man. "And what were you doing with my little brother exactly?"
The man hesitated, then smiled. "The boy was lost. I was helping  him find his family. I'm so glad we found you."
The brunette nodded once more and took the  blond's arm, leading him away quickly. He brought him to some shops and then turned, raising  an eyebrow at the boy.
"Franklyn, was it?"
Franklyn looked at the floor. "Thanks..."
"No problem. Not like I could let him rape you or whatever gross thing he was planning on doing."
The younger boy stiffened. "I didn't think he was gonna do that!"
"Seemed pretty clear to me he was a paedophile. You meet  him online?"
"Mm."
"You can't  just agree to meet people you've only spoken to a few times online.  Seriously, they start talking about meeting up when they know you're a little kid, that's a  huge warning sign, alarm bells everywhere, aooga, aooga!"
Franklyn laughed. "Okay. I'll bear that in mind. Have you ever met up with someone then?"
"I don't trust people I meet online. I don't trust anyone. I have,  like, two friends online, and according to them they're 15 and 12 but I've known  them for years and still don't totally trust them." He frowned, a thought occurring to him. "Franklyn, how old are you?"
"12. I'm not a little  kid, by the way."
"Jeez, I thought you were 7."
"Hey!"
"You don't talk a lot with someone called Nitrogue and someone called Bony Drake on a chat site, do you?"
"...Are you Prince? Because I know Dylan's younger  than you but older than me and also I've seen a picture of him and he has these gross sores on his face like one of Moses' plagues and he's ginger and he's always in hospital-"
"Yes. Yes, I'm Prince."
"Bony Drake."
"Yeah."
"Why Bony Drake?"
"Why not?"
Franklyn shrugged. "You're shivering."
"It's cold. You're shivering too."
"Not as bad as you."
Prince shrugged now.
"Why are you here?" The blond asked him after a moment.
"I've lived in Liverpool my whole life."
"I'm from Manchester. I think that man could tell you were from here. From your accent."
"Probably. He probably knew I knew what he was up to though."
"Are there really museums and cathedrals here?"
"You can see the cathedral from here. Look." He pointed and watched Franklyn's little eyes widen in awe at the sight of the distant architecture.
"Wow. Will you take me?"
"...To the cathedral?"
"Yeah! I've never been to a cathedral before. Or a museum!"
"I thought you said you didn't want to-"
"I was acting. I've never been. Please? What's it like? What is a cathedral?"
"It's like a big fancy church-"
"I wanna go to the fancy church!"
He was practically jumping up and down with excitement. Prince knew he had to say no, but it was surprisingly difficult. And maybe even a 12-year-old boy could find  the cathedral interior fascinating. He wasn't paying for  a guided tour though, no way.
"Okay."
"And then a museum, or...what else is there to do here? The tour?"
"I'm not paying to go on the Beatles tour. Screw you."
"We're definitely going to the cathedral though."
"Yup...but if Dylan ever comes here, I'll have to show him as well."
"Yeah!" And then he slowly stopped bouncing and started  scowling. "We need to get lunch. You need to buy me lunch."
"I don't need  to buy you anything!"
"But there's a McDonald's over there and I'm hungry."
"Buy it yourself."
"I don't have any more money on me."
"Then starve." Prince started walking on towards the cathedral, and Franklyn whined and pulled his arm.
"Please?" He pleaded, giving him his best puppy dog eyes. "I didn't eat today or yesterday. That man paid my train fare and I'm completely broke and my family's never around so this is, like, my only chance to get a proper meal and be with another human being. And I thought you were nice. And I'm hungry!"
Prince sighed as a weird mix of guilt and compassion stabbed him in the chest and checked his wallet. "I don't have much money, and I usually use it at internet cafes."
"But you can afford a burger."
"...Okay. But just a burger."
"Yay!" Franklyn ran into the fast food building and Prince pulled a face of disgust as he approached the building. It smelled and was too colourful and made him feel nauseous and he didn't understand why anyone would ever willingly put that crap into their bodies, but Franklyn was happy. Franklyn looked like this was the best day of his young life as his friend bought him a Happy Meal and he discovered the toy and got excited about all the things he and his friend would do together before he had to get home. And for some strange reason, Prince liked seeing the little idiot smiling. He liked seeing the boy happy, especially since he knew about his terrible home life. Seeing him genuinely smiling and genuinely happy made Prince feel inexplicably...good.

Perhaps this was why his father wanted him to smile again.