Hey everyone welcome. Bear & Cub has been a great story and it's proven well on AO3 (TuxEdwards). If you do enjoy B&C, please read some of my other works: Counting, Counting Down (the sequel to Counting), Not Capable of Love, Fire (a Counting short story on AO3) and Jaded (on AO3). Please take a few minutes to drop me an email to let me know if Bear & Cub is for you: Foxfire3730@proton.me

 

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"The Universe is Made of Stories, Not of Atoms" -Muriel Rukeyser

 

Loyalty & Betrayal

 

Cub

I promised.

I promised to keep Ryder safe.

The noise is loud all around me and way different than the stillness of the forest. It's rhythmic with its whoop, whoop, whoop, whoop. I open my eyes slightly to see a man with a white helmet holding me down on a bench. Fear grips me, and I try to sit up, jerking against the straps that bind me down. The little clear mask on my face shifts to the side, and the helmet man quickly tightens his hold on me.

"Hey, hey, Cub, hold still. You're okay," the helmet man says as he fixes my breathing mask.

"You called me Cub? I don't know you!" I shout back over the whooping sound.

"Cub, it's me. Hold still," says a voice sounding like if Burns were shouting but can barely be heard over the whoop, whoop, whoop.

I frantically look around and try to focus my eyesight. It looks like I'm in a metal box with the helmet man, who is dressed in an orange jumpsuit, and Burns, who is wearing a strange headset with a long black cord that bounces and sways with the movements of the box.

"Burns?" I question my eyes as I try to piece together the last things I remember.

Smith, Ryder, Bear howling... "Burns!" I shout.

His rough hand grabs mine, and Burns comforts me by saying, "Here, Cub, I'm right here." He squeezes it and tells me, "You're going to be okay, Cub. Lay still; we'll be at the hospital very soon."

Clyde Burns

"Yeah... yeah... Yeah, he's been out of surgery for a few hours now and already complaining about the food," I tell Janet with a little giggle on the other end of the telephone at the nurses desk. "Hey, also, thanks again for coming and getting the dog last night. How's he doing?" I ask and chuckle to myself at her small story about Bear before I add, "I am very sorry, Janet. I couldn't have protected the boys without her help." I just couldn't tell her the truth. I set the phone down on the receiver and stared at it, thinking about what I just told her. Hopefully, she finds comfort in my lie. 

"Detective," the nurse at the desk says, grabbing my attention. "You can take the boy home at eleven o'clock tomorrow morning."

"Thanks, Sarah," I tell her, half paying attention. Turning back to the room where I left the very grumpy little boy, I wipe the tears I fight so hard to hold back. 

Once in the room, I see there is a nurse cleaning up a tipped-over tray and something that looks like mashed potatoes and gravy on the floor. She gave me the stink eye as I walked in. "Cub, what's wrong?" I ask.

"You have to get me out of here so we can go get Ryder!"

My eyes squint in thought as I study him lying in a hospital bed with a bandage just above the knee. The bullet went right through his leg without really damaging it. It only took a few stitches to fix it. He was very lucky. If it weren't for Bear howling, I don't think I'd find him in time. He was unconscious when I found him leaning on that tree. He had taken off his belt and buckled it around his leg to stop the bleeding. It must have been something Bud taught him; how else would he know to do that? He surprises me all the time. 

"We're not going to find him on an empty stomach. Besides, Ryder will be fine. I don't think Smith will hurt him; he needs him. Jen said..."

"Officer Jen was there?" Cub interrupts me with that hopeful look only little boys can make. The memory of seeing her at the bottom of the stairs clutching the shotgun that she was going to use on me slams into me. Just an extra element added to my nightmares, I suppose. 

I walk over to his bed and take a seat. Taking his hand, I smile the best I can in the circumstances. "Yeah, she was... Cub, she didn't make it," I solemnly tell him, wiping my tears away that just appeared out of nowhere. 

He carefully rushes up to tightly hug me, and I believe that was the last emotional wall for him to bash through. Light sniffles turned into sobbing as he recounted for me the previous evening's events. Not that I could understand him through the sobbing, but I listened all the same. I held him and let him cry, rocking us once in a while. Soon the sobbing turned into little boy snores, and I laid him back on his pillow. 

I conclude that he needs a haircut as I remove the red Superman curl from his forehead. It's a strange thing to think about at a time like this, I admit, but maybe the boys are changing me also. I've been working so hard to make their lives better that I didn't realize the effect it was having on me. I took down eleven trained men with automatic rifles, a couple handguns, flashbangs, and a shotgun. I feel like a twenty-year-old again, and I have to stifle my laugh so I don't wake Cub. 

Time ticks away, like it always does, but I let it. I just sit here in this hospital bed, holding Cub's hand. The feel of his chest rising and falling, the way his bottom lip moves when he exhales, and how rosy his cheeks got once he fell into his deep slumber--hopefully, these memories will add to my dreams. To watch a beautiful boy sleep peacefully is a gift I don't want to forget anytime soon. 

Two and a half hours go by, and he finally stirs, bringing me out of my thoughts. "Burns? Have you been sitting there the whole time?"

"Yeah," I admit, "the whole time."

"Creepy," my little smartass says under his breath.

I look at him crossly, and then we both break out in giggles and laughter. I retrieve the wheelchair and tell him, "We are going to the cafeteria to get some food."

By the time I roll over to the bed, he has himself halfway out of it. The hospital gown twists and pulls to his side. His little Superman underwear is catching my interest. The memory of what they contain makes me smile.

"What?" He giggles and slides off the bed, hopping on one leg. 

"Careful, careful," I warn him, and I quickly move over to help him. Moving his gown around his body, I tease him about seeing his underwear. "We don't want to show off your goods. They belong to me, don't they?"

He laughs, agreeing with me, helping me cover his little junk as I lower him in the chair. Once we're set, we head down the hall to the elevator. Nurses and doctors say hi to Cub as he passes, but he's most interested in the other kids in their rooms. Once the elevator doors close, he asks, "These kids are really sick, huh?"

"Yeah, kiddo, some of the kiddos in here haven't left these walls in a long time."

"How do they pay for it? The bill must be massive," he asks, fidgeting with his leg bandage.

The doors open up, and I wheel him out and down the busy hall. "There are a lot of charities that only help children when they get sick, like the St. Jude Organization, Save the Children, Children Incorporated, and others."

I can see the wheels moving in his cute little red head as he thinks of the next of many questions. I find us a table and move his chair in position, and he asks, "How do they have so much money?"

I pat him on the shoulder and flash him a smile before sitting across from him. "People donate money," I respond as I look around for what looks good. "It looks like grilled cheese and applesauce; that sounds good, huh?"

"Sure, that's okay."

"I'm not going to end up wearing it, am I?" I ask, and he gives me an impish smile. 

I return with our trays, and he digs in. I watch him eat and can't help letting my mind drift off into thoughts of Ryder and Smith. How could I not see his true self until it was too late? Why does he want Ryder? Does he know what the number is for? 

"Thinking about Ryder, aint'cha?"

I watch Cub take another bite, and his sorrow for what's happened hangs on his face. "I was. I'm sorry. What did you ask?"

"I asked: Why are you here? I figured you'd just drop me off and find Ryder."

"Cub, I'd never leave you without knowing you're okay. I'll find Ryder, but I can't do that now, so I'm making sure the other little boy I love is good."

We finish in silence, and I can see the shame in his body as it slumps in his wheel chair. There is something deeper in there that he's not telling me. I help him back in bed, and he makes room for me. I take the hint and climb in next to him. He snuggles up against me, and soon I feel him crying. 

I rub his back and wait for him to calm down enough to ask what is weighing on him, but I am not ready for his troubles. With his face smashed into my shirt, he mummers, "Are you going to leave me here?"

"Of course, kiddo, I have to go find Ryder."

He pushes himself off of me and practically shouts, "Once you have Ryder, you don't need me anymore. He got taken, and it's my fault!"

"Cub," I begin, and I take him in my arms. "You both are so important to me. I could never leave you behind. I knew that the first time I laid eyes on you in the heating vent."

He cries into my shirt and sobs himself to sleep. 

Cub

The Next Morning

Soft music is playing, the morning light shines through my eyelids, and I can hear normal hospital commotion out in the hall. I slowly open my eyes to see, laying next to me, a stuffed dog that looks like Charlie Brown's dog, Snoopy. The little dog tag that hangs from his collar says, `Get Well Soon.' It's clearly from the hospital's gift shop. I smile and poke at its fuzzy black nose.

Sitting up, I thank him, "Thanks, Burns.... Burns?" My eyes shift from one side of the room to the other with no sign that he's here. His jacket, hat, and glasses are gone, and the magazines that he's been reading are neatly stacked on the nightstand. Burns? He left me. 

He didn't even say bye. We were going to find Ryder together, weren't we? I can feel them collecting in the corners of my eyes just before my tears begin to fall. An unexplained pain grows in my chest, and soon after, my stomach hurts. I spin as much as I can and bury my face into my pillow as I sob. 

Who will come get me? Will it be some old lady from social services that smells weird? She'll dump me in some orphanage with bars on its windows and locks on its doors. Bear! They're going to take Bear from me, and I'll lose him. I have to get out of here! I got to find Bear!

I grit my teeth and yanked the long IV needle from my arm. The tube falls off the bed, and the IV fluid splashes on the floor. I grab my arm, and the pain adds to the frustration of my current panic, leading me to shout out, "Fuck!"

I toss the blankets off to the left and move myself so I can slide off the bed on my good leg. Hopping up and down, I wipe the tears from my eyes and plan how I'm going to get to the chair where my crutches lean. The chair is across from the room where Burns slept last night. It might as well be miles away. 

Hop.

Hop.

Whoa, whoa, regain my balance. 

Hop.

Hop.

The sound of the doorknob shake increases the pain in my chest, and I clutch at my gown. I'm too far away from the bed to get back. What am I going to do? I'm stuck in the middle of the room, hopping on one leg. 

Clyde Burns

Donuts, coffee, hot chocolate, and a newspaper... Hmmm, how am I going to open that door? It's one of those lever handles. Maybe I can somehow use my ass cheek to hold it down and push it open. It takes a few attempts, but my ass gains a doorknob skill point as it opens, and I back peddle in the room. 

Turning around, I am totally shocked to see Cub hopping on one foot in the middle of the room, crying. There is blood trickling down his left arm. I set the donuts and hot drinks on the floor and rushed to him. His good leg is getting wobbly, and by the looks of it, I got here just in time. "What are you doing? Why are you crying?"

"You... l...le...left m...m...me," he sobs, clutching his arms around me. 

"Awe, Cub, I only stepped outside for my morning smoke and to get breakfast. I told you I wouldn't just leave you."

"I w...wo...woke u...up and you w..were g..gone," he continues as I pick him up and carry him to the bed. I hear a splash near the bed and realize I'm stepping into some kind of clear liquid. I set him down and retrieved a soaked blanket from the floor. I find the nurse call button and call for help. 

"You left m...me a...al...alone."

I sit in bed and hold my little cub. The boy grew up on the streets, learning to be independent. The boy who fought next to me when my home was attacked. The boy that held off a score of men with a backpack of fireworks and a very large dog. Here, I find him completely and utterly falling apart when facing the fear of being alone again. 

Trying to explain that I'm not leaving him again at this moment in time would be fruitless. The best thing I can do for him right now is to hold him and rock him, telling him, "You're okay, Cub. You're going to be fine."

The nurse comes to get him a new blanket and cleans up the spilled IV fluid. She cleans up Cub's face and arm, giving him a Superman bandage and making him smile. We sit and eat our donuts while I read my paper, and Cub hums to himself while playing with the Snoopy I bought him.

After the morning hum of the hospital turns into the afternoon rush, I set my newspaper down and stiffly stand up. Despite experiencing excruciating back pain from sleeping on this damn loveseat, I proceed to Cub's bed and arrange myself next to him.

He scoots his little butt over, giving me room. "Listen, Cub," I begin, just like I have rehearsed a million times in my mind as I read my newspaper. "...Janet will be here soon, and you're going with her." I can see the happy-go-lucky face fall off of him like melted wax dripping from a candle. 

"Wait, no, we were going to get Ryder together!"

"I can't take you with me, Cub; you're hurt and a little boy. This is going to be very dangerous."

"Who's going to help you, huh? Not your cop friends! You can't trust them."

"Now, Cub, calm down," I unsuccessfully tell him. 

"No, you need me! I recognized some of the men that were there last night; they were cops."

He's not wrong. Although I do find it surprising that he recognized some of those men like I did, so far, the only person I've told is Janet, so no one knows we're here in LA. Once I head into the station, everyone will know we're here. How am I going to find Ryder without the police's resources? 

My eyes move around the room as I think over his words before asking, "How can you help?"

Seriousness takes over the look on the young boy's face. He's struggling with his next few words. His grip on his gown is tight, and if he bites his bottom lip anymore, it'll draw blood. His body is practically shaking when he softly answers me, "By doing something I told Bud I'd never do."

Smith

Beverly Hills Hotel

"Yes, yes, yes, I understand. Do you understand that if you fucking Armenians cross me, the boy dies?" I tell one of the Kevson brothers acting as tough as I can. After giving that enough time to sink in, I add, "Five million dollars, and you get your little brother back. Don't fuck this up! I will kill the boy."

I hang up the cell phone and take out the SD card. Using the balcony railing, I break the cell phone in half. Throwing both hands of electrical parts out into the city from the fifteenth floor of the Beverly Hills Hotel, the parts tumble and blow around as they descend towards the incredibly perfect landscaping of the hotel. 

Heading back inside the room, the survivors of the cabin assault sit in the living room, watching TV. I hear a door shut in the back, and I see Toby coming out of the bedroom with a food tray. "The boy is fed," he says, like it's a huge accomplishment.

"Okay, we're good to sell the boy to the Kevsons. The meeting is in two days. Let's pack up; we're moving. Toby, take the bags to the truck. I'll grab the boy. He'll ride with us in my car; the rest of you will follow behind in the truck," I say as I scoop up some papers that Toby and I were working on. 

Ordered chaos begins to happen as everyone begins packing and taking things to the vehicles. I enter the bedroom and go through my bags. In the corner, over by the window, sits an eight-year-old gold mine at a small table. I walk over and stare down at Ryder. His timid body language brings a smirk to my face. I reach down and take the paper he's been writing on. I pull a piece of paper out of my pocket and compare it to the incredible long number on the boy's paper. 

My eyes shift from the paper to Ryder, and he just seems to slink into the chair. With a quick movement of my right hand, I slapped the boy hard enough to knock him onto the floor. The surprise look that I've grown accustomed to seeing from the boys I slap around was missing from his little face. He climbs back to his feet and hangs his head. His little body shakes in pain or fear, and his hands seem to be begging me not to swing again. 

"Stop fucking around!" I yell at him, making him wince. 

"I'm sorry, sir, it's a long number. It's hard to remember," he says in a mousy voice. 

"This isn't the right number, is it?" I ask, and he slightly shakes his head.

"When we get to the new hotel, you best write down what I'm asking for, or you'll wish that slapping you is all I'll do, understand?"

His little head nods yes, and I force the papers into my pocket. I move on with what I need to do. I pack everything inside my bags and then toss them on the bed. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ryder sort of snooping. When he gets to my black bag, he sees my automatic pistol and a host of grenades. 

"Back up; you could blow us all up. You wouldn't want that, would you?" I ask, pulling the automatic pistol out of the bag and fixing a silencer to the end of it.

Going out the back of the hotel, the guys have our vehicles packed and running. "Toby sit in the back. I want the boy next to me," I say as I move Ryder into the seat by his arm. I toss the black bag on the floor at his feet and then open the door behind the boy for Toby. He's a little suspicious at first, but gets in anyway. 

We drive for thirty minutes or so. Toby complains the whole time about work, the Armenians, and Ryder. Occasionally, I look over at the boy next to me. He spends most of his time staring out the window, but he looks at me once in a while to see me looking at him. I give him a smirk and wonder if he and I will have some `alone' time later. His sad look kind of makes me feel bad for him. 

We pull into the alley to Toby's suspicious questions, "Why are we here? Where are we?"

I get out of the car and lean back inside, reaching for the black bag in between Ryder's legs. His eyes follow the automatic pistol as I draw it out of the bag. "Calm down, Toby; we're just dumping some trash," I tell him smoothly. Hiding the pistol behind my back, I work my way around the front of the car to Toby's door. I wave to the guys that work for Toby in the truck behind my car. They wave back and begin to talk amongst themselves. 

Opening Toby's door with a yank, I grab him by the front of his shirt, hauling him out of the car. Ryder covers his ears like he's been in this scenario before. I spin him around tossing him into the trash bags next to the trash dumpster. Pulling the automatic weapon from behind my back, I empty the clip into the guys in the truck. 

Glass and pieces of metal explode from the truck as the bullets decorate the inside with the color red. When it's empty, I pop the clip out as a smoke trail rises from the barrel. 

"What are you doing? We're partners, friends!" Toby shouts crawling up to me.

"You're a loser, a fuckup, and a lose end, Toby!" I said, and then I delivered a swift kick to his face. He goes down like a sack of potatoes with a thud against the dumpster. I lean into the car and grab another clip and two grenades, slipping them in my pocket. Ryder never opens his eyes or removes his hands from his ears. 

"This whole mess is your fault, and well, I just don't think you've earned your half of the five mill. So, I think I'll keep the whole thing," I tell him, popping the clip in and opening fire. His body jerks with each bullet until it doesn't. Walking over to the truck, I pull both pins from the grenades and drop them inside.

Rushing to get back in my car, I punch it, screaming my car's tires as the truck explodes behind me. "Whoa, that was exciting! I feel so much better killing that fuckup!" I cheer and look over to my passenger, hoping for a reaction. But nothing; he just sits there, staring out the window. How much death does one have to see at his age for it to not effect you anymore?

Not willing to accept this, I pat Ryder's leg. He jumps a little at my invasion of personal space. "I thought you two were friends?" He asks with the softest whisper. 

"We are... We were," I answer him. His judgmental stare bores into me as I drive. "Toby was such a dumbass... We had a good thing going, and he..." 

"I wasn't talking about that man. I was talking about you and Uncle." 

Searching to justify what I did brings up doubts that I buried deep inside until I realized... "Fuck you!" I shout at him as I push his head into the car door window with a thunk! I watch the blood drip from his nose and the defiant look on his face. I sneer at him and ask, "I don't have to justify myself to you! What are you, like eight?"

 

 

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